History as Fiction -- Elizabeth

           In our (admittedly limited) trek into Mumbo Jumbo so far, the primary conflict centers around the rapid spread of jes grew and various characters’ reactions to it. Although it seems to have a lot of parallels with the spread of jazz music and other African-American art forms throughout America, at the same time, it’s not really clear what, exactly, jes grew is. The imagery and descriptions of it in the narrative conjure up the feeling of a disease, and it’s called a “plague” outright several times. But it’s also described as an “anti-plague” -- and the only consistent symptoms being so overcome with jes grew that the infected population begins dancing uncontrollably.            There’s also one more essential quality of jes grew that makes it uniquely alarming to the white lawmakers such as the one we meet on the first page of the novel: it originated in black communities, and now has begun to spread rapidly to white...

            Perhaps paradoxically, one of the most constant aspects of Doctorow’s Ragtime is the persistent reminders that nothing really is constant. Instead, throughout the book there is the feeling that the world is rapidly changing on a large scale, and each character is simply swept up in the current, left to deal with it as best they can on their own.             The time period Doctorow chooses, the first few decades after the turn of the century, is a time of profound, and complicated, political, social, and economic change. There was increasing wealth and prosperity that followed growing industrialization, and yet still deep poverty and exploitation perpetrated by those same industrialists. The same racial exploitation that had always existed in America was experiencing a resurgence -- D.W. Griffith’s Birth of a Nation, a hugely influential film that played a large part in furthering white supremacy in the 20th cen...

Have you ever walked into a classroom and suddenly remembered how many other classes you’ve had in that same room, and how each time it was a slightly different version of you that existed? Like in room 218, today you’re a senior typing essays for Nonfiction Writing, but three years ago you were in here falling asleep during Mr. Butler’s slideshows, and a year before that, you were in world history. Each time you were different. Or maybe you’ll be in chorus and suddenly a song will take you back to the same risers but four years ago, and suddenly you’re engulfed in the unexplainable feeling of remembering the person you were the last time you sang the song. Everything around you is the same, but you aren't. I think it's because I'm a senior now, and it keeps getting more and more real that soon I'll be leaving Uni forever. I keep thinking about how Uni is (relatively) permanent, and all of us aren't. When I graduate, Uni will have been the static backdrop of...

                 I was glad not to take the PSAT yesterday, but I realized today that one thing I will miss about it is the memes. It’s a little sad to suddenly, after two years of being included, find yourself on the outside of such a massive inside joke. It makes me wonder if this is what it’s like to become an adult and watch the young whippersnappers’ pop culture get more and more unintelligible. It also made me think about memes more generally. When I was younger, I used to be one of those infuriatingly self-righteous people who refused to ever use internet slang and corrected people on their grammar at every opportunity. I thought internet memes were at best pointless and juvenile and, at worst, intellectually damaging. But today I have a different view.                  I think memes and, more generally, internet slang, have started to serve a really interesting cultural purpose. When tal...

            Once upon a time, on a pool deck not so far away, there lived a large spiky cricket who wished to live a long and happy life. Unfortunately for him, the chlorine-infused teenagers governing his fortune had other ideas. No sooner was he spotted hopping along the tiles when, with one fell swoop, his back leg was crushed by a black croc birkenstock sandal wielded by a shrieking member of the Uni swim team. Still, our valiant warrior persevered.  He continued his journey, slower since he was dragging half his body behind him, but never giving up -- even though the freedom of the outside air was at least fifty meters, four doors, and countless stomping feet away from him. As we watched his noble struggles, we argued about whether or not to put him out of his misery with another hit with the sandal. One brave chlorinated soul decided to take the responsibility upon herself, and hopped out of the pool to retrieve the poor six-legged adventurer. ...

               Last Friday was the Uni swim team's last day of practice at the Urbana Indoor Aquatic Center, and we were all incredibly happy about that because UIAC is an excruciatingly disgusting location to have practice at. The water is never a normal temperature, the items lurking at the bottom are not limited to items a pool should normally contain, and there’s a particular scent, indescribable but distinctively nauseating, that permeates the entire facility. Not only can you smell it every time you take a breath, you can almost feel it, too, seeping into your lungs and hair the entire time you’re in the water. The second you get out, it’s a race against time to get home and be able to wash off the crust -- of chlorine, that aforementioned mysterious smell, and other things it's best not to contemplate -- that has plastered itself onto you. You might be tempted to try and grab a shower in the pool locker room, but don’t: that’ll only make i...

               It was supposed to be. I’ve been screaming at myself to write some kind of a draft of that essay since August and until this Monday I had literally nothing. Making it into a blog post gave me a deadline, which is what I needed. Now I have 1200 words written in a Google doc, which, if you do the math, could be two complete iterations of the eventual essay. But really it’s still a mess: two introductions, both of which were richly, eloquently, and unnecessarily embroidered and thus 250 words long and had to be cut, and seven body paragraphs when only four could possibly fit in the real thing and none of them remotely make sense. There’s no hint of a conclusion yet. I keep hitting 650 words halfway through the story and without making any of the point I’m trying to get across.               This is the story I’m trying to tell. During the first shift I ever worked as a lifeguard, I failed three co...