Hey, so I forgot about the article posting with all of the missed classes, but I found a short one in the New York Times Magazine about someone dealing with swine flu in Mexico City.
Also I'm not sure if it's narrative, but there's this cool article, written in a series of tweets, by former New Yorker writer Dan Baum about getting laid off after seventeen years at the publication.
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/24/magazine/24lives-t.html?_r=1&ref=magazine
http://www.danbaum.com/Nine_Lives/New_Yorker_tweets.html
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
Transitions (Revised)
Standing across West Kalamazoo Ave. you stare down the vortex of brown-brick archways, you get the feeling that not everybody is here for the same reason as you. You see to the left, a group of young African-Americans, popping wheelies and skidding on bmx bikes in the bus station parking lot. They are here to pass the time. In the foreground is a nervous caucasion, a waist high pile of luggage to his right, and a camper’s backpack on his shoulders. With every passing minute he becomes more unsettled. He stands in front of a blue sign on a brick wall that reads: Kalamazoo Metro.
Approaching the waiting room, you notice the archways are decorated with old-time, roman-numeraled clocks that are associated with train stations. As each pair of opposing clocks passes by, time seems to slow, the clicking of bicycle wheels to the left slows and deepens, the couple playing patty-cake to your right do the same.
You pull on the door softly and its handicap assistance takes over, mechanizing your entry into the waiting room. Cackling laughter echoes from every surface, intermingling with the sounds of rolling suitcase wheels belonging to a couple of muscular travelers who are only using this room as a bridge from the train to the world outside. “This is a nice restaurant,” one muses to the other looking over the walls before exiting twenty-five paces after his entrance. The laughter echoes on, fading but not going anywhere.
Walking to the left past the ticket kiosks and rows of uncomfortably angled benches you here a young female voice whine, “Let’s go home!” She has become bored of this place. Continuing down the windowed hallway, past an overweight janitor and a skinny, young man in a track coat and a ball cap talking in friendly and familiar voices with each other. Those that don’t leave the station seem to all know each other. Curious you ask the skinny one; “Excuse me, where are you trying to get to?”
“I’m still looking for somewhere to go.” Comes the reply. Confused you approach the bathrooms.
To the left is the men’s, to the right the women’s. Turning to enter the restroom, you are greeted by a full-length mirror revealing to yourself the hardened expression and demeanor of a traveler. A complementing mirror behind you creates the illusion of yourself repeating into infinity. In the top left corner of this unsettling piece of glass is a sticker that informs you that, “For your safety, this area is monitored 24 hours a day by surveillance cameras.”
It was here on August 17, 2000, where a University of Michigan student of social work named Kevin Heisinger was found in a pool of his own blood. A scream from a 9-year-old boy who stumbled upon the scene alerted authorities of the crime committed by a schizophrenic who had forgotten his medication.
It was lack of surveillance and the unwillingness of adults within a close proximity to the incident that caused a stir in the community, and drove Amtrak and the city to begin working on the new walls and benches, archways and clocks. It was the fact that five individuals were within earshot of the murder when it was happening that pushed for this change. It was the two men who went into the bathroom, saw Heisinger, saw the blood and walked back out and across the street for coffee that put the sticker on the mirror. “For your safety.”
At the time of this murder, the train station was darker, less inviting, arch-less, with fewer busses, no electronic display of arrivals and departures, no surveillance except in the ticket kiosks. It was a relic, built in 1887, a part of the National Register for Historic Places since 1975, and the mixture of dilapidation and culture clash was a volatile one.
3.8 million federal tax dollars later the station is adorned with lights, electronics, cameras, archways, more buses, more land, more room for people to inhabit and other people to ignore. The government has polished the walls that enclose the problem.
The transitory and absent-minded culture of the train station waiting room made the station itself into a permanent resting place for this young man. Those who mistake the station for a restaurant in their mission to get back to their lives don’t have the time or patience to help somebody in need, this room is just a bridge, and its not their problem.
The people that are stuck there during the day, in between trains, or just looking for a warm, dry edifice don’t have the empathy to deal with a traveler in trouble. They too are stuck in the limbo of the transitory area. They know what happens when the destined and the lost intersect.
The only escape for the lost seems to be to challenge the train tracks by foot or bicycle as many do. As you sit with the between-train-ers and stare out the window, every few minutes the flash of a cyclist or a couple laughing carrying plastic bags, or a woman pushing a baby carriage, or even a pony-tailed man on a Vespa appear on the tracks. They have given up on being trapped; they follow the tracks in search of a destination. But will likely only find another vortex of time, another limbo.
And there too there will be people with money and bags, headphones and laptops, people that step through this place without a thought, they are more comfortable when they’re not there. Maybe they’ll stop to use some of their money to buy a sugary snack, containing just enough nutrients to get them to their next destination. If they all gave some of their snack money to a limbo dweller, they could maybe buy a ticket and go.
But the destined have no time and the others just sit and stare, playing on oversized, digital solitaire devices, avoiding the patrolling policemen, talking to their fellow limbo dwellers, passing the time. The time that means nothing to them and everything to the fleeting because they have no time to waste here. But many have too much time to leave.
Approaching the waiting room, you notice the archways are decorated with old-time, roman-numeraled clocks that are associated with train stations. As each pair of opposing clocks passes by, time seems to slow, the clicking of bicycle wheels to the left slows and deepens, the couple playing patty-cake to your right do the same.
You pull on the door softly and its handicap assistance takes over, mechanizing your entry into the waiting room. Cackling laughter echoes from every surface, intermingling with the sounds of rolling suitcase wheels belonging to a couple of muscular travelers who are only using this room as a bridge from the train to the world outside. “This is a nice restaurant,” one muses to the other looking over the walls before exiting twenty-five paces after his entrance. The laughter echoes on, fading but not going anywhere.
Walking to the left past the ticket kiosks and rows of uncomfortably angled benches you here a young female voice whine, “Let’s go home!” She has become bored of this place. Continuing down the windowed hallway, past an overweight janitor and a skinny, young man in a track coat and a ball cap talking in friendly and familiar voices with each other. Those that don’t leave the station seem to all know each other. Curious you ask the skinny one; “Excuse me, where are you trying to get to?”
“I’m still looking for somewhere to go.” Comes the reply. Confused you approach the bathrooms.
To the left is the men’s, to the right the women’s. Turning to enter the restroom, you are greeted by a full-length mirror revealing to yourself the hardened expression and demeanor of a traveler. A complementing mirror behind you creates the illusion of yourself repeating into infinity. In the top left corner of this unsettling piece of glass is a sticker that informs you that, “For your safety, this area is monitored 24 hours a day by surveillance cameras.”
It was here on August 17, 2000, where a University of Michigan student of social work named Kevin Heisinger was found in a pool of his own blood. A scream from a 9-year-old boy who stumbled upon the scene alerted authorities of the crime committed by a schizophrenic who had forgotten his medication.
It was lack of surveillance and the unwillingness of adults within a close proximity to the incident that caused a stir in the community, and drove Amtrak and the city to begin working on the new walls and benches, archways and clocks. It was the fact that five individuals were within earshot of the murder when it was happening that pushed for this change. It was the two men who went into the bathroom, saw Heisinger, saw the blood and walked back out and across the street for coffee that put the sticker on the mirror. “For your safety.”
At the time of this murder, the train station was darker, less inviting, arch-less, with fewer busses, no electronic display of arrivals and departures, no surveillance except in the ticket kiosks. It was a relic, built in 1887, a part of the National Register for Historic Places since 1975, and the mixture of dilapidation and culture clash was a volatile one.
3.8 million federal tax dollars later the station is adorned with lights, electronics, cameras, archways, more buses, more land, more room for people to inhabit and other people to ignore. The government has polished the walls that enclose the problem.
The transitory and absent-minded culture of the train station waiting room made the station itself into a permanent resting place for this young man. Those who mistake the station for a restaurant in their mission to get back to their lives don’t have the time or patience to help somebody in need, this room is just a bridge, and its not their problem.
The people that are stuck there during the day, in between trains, or just looking for a warm, dry edifice don’t have the empathy to deal with a traveler in trouble. They too are stuck in the limbo of the transitory area. They know what happens when the destined and the lost intersect.
The only escape for the lost seems to be to challenge the train tracks by foot or bicycle as many do. As you sit with the between-train-ers and stare out the window, every few minutes the flash of a cyclist or a couple laughing carrying plastic bags, or a woman pushing a baby carriage, or even a pony-tailed man on a Vespa appear on the tracks. They have given up on being trapped; they follow the tracks in search of a destination. But will likely only find another vortex of time, another limbo.
And there too there will be people with money and bags, headphones and laptops, people that step through this place without a thought, they are more comfortable when they’re not there. Maybe they’ll stop to use some of their money to buy a sugary snack, containing just enough nutrients to get them to their next destination. If they all gave some of their snack money to a limbo dweller, they could maybe buy a ticket and go.
But the destined have no time and the others just sit and stare, playing on oversized, digital solitaire devices, avoiding the patrolling policemen, talking to their fellow limbo dwellers, passing the time. The time that means nothing to them and everything to the fleeting because they have no time to waste here. But many have too much time to leave.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Week 7 Reading
I really liked the Road is Very Unfair, the story was inherently dramatic, and I liked that it explained a lot of the mindset behind why AIDS is so persistently spreading in Africa. It was a little long, but I feel like all of the imagery and issues addressed were necessary for the story arc and the message. He definitely needs to have himself in the story, as how the turnboys interact with him illustrate the culture he is describing. His quotes are really well placed and pertinent, the scenes were he is a complete outsider are very poignant like the one with the drunk Rwandan soldiers contemplating stabbing him. It just shows through how fascinated he is with these people and this place and how much he cares, but how helpless he is.
Access wasn't as good I don't think. It was in a similar area socially and economically, but reading somebody complain about bureaucracy isn't quite as interesting as pure survival. I had a hard time keeping my attention focused on this piece. Also it felt a lot less personal, there wasn't the sheer number of colorful characters that developed over the story. These were good stories to contrast though, with ethical dilemmas of writing about your subjects in difficult situations, and writing about a world you are relatively foreign to.
Telling True Stories was uninformative as usual. Maybe I'm just dense.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Final Feature
I would like to cover the Detroit Electronic Music Festival and what it is doing for the suffering town if anything. First of all the show is going to be ridiculous and full of action, and also Detroit is always a good frame to put things in. I'll be there for three days and I can talk to audience members and maybe even some of the smaller acts.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Responses
This was a good week from everybody as usual, I think in general we were all a little low on structured conflict (myself included).
Mary- I really liked this one, i think it could have gone in the Index this week, since it was strapped for articles. For people that frequent the joint, it was right on target, it completely displayed exactly what Munchie is all about: booze and cigarettes and munchie food, and people under the influence of booze, weed, cigarettes, and anger. I really like the workers versus patrons attitude even though it was sad that there was no infamous bat. The metal, the drunk asses you got to witness, the quotes are really good and well placed. I feel like the only downside would be for readers that are not familiar with the place, or have as an emotional tie with it as i do, they might not get it completely, but I don't know how you'd fix it.
Maureen- I'm glad you let me know that my neighbor is such a drag. Just kidding, the most interesting characteristic about her I thought was her intense agoraphobia. I think you could do more on just how a college campus alone could conflict with this issue of hers. Also more on Crystal ball would be good, you might want to give a little background in that regard, the guys in dresses are funny but for outsiders it might be a little confusing. You could also talk more about why she came here and the few people she has made friends with.
Camilo- This lady is really cool, it's weird finding out that people you see everyday have such a distinguish history. There's some gramatical issues, but it's pretty tight overall. If she has more conflicts you could throw in there it might spice it up a little. Like why is she a priest of all things, or stories from hospice, or her husband's death, her son worrying about her while abroad. You've got a lot of opportunities in there just don't be afraid to ask difficult questions.
Joseph- This is a really cool profile of a really cool dude and I'm sorry to hear you say that he has since fallen on rough times. I think the title is too close to the Frank Sinatra article but that is an easy change. I'm also not sure there's a place for you as a character in it, when you reveal your attitudes about the band and him, it starts sounding reviewy, plus you obviously have somewhat of a man-crush on this dude, so I think too much praise is a bad thing, let us figure it out for ourselves you know? The rock addictions are really cool, I think if you go back to those it might help unify this bitch a little.
Emily- Your intro is really good and descriptive, the descriptions of her speech patterns and gesticulations are well worded and picture painting. But all the description overshadows some of the action, which is a problem I had too, people are doing stuff, but you spend so much time describing it that you run out of space for actual movement you know? Cool lady though.
Lindsey- I like your language and word choice a lot and the quotes are pertinent and flowingly placed. I think it's a really good piece, only I think it's a really good review, or even a really good advertisement. You're writing chops are apparent, there's just no conflict. Maybe some of the bands are having trouble or more on the outdoor liquor fiasco?
Marni- This is a really accurate profile of exchange students. I just did a documentary film on a CHinese dude and he is overworking hardcore as well. I like Omari's quote and the bowing kicker quote, I think you could have done a little more with the culture clash, just a little more conflict I believe.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Transitions
You pull on the door softly and its handicap assistance takes over, mechanizing your entry into the waiting room. Speckled black and white tile flooring is cut short by determined, vertical grains of strong, dark brown wood walls, varnished to a mirror sheen. The wall paneling has launched a further offensive on the meek tile, scattering the room with benches of the same composition and color as the wall and ceiling, and with backs at an angle too acute for comfortable seating.
Laughter echoes from every surface, punctuated by stomps of the foot to accentuate the perceived hilarity. These noises come to a halt, replaced immediately by the sounds of rolling suitcase wheels belonging to a couple of muscular travelers who are only using this room as a bridge from the train to the world outside. “This is a nice restaurant,” one muses to the other.
All the varnished wood adornments shine with the yellowy light diffusing out from two bulbs under the Amtrak sign above the cast iron-barred ticket kiosk. These lights pleasantly overpower the overhead fluorescent inlays in the ceiling, but all light seems to avoid a large sign directing the way to the restrooms and concession counters. Entering the heavily windowed hallway under the aforementioned sign, you pass vending machines and water fountains. You peak into the colorful concession booth, embellished by bright labels of snack foods and energy drinks, containing only enough nourishment to get the traveler to his next stop. Then you come upon the restrooms.
To the left is the men’s, to the right the women’s. Turning to enter the restroom, you are greeted by a full-length mirror revealing to yourself the hardened expression and demeanor of a traveler. A complementing mirror behind you creates the illusion of yourself repeating into infinity. In the top left corner of this unsettling piece of glass is a sticker that informs you that, “For your safety, this area is monitored 24 hours a day by surveillance cameras.”
It was here on August 17, 2000, where a University of Michigan student of social work named Kevin Heisinger was found in a pool of his own blood. A scream from a 9-year-old boy who stumbled upon the scene alerted authorities of the grizzly occurrence.
It was lack of surveillance and the unwillingness of adults within a close proximity to the incident that caused a stir in the community, and drove Amtrak and the city to begin working on the new walls and benches, archways and clocks. It was the fact that five individuals were within earshot of the murder when it was happening that pushed for this change. It was the two men who went into the bathroom, saw Heisinger, saw the blood and walked back out and across the street for coffee that put the sticker on the mirror.
“I mean, just a simple scream for help might have stopped this individual’s death, And it’s sad that it took a child. And it was still too late,” commented Bea Raymond, chief of staff to Portage Senator Dale Shugars in an interview with the Kalamazoo Gazette.
The transitory and absent-minded culture of the train station waiting room made the room itself into a permanent resting place for this young man. Those who mistake the station for a restaurant in their mission to get back to their lives don’t have the time or patience to help somebody in need, this room is just a bridge, and its not their problem.
The people that are stuck there during the day, in between trains, or just looking for a warm, dry edifice don’t have the empathy or attention-span to deal with fellow lost souls. They too are stuck in the limbo of the transitory area. They sit and stare blankly, lacking direction and destiny, weaving between the walls and down hallways. One man in a tan jacket drags a four-pronged cane behind his apparently functioning legs. Even a cane is robbed of its purpose if it remains here too long.
The only escape seems to be to challenge the train tracks by foot or bicycle as many do. As you sit with the between-train-ers and stare out the window, every few minutes the flash of a cyclist or a couple laughing carrying plastic bags, or a woman pushing a baby carriage, or even a pony-tailed man on a Vespa appear on the tracks. They have given up on being trapped; they follow the tracks in search of a destination.
The sound of tinny pop music from a pink Dell laptop brings you back, “Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol baby!” This respite is cut short by an armed police officer telling the limbo-dwelling owner of the laptop that she needs to have headphones or turn it off. A woman’s voice replaces the contrived rhythms, “They’re closed, I can’t get a ticket! I’m stuck here ‘till tomorrow!” In contrast, a young girl in aviators squealing, “Let’s go home!” Some are never here, while some are here forever.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)