William Penn

It's a mid-Saturday afternoon with just about perfect weather (right around 80 degrees). Where am I? The library. I have assignments due and tasks to keep up. I'm doing my best to stay on top of these things¹, and because I will be gone all day Sunday, today is Library Day.

Not that I'm happy about it. These chairs are really uncomfortable. My back aches. Chinese students nearby don't understand the concept of “library voice.²” While I am here because I focus is much better than at home, I can't help but lift my eyes from the screen and look around. A blue book two stacks away catches my eye: The Political Writings of William Penn³. Most people wouldn't think anything of this, but I have a connection of sorts to Penn. You see, the Fitzwaters came over to America in 1682 with Penn on the ship Welcome. Check it out. These are my direct ancestors. That makes us one of America's oldest European families, which is pretty cool. I think about how remarkable it is that my family knew a man⁴ who is important enough even today that books about him or collections of his writings sit on library shelves. The dude has a state named after him. There's no John Idaho, y'know? And the people that bear my name knew him, traveled to the New World with him. The Fitzwaters had a servant they brought with them. That's some serious money talking there. The Fitzwaters were people of some distinction.

Go back further in my genealogy and you'll find Sir Robert Fitzwalter (not a misspelling), a man important enough to sign the freaking Magna Carta and was a leader of a baronial opposition against King John⁵. We don't mess around. In England, the Fitzwaters were nobility, a family with a coat of arms back when it meant something to have them.

328 years later, I'm sitting in Alden Library. What happened?

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1 I got sick twice in the first three weeks of the quarter, and that really set me back when combined with an unexpected lethargy. I worked hard to get back on pace. I didn't enjoy it.

2 Mandarin is perhaps the most irritating language to listen to that humans speak. I hate it. What's a guy gotta do for a little Cantonese?

3 Nearby: Firm Heart and Capacious Mind: The Life and Friends of Etienne Dumont. If nothing else, a catchy title.

4 Even if they didn't know Penn before the trip, which seems unlikely, they certainly made acquaintances at some point during the two-month trip.

5 I was voted “Most Likely to Start a Revolution” in high school. It's in my blood!

The Flow

The cold wind blows
and swirls past her cheek
while she stares down the road.
Hands in her pockets
and lips pursed,
she awaits her phantom carraige.
The gray wall above her
does not blink
and she does not acknowledge.
Her cheeks would be stained
if not for a lack of caring.
But in this city of blue lights,
where are her angels?

Investagatory Journalism

Back in the spring, my roommate's girlfriend told me a mutual acquaintance of ours said I am creepy.  Now, I'm not one for caring much what others say about me, but "creepy" is not something I deal with.  At the very least, I would like to know why said person finds me creepy.  Luckily, I had an an entire summer to stew over it.  I asked her about it last weekend.  She said she meant I'm creepy in a good way, which: What?  How in the world is that a good thing?  She further illustrated: "I find spiders creepy, but they're awesome."

Not too much more helpful.  It was a weird explanation that didn't make sense to me, and I figured she couldn't come up with a better lie immediately.  Not the best end to the story, but whatever.  I put it behind me.  Then, the other night, a friend told me the real reason she finds me creepy is because I'm "always having girls over."

Huh?

So many things here.

1. What are we, Puritans?  I'm in my mid-20's.  Is there something wrong with having guests of the opposite sex?  If so, I missed that notice.
2. The assumption that, when girls are here as my guest, we're doing anything remotely sexual is weird and, ironically, creepy.
3. You know how many women I've had over here in the last year?  Four.  Four.  If that somehow equates to "all the time," standards have been taken to an all-time low.  Steve and I brain conferenced, and in the two and a half years he's lived with me, we came up with seven females I have had here as my guest.  I just thought of another, so that's eight.  Eight.  In two and a half years.  Not only am I not having women over "all the time," the exact opposite is true.  Women are rarely darkening my doorstep.

I think that showed her!  Yeah, I totally came out on top!   

Smile and Salute

Woe to the happy tribes
upon whom we reflect.
Children on a poster,
adults herded in conference.
We sell their noble spirit
and celebrate the beautiful dead.

Organizing the Chaos of My Mind

Anybody who has had a 2-minute conversation with me knows my mind is a labyrinth of thought.  I struggle as much as anyone else to make sense of what's going on up there.  Things pop in and out without any real warning or purpose.  I also love writing in this blog, but I'm not always in the right time or place to write about what's on my mind.  Often, if I don't do it immediately, I'll forget.

At some point, I found that writing down what I later wanted to address here was a good way of putting my thoughts on layaway.  Problem is, I'm really bad at not getting back to things I put off for another time.  As a result, I have several Post-It notes with writing ideas scribbled on them.  A few have been crossed out because I actually did write on the topic, but for the most part, it's a growing list.  I feel like a hapless bureaucrat of myself, the inbox of work mounting with precious few making it to the outbox.