Fleeting passion, to which reason has never given any specific gravity...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hibyAJOSW8U

Mary Wollstonecraft is one of my new favorite authors. She was a feminist English writer after the French Revolution. While I'm not one for waving our uterus' like a victory flag, this woman has got it together. She implores not to have power over men, but over themselves.

While her pamphlets are a bit lengthy, here were some of my favorite points. They may not weigh as much with you, dear reader, since the meat behind the merit isn't being copied as well.

She presents that women are to be as innocent as children, never developing physically or mentally. "We might as well never have been born..." She observers that women are supposed to be the epitome of morality, yet they are to remain uneducated. But "Without knowledge there can be no morality."

• In regards to women's frailty in the marriage, as a soft and fair creature:

"These fears, [frailties] when not affcted, may produce some pretty attitudes; but they shew a degree of imbecility which degrades a rational creature in a way womn are not aware of- for love and esteem are very distinct things.

• In regards to what a frail woman with no specific gravity is to a husband:

"These women are often amiable; and their hearts are really more sensible to general benevolence, more alive to the sentiments that civilize life, than the square-elbowed family drudge; but wanting a due proportion of reflection and self-government, they only inspire love; and are the mistresses of their husbands."

• In regards to love as the supreme good:

"Graccious Creator of the whole human race! hast thou created such a being as a woman, who can trace thy wisdom in thy works, and feel that thou alone art by thy nature exalted above her,-for no better purpose?-Can she believe that she was made only to submit to a man, her equal, a being, who, like her, was sent into the world to acquire virtue? -Can she consent to be occupied merely to please him; merely to adorn the earth, when her soul is capable of rising to thee?

"All the world are good and agreeable in your eyes"

I think honey may be one of my favorite things.

I don't use it often, but when I do, I am awestruck. By honey.

How it falls across a surface, slow and strong. 

Best of all, it refuses to be tamed. While it may sit packaged in a grocery, contained perfectly, when torn open, it is immediately wild. The Huck Finn of shelf life.

Once its released, it sets in own path. Amber and clasping. 

Yet when tasted, when sap and saliva mingle, it transforms. Huck Finn thins until it is the mild Jane Bennet.

Illuminated by light, flushed and transparent.

What good am I amid these

Today in English 2001, we watched Kill Bill vol. 1 as a way to discuss literary analysis...this is going to be a good semester :)

I love every single one of my profs. Since when does that happen? Between the 5 of them, there can be no solid winner; each really is that extraordinary.

My creative writing prof is the same one as last semester. He says things that sound like they came from Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society, and he sounds like Dustin Hoffman. He explained that college is a place that fills your head with concepts and then doesn't give you enough time to elaborate on them. Of course he put it much more poetically than that.

My English 202 prof makes us sit in a semicircle, "Yes, like you did in kindergarten," she told us. She then went on to explain how Romanticism writers like Blake and Wadsworth can be linked to today's hipster culture.

English 201 prof explained that there is only one original manuscript of Beowulf, and rambled for about five minutes on the physical attributes of that manuscript. Then he apologized for whenever we reach into our memory for something dire, like our blood type or what to do when on fire, and all that we retrieve is "the physical attributes of the Beowulf manuscript." Then he mentally prepared us for the body dismembering scene of Kill Bill. "If you feel the need to run screaming from the room, I'd understand." Cool guy :)

French professor is just exceedingly sweet. I don't think he's ever gotten mad at anyone, ever.

Lastly is H.P. Jones. I would write a book on H.P. if I could. He is 85, very short, and in better shape that I am. He spent four years in the marines, and when he got out traveled across all of, well, the opposite side of the world. If you go into his office, there is little to no room to sit. Its like something out of Harry Potter. Stuffed Boar's heads hanging on the wall, draped in crowns and beads. Chinese lanterns and voodoo dolls hang from the ceiling, while military maps curtain the windows. Pillars of books literally reach the ceiling. On his door (adorned with comics and coloring pages) is a sign that reads "ABSOLUTELY NO CLEANING."
In class he refers to Vikings and "mojos" and Jerusalem as "the big j." When he draws the path of a ship across the ocean on the board, he hums the charge theme.

Its going to be a good semester :)

Vampire Weekend: concert review

Vampire Weekend took a break from touring their adoring UK and made their way down to New Orleans for the second time in six months. Just a few blocks down from the Quarter, Mahalia Jackson Theater played host on Oct 9 to Vampire Weekend and their headlining band, Beach House.

As the audience screamed in anticipation at any soundman who made his way around the stage in the dark, Beach House got ready to take the stage. They made their entrance in the dark and settled. The lights barely went up, and the band began to play.

Complete with an edgy female singer, mystique was about the only thing they had going for them. Every now and then lead singer Victoria Legrand would waver her arm or flit her wrist, but nothing more.

Even though they had a clear, Coldplay-esque sound, every song sounded like the one before it and lasted a minute too long. About an hour later, they made their way off stage to the cheers of both loyal and polite fans.

After such lukewarm coffee house music, Vampire Weekend ignited the stage like a sparkler out of the dark.

After finding their way to their instruments in the dark, the lights hit hard and with DJ Khali on the loud speaker: “And their hands go up…” two thousand arms reached in the air, “and they stay there, and they stay there.” As we bobbed our arms back and forth in a sea of exhilaration, Vampire Weekend did the same, then cut the track and smashed right into “Holiday.” Everyone jumped right into the music with them, the band jumped around, the spotlights spinning across the crowd.

From the balcony where I sat, they were only good performers. It wasn’t until my mom coaxed me into sneaking to the front rows that I realized they were masters of their audience. They got our adrenaline pumping with a genuine energy. They laughed, talked, taught us responses to songs and dances they thought worked best with certain tracks.

Ezra Koeing’s vocals sounded clear and dead on through a constant grin. Drummer Chris Thomson rocked chilling improv solos, bouncing almost out of his chair as he beat his set. He nearly stole the show without saying a word. Watching him feel every note, every vibration in his wrist and recognizing that concerts still gave him an ultimate rush was almost enough entertainment in itself.

Next best to the band’s contagious energy was the light show. Personally, I haven’t been keen on strobe lights since seventh grade dance parties. But pair that with floating chandeliers that move and light up in sync with Tomson’s drums, blue and purple hues, and a single spotlight to illuminate the drummer against the dark, and you have one of the best shows on tour.

Perhaps it was that the entire band is an absolute foil to what makes a rockstar (which they all inevitably are.) While Koeing commented on the beautiful sea of humanity stretched out in front of him, Chris Baio played the upright bass with elegance, and Rostam Batmanglij shyly played Baroque keyboard progressions.

The band happily encored with three more songs, ending with “Walcott.” The song has a climactic and apocalyptic heir that made it a perfect ending for us fans who whose brain’s could only handle so much more euphoria. Before exiting, Koeing managed to promise above the screams that next time they came back they would bring us Gatorades and a new album. “Whatever it takes to keep you going.”

Cage the Elephant and Skrillex

Cage the Elephant’s new album “Thank You, Happy Birthday” is, at most, ambitious। The listening experience is like sifting for gold. While some of the tracks are dirt, if you dig hard enough you find some a couple of gems.

Rubber Ball is a perfect example. The rolling vocals and see saw guitar strums create a momentum the listener can actually feel. Matthew Schulz voice is gentle. Embedded against the sounds of a timidly shaken tambourine and dreamy xylophone, the whole song becomes something of a lullaby. Then, harmonizing with his vocals is the staticy voice of a female opera singer. She doesn’t sing any lyrics, just belts a rolling vibrato.

Where previous albums lacked the musical diversity necessary to call them a success, “Thank You, Happy Birthday” is so diverse it becomes scattered। There are too many concepts going on, which is ambitious, but a concept that probably should have been stretched across a few albums instead of compiled into one melting pot.

Dub Step may be a young genre of music, but that does not mean that it isn’t growing at a rapid rate among electronic listeners. Heading the race this scene is Skrillex, the artist who has reshaped and continues to dominate the industry all together. He is literally so far ahead of the genre that he alone is shaping what it consists of.

Even though other artists such as Bassnectar may have gotten started a good ten years ahead of him, nothing comes close to the powerful atmosphere that Skrillex creates with every song.

The genre (which he sits atop of) can only be described as raw, filthy, dirty and wet. When you listen a Dub Step song, you are waiting for what is called “the drop,” which usually occurs somewhere around a minute into any track. Skrillex has mastered the art of the drop. He understands what it takes to make a song build perfectly, and drops right at the peak of the adrenaline rush he creates for his listeners.

Even better, the pattern his music takes after the drop leaves you completely satisfied, stretching the natural high it creates through the rest of the song. There is not a sound, scratch, or note misplaced.

His best track is “Hey Sexy Lady.” The beats, screams and relentless pace are everything that makes Dub Step an out of body experience. The song is like an epinephrine shot to the heart; a surge of adrenaline you didn’t think your body was capable of.

Most importantly this music has to be listened to loudly. It is always a good listen, but when its turned up so loud that you can feel the bass vibrations, you think your bones might rattle out of your skin when the drop hits at 1:26.

Cinder Blocks and Audrey Hepburn

[Nat King Cole- j'ebose beaucou]

Clouseau: Now, this time *I'm* going to stand on *your* shoulders! 

Cato: What good will that do? 

Clouseau: Because I'm taller than you are, you fool! 

The first day back at school always feels so specific.

The feeling of moving back in, getting the dorm set up, knowing but denying that this is the cleanest it will be all semester. 

I've been here less than a day and already the feeling of college life is filling the 10x10 living space. 

~Sitting in the hallway on the phone, in hopes of privacy and reception, receiving very little of either.

~Having nothing to drink, and little to eat. Peanuts, peanut butter and wheat thins... all legit thirst inducers.

~An emergency trip to Walmart for ramen

~My roommate coming in from practice covered literally from head to toe in mud. I thought an African American had wandered mistakenly into my room, no lie. 

~Lukewarm showers (poor rommie :)

~Nat King Cole

I keep hearing little "ew!" and "gross!" 's from the shower. About a minute ago Jasmine called out in the most pitiful tone, "Collette... can you come wash my back?" 

Now that is true roommate love. But if I ever got into a mud fight with my cross country coach at six in the morning, she would do the same for me :) 

And thus begins a semester of uncertainty, independence, hope, lots of joy, and faith. 

Oh, and lots of resolutions. All of them about working out and grades and money conservation.

I need to hire Cato Fong, the Jacques Clouseau's asian sidekick that is always keeping him on his toes. Then again, there isn't much space for all that riff raff in my dorm room. I guess I will have to hold myself accountable without the asian assailant. 

And Jasmine emerges from the shower victorious! No longer African American, she is her beautiful Hawaiian self again :) 

And so the semester begins. There and Back Again, a student's tale by Collette Keith.