Welcome back to our wildly successful program, now updated with a new coat of spandex varnish and a fresh name: Caped Capers. If you would like to see our humble beginnings, click this: http://thenameisrebel.blogspot.com/2011/06/dear-hero.html.
But boy have we had a Hulk-esque growth spurt since then! What began as a simple advice column/website has now become a series of in-person interviews with your favorite heroes! Still incorporating your questions and comments, of course. Except now we even have a charismatic host, B. Wow, has this program become wild. And successful!
Take it away, B.
B: Thank you, squiggly narration. As you may have surmised, folks, we have a very special edition of Caped Capers for you today. We will be interviewing not one, not two, but ten high profile heroes today: the Avengers, fresh off their rollickingly well-received movie debut.
Colonel Nick Fury: THERE ARE SEVEN OF US.
B: Yeah, I can never keep track of you all. I figured I'd round to the nearest ten, just to be safe.
Captain America: Don't worry about "safe", sir. The job of people like us is to be daring, so that people like you can feel safe being daring.
Iron Man, aka Tony Stark: Don't listen to him, B. The kid's about as daring as a box of girl scouts. We played truth or dare last night, and he totally wimped out on my dare.
The Incredible Hulk: Tony told him to "whip out your stars and stripe, and rub them all over that decorative plate you carry around". He didn't do it.
America: My morals are my salvation, sir.
B: Yeah, I bet it was really hard to be morally unambiguous in the 1940s. Let's get to the questions. Narrator?
dear black widow,
are you too sexy for your shirt, too sexy for your shirt, so sexy it hurts?
-an admirer
Hawkeye: Yes.
Black Widow: No! The nerve. I wish I knew your name so I could Tae Kwon Do you. In, I mean. Do you in. God, that came out wrong.
Hawkeye: That's what she said.
Mighty Thor: In the Mighty Thor's realm, it is considered the pinnacle of sensuality to remain vested in thine garments! Some say, it leaveth much to the imagination!
Hulk: I can't believe this. Here we are, a room full of some of the most popular celebrities and brilliant scientists in the world, one of us an actual outer space alien/god, and the very first question from our audience is a misogynistic heckle at the only female member of the group? Come on, people. There are much more thought-provoking questions you could ask about the gender dynamics of being a woman in a group traditionally dominated by stereotypically masculine men.
B: Gets you kinda angry, doesn't it?
Hulk: Don't make fun.
B: I was being serious. The treatment of women in your group is disgraceful, especially a high profile squad such as yourselves. It's embarrassing, really, compared to other superheroes. It's widely known that Batman is a practicing feminist. And if it's not widely known, it should be.
Iron Man: Hey, I'm a feminist. I love women. I can't think of a single reason a woman shouldn't pilot this suit. So long as I'm in the suit with her.
Fury: WOMEN HAVE ALWAYS BEEN AND WILL CONTINUE TO BE AN INTEGRAL COMPONENT OF THE SHIELD TASK FORCE.
America: Hey Tony, what's a feminist? Is it one of those men you told me about? The ones who want to be ladies?
Tony Stark: No kid, those are transsexuals.
Mighty Thor: The Mighty Thor supposes there was once a woman in his Asgardian retinue! However, the Mighty Thor could be wrong. The Mighty Thor doesn't remember his first movie very well ever since the Mighty Thor sustained that concussion at the bowling alley.
Hulk: Sorry, bud. I guess the Other Guy thought the only way he could pick up the split was to throw something bigger than a bowling ball.
B: Alright, let's move on to some more questions.
Dear All,
Is it easy for some of you to feel overshadowed? A few of you have really big personalities (and one of you has an even bigger body!). How do the more popular folks go about including those heroes who aren't so much of a household name, as well as those who don't belong to the Master Race?
Sincerely,
Egalitarian Aryan
B: I'm gonna go ahead and direct this question to Doctor Hank Pym, aka Ant-Man. We haven't heard much from him, yet.
America: Um, sir--Ant-Man is not part of our company.
B: What?
Mighty Thor: He is not of our number!
B: Say again?
Widow: He couldn't come.
Hawkeye: That's what she said.
Widow: Demi-goddamit!
Mighty Thor: Ha ha ha ha!
B: Seriously though, Ant-Man isn't here?
Iron Stark: Why would he be here? We don't cavort with jabronies. Except for Blackeye and Spider Hawk over there, who we mainly keep around because they are incredibly good-looking. We need to balance out the aesthetics after the recent ulk-Hay actor-ay itch-sway.
Hulk: What did he say? I knew I should have taken the Pig supplement to my Latin curriculum.
America: Latin! I know that reference! And I can assure you that justice isn't a dead language!
Hulk: Can we back up a minute, here? Is there some reason we're ignoring the blatant racist overtones of that last fan message? The "Master Race"? As an occasional man of color, I am offended. Anyone else?
Tony Man: Nope.
Hawkeye: No.
Widow: Nuh-uh.
Mighty Thor: Nay!
America: Hey Tony, does this have to do with that Civil Rights Movement thing you were telling me about?
Tony: No, that was the transsexuals.
Hulk: Come on! Guys! This is really offensive! Colonel Fury, surely as a black man you can see where I'm coming from.
Fury: I CAN'T SAY AS I DO, DOCTOR. AS A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL, I'M NOT ALLOWED TO SEE COLOR. ALSO, I WAS BORN COLORBLIND IN MY RIGHT EYE. WHEN I BECAME A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL, THEY POKED OUT MY LEFT EYE, SO THAT I COULD BE BETTER AT NOT SEEING COLOR.
B: Why do you keep talking in all caps?
Fury: BECAUSE I'M ALWAYS YELLING. AIN'T YOU SEEN MY MOVIES?
B: No. Wait, yes. You played that other blind guy in The Book of Eli, right?
Fury: OKAY NOW I'M OFFENDED.
B: Hold up. So why isn't Ant-Man here? He's a founding member of the Avengers. I mean, he was in the movie, wasn't he?
Hulk: Did you even see the movie?
Fury: YEAH AIN'T YOU SEEN MY MOVIE?
B: Of course I did! Sort of. I watched all the trailers at least once.
Iron: Well done, Bumble B, you are both a gentlehost and a scowler. Speaking of, did you not perhaps begin wondering why Ant-Man wasn't present when, oh, I don't know, you looked around the room and saw that Ant-Man wasn't present?
B: Well, no. Isn't he supposed to be really tiny or something? Like an ant? I'm not gonna lie, I hardly did any research going into this thing. But I did watch my feet closely when I walked in here, to make sure I wasn't going to step on him.
Stark: Sheer compassion. It's so rare these days. I applaud you with my explosive metal hands.
B: Thank you. Alright, folks, it's time to go to break. Tune in next session, same Bat-time, same Bat-channel!
Hulk: What?
B: Nothing.
We will return with Part 2 of Caped Capers: Avengers Edition after a message from our sponsors: Disney, and... mainly just Disney actually.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Monday, May 7, 2012
Disinspirational Quotations - Part 2
Good day, Bi-co (no no, don't get up, non-bi-co-folk--you're welcome here too). We're well into finals period, and some of you have started your assignments already. The stress must be getting to you. So sit back, relax, and let me put a wallop in your waddle. These are some inspirational quotations from my weekly planner that I may have modified a bit.
Hey go look at Part 1 if you missed it: http://thenameisrebel.blogspot.com/2012/04/disinspirational-quotations-part-1.html
"The wise speak only of what they know."
-J. R. R. Tolkien
Hey go look at Part 1 if you missed it: http://thenameisrebel.blogspot.com/2012/04/disinspirational-quotations-part-1.html
"Our greatest natural resource is the minds of our children."
-Walt Disney
-Walt Disney
"You cannot conceive the many without the one."
-Plato
"I havenot failed . I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work."
-Thomas Alva Edison
-Plato
"I have
-Thomas Alva Edison
"Believe in something larger than your self to get involved in some of the big ideas of your time."
-Barbara Bush
"Honesty is the first chapter in the boo k of wisdom."
-Thomas Jefferson
-Thomas Jefferson
"To accomplish great things, we must not only act, but also dream ; not only plan, but also be lie ve." -Anatole France
"In the end, it's not the y ears in your life that count. It's the life in your y ears."
-Abraham Lincoln
-Abraham Lincoln
"
-J. R. R. Tolkien
"It is amazing how much people can get done if they do not worry about who gets the cred it."
-Sandra Swinney
-Sandra Swinney
"Happiness is not a state to arrive at, but a man ner of t rave ling."
-Margaret Lee Runbeck
-Margaret Lee Runbeck
"We ll done is better than we ll said."
-Benjamin Franklin
-Benjamin Franklin
"What counts is not necessarily the size of the dog in the fight; it's the size of the fight in the dog."
-Dwight D. Eisenhower.
-Dwight D. Eisenhower.
"A wise man will make more op port unities than he finds."
-Sir Francis Bacon
-Sir Francis Bacon
"It's kind of fun to do the imp ossible."
-Walt Disney
-Walt Disney
"Obstacles are those frightful things you see when you take your eyes off your goal."
-Henry Ford
-Henry Ford
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Cinco de Mayo
I decided to participate in the proud tradition of Cinco de Mayo this year by asking one of my freshmen, our very own Angélica Ortiz, to prepare one of her family recipes for my dinner at the DC: a mayonnaise sandwich.
Happy Cinco de Mayo, everybody!
Monday, April 30, 2012
Disinspirational Quotations - Part 1
Finals period is here for you Bi-co folk. I figured you might need a skip in your step, a whip in your walk, a bundle in your trundle. So. My 2011-2012 Academic Weekly Planner contains one inspirational quotation for every week. Here, I will share the best of them with you, the crop of the cream. Full disclaimer: I have modified them a bit.
Look forward to Part 2 in a week or so, for another inspirational goat in your gait!
"Equality is the soul of liberty ; there is , in fact, no liberty without it."
-Frances Wright
-Frances Wright
"There is nothing in a cat erpillar that tells you it's going to be a butter fly."
-R. Buckminster Fuller
-R. Buckminster Fuller
"When people talk, listen completely. Most people never listen."
-Ernest Hemingway
-Ernest Hemingway
"Wishing to be friends is quick work , but friendship is a slow ripening fruit."
-Aristotle
-Aristotle
"Men are like steel. When they lose their temper, they lose their worth."
-Chuck Norris
-Chuck Norris
"Recommend to your children virtue; that alone can make them happy, not gold."
-Ludwig van Beethoven
-Ludwig van Beethoven
"A man who dares to waste one hour of time has not discovered the value of life."
-Charles Darwin
-Charles Darwin
"The future is something which everyone reaches at the rate of 60 minutes an hour, whatever he does, whoever he is."
-C. S. Lewis
-C. S. Lewis
"Education is a better safeguard of liberty than a standing army."
-Edward Everett
-Edward Everett
"A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself."
-Josh Billings
-Josh Billings
"Sometimes, if you aren't sure about something, you have to just jump off the bridge and grow your wings on the way down."
-Danielle Steel
-Danielle Steel
"Carry out a random act of kindness, with no expectation of reward, safe in the knowledge that one day someone might do the same for you."
-Princess Diana
-Princess Diana
"Really great people make you feel that you, too, can be come great."
-Mark Twain
-Mark Twain
"Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You."
-Dr. Seuss
-Dr. Seuss
"Never give up , for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn."
-Harriet Beecher Stowe
If you haven't, go check out Part the Second: http://thenameisrebel.blogspot.com/2012/05/disinspirational-quotations-part-2.html
-Harriet Beecher Stowe
If you haven't, go check out Part the Second: http://thenameisrebel.blogspot.com/2012/05/disinspirational-quotations-part-2.html
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Maura Sans
Someday they will teach video games in college. Someday a young boy or girl will be complaining about their assignment for their "Introduction to the Action/Adventure Genre in Video Games" assignment. Let us call them Maura Sans.
"Can you believe this?" she'll say. "We're supposed to play through all of Metroid by Monday! You ever played Metroid? You know how convoluted that game is? So outdated." Maura Sans will rely liberally on the equivalent of Sparknotes (a refined version of the gaming cheat guides of today, adding discussions on thematic elements and provocative questions to the detailed walkthrough) so that she can finish her assignment on Sunday night.
The class discussion will be contentious.
Professor: "How many of you actually played through the entire game without any cheat guides? That's the only way to play it, after all. You have to get lost in the environments, struggle with the puzzles, and persevere through an excessive number of deaths to get the full Metroid experience."
Maura Sans: "I understand that Metroid was important in its day, and that it laid the foundation for modern gaming in many crucial respects, but it seems to me that it has outlived its relevancy in our classrooms. After all, there's a reason people don't play the original Metroid anymore."
Professor: "There is also a reason it's a classic, and a fixture in any respectable Action/Adventure Gaming curriculum. Are you arguing against the importance of studying the inception of an eminently influential genre of gaming?"
Maura Sans: "No, I'm arguing for the incipience of the way the genre used to be. You can't just expect me to ignore half a century of technological and developmental improvements."
Professor: "It's narrow-sighted to believe that we have learned all there is to learn from the origins of gaming. Of course a game that came out this year will be more accessible, and Modernism is important, but there is something majestic about the sense of discovery and mystery found in Metroid that can be extrapolated to the whole of Gaming as a medium. The developers of Metroid were embarking in uncharted territory, staking their claims on a virtual world that was exploding with boundless possibilities and potentialities. These were true pioneers, and we have much to gain from analyzing the newborn world in which they played."
Maura Sans will have no verbal response to this argument. She'll suppose she can concede to aspects of her professor's argument, but she just isn't cut out to restrict herself to that 8-bit nonsense. After class she returns to her dorm, gathers a group of friends, and fires up her copy of Call of Duty 17: Nuclear Bamboozle. She'll glance at her ergonomic, motion-enhanced controller and she'll giggle at the thought of the ridiculously blocky, scantily-embuttoned NES controller. "It's no wonder gaming used to be a joke," she'll muse.
"Can you believe this?" she'll say. "We're supposed to play through all of Metroid by Monday! You ever played Metroid? You know how convoluted that game is? So outdated." Maura Sans will rely liberally on the equivalent of Sparknotes (a refined version of the gaming cheat guides of today, adding discussions on thematic elements and provocative questions to the detailed walkthrough) so that she can finish her assignment on Sunday night.
The class discussion will be contentious.
Professor: "How many of you actually played through the entire game without any cheat guides? That's the only way to play it, after all. You have to get lost in the environments, struggle with the puzzles, and persevere through an excessive number of deaths to get the full Metroid experience."
Maura Sans: "I understand that Metroid was important in its day, and that it laid the foundation for modern gaming in many crucial respects, but it seems to me that it has outlived its relevancy in our classrooms. After all, there's a reason people don't play the original Metroid anymore."
Professor: "There is also a reason it's a classic, and a fixture in any respectable Action/Adventure Gaming curriculum. Are you arguing against the importance of studying the inception of an eminently influential genre of gaming?"
Maura Sans: "No, I'm arguing for the incipience of the way the genre used to be. You can't just expect me to ignore half a century of technological and developmental improvements."
Professor: "It's narrow-sighted to believe that we have learned all there is to learn from the origins of gaming. Of course a game that came out this year will be more accessible, and Modernism is important, but there is something majestic about the sense of discovery and mystery found in Metroid that can be extrapolated to the whole of Gaming as a medium. The developers of Metroid were embarking in uncharted territory, staking their claims on a virtual world that was exploding with boundless possibilities and potentialities. These were true pioneers, and we have much to gain from analyzing the newborn world in which they played."
Maura Sans will have no verbal response to this argument. She'll suppose she can concede to aspects of her professor's argument, but she just isn't cut out to restrict herself to that 8-bit nonsense. After class she returns to her dorm, gathers a group of friends, and fires up her copy of Call of Duty 17: Nuclear Bamboozle. She'll glance at her ergonomic, motion-enhanced controller and she'll giggle at the thought of the ridiculously blocky, scantily-embuttoned NES controller. "It's no wonder gaming used to be a joke," she'll muse.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Bang: It's Your Birthday
A brief, shameless plug:
Next Friday, Saturday, and Sunday (April 6, 7, 8) as well as the following Thursday, Friday, Saturday (12, 13, 14), I will be in a play. It is called Bang! and it's going to be a hilarious romp.
The play is about the oppression, suppression, and repression of office life. I won't say any more, because it's best to experience the play the way we did--not knowing what the hell was going to happen. See, the play is improv-based clowning work. Clowning is a legitimate field of acting in which you find your character in the way you hold your body. Improv means that we've cobbled the play together from the creative output of the cast members and the director over the course of the past month or two. Super interesting and super fun.
All you Bi-co folks who can spare some time (that's pretty much everyone--it's only like 45 minutes long) should come check it out. Tickets are FREE. To reserve them you go here:
https://brynmawr.wufoo.com/forms/theater-reservations/
Hmm. That plugging was only a little shameful. I hate advertising myself. So I'll just talk about myself instead!
Last Saturday was my birthday. Yay hooray whatever. It was a pretty good day, during which I received many humorous objects. This is their story.
Let's start off with the food.
That concludes our food section! Now let's see where (some of) it came from:
Next Friday, Saturday, and Sunday (April 6, 7, 8) as well as the following Thursday, Friday, Saturday (12, 13, 14), I will be in a play. It is called Bang! and it's going to be a hilarious romp.
The play is about the oppression, suppression, and repression of office life. I won't say any more, because it's best to experience the play the way we did--not knowing what the hell was going to happen. See, the play is improv-based clowning work. Clowning is a legitimate field of acting in which you find your character in the way you hold your body. Improv means that we've cobbled the play together from the creative output of the cast members and the director over the course of the past month or two. Super interesting and super fun.
All you Bi-co folks who can spare some time (that's pretty much everyone--it's only like 45 minutes long) should come check it out. Tickets are FREE. To reserve them you go here:
https://brynmawr.wufoo.com/forms/theater-reservations/
Hmm. That plugging was only a little shameful. I hate advertising myself. So I'll just talk about myself instead!
Last Saturday was my birthday. Yay hooray whatever. It was a pretty good day, during which I received many humorous objects. This is their story.
 |
| Gotta start with the cake! It didn't always look this way. |
 |
| Mangled tastes good though. |
 |
| So much candy. Where did it come from? Stay tuned to find out. |
 |
| I had to sleep. So the candy went on the floor. Rather, on Risk, on the floor. |
 |
| Birthday cake Oreos. How novel! In case you're wondering, they taste like birthday cake. |
 |
| I discovered this in my drawer the day after my birthday. |
 |
| THE BEST. |
 |
| Kool-Aid Jammers. Can't go wrong. |
 |
| I arranged this myself. Ham, pepperoni, bacon, milk, and a delightful cheesecake cupcake. Where did the meat come from? Stay tuned to find out... |
 |
| The perfect midnight snack. |
 |
| Oops. That doesn't belong here... |
That concludes our food section! Now let's see where (some of) it came from:
 |
| That's right. I got the best pinata ever. Incidentally, this is where the candy and meat came from. |
 |
| Pony likes it in there. It's dark and warm and heroic. |
 |
| It was a Spider-Man birthday. |
 |
| Look at how cool I am. |
 |
| No really guys look at how cool I am. |
 |
| Seriously just look, just look at how cool I am. |
 |
| Shameless. Disclaimer: The above poster image has nothing to do with the content of our show. Thank goodness. |
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Silent Storm
It's dark. The bus is half an hour late. I'm cold; I dwell on my poor choice of jackets. Always go heavy--you can just take it off if you get too hot.
I usually take the afternoon Megabus home for breaks. That means at least half of my trip takes place in some semblance of daylight. This time, however, I've got the evening bus. I thought that I was going to have class until 4:00 PM this day. I didn't. It was cancelled.
The Philadelphia Megabus "station" is clogged as usual. This is partly because it isn't a "station" so much as a "street corner", and isn't "Megabus" so much as "like five different brands of buses". Who rides the Bolt Bus anyway?
I keep getting faked out by double-decker Megabuses. Perhaps it's wishful thinking, but even when a Megabus displaying the digital letters "TO NEW YORK" shows up, I hope that maybe, just maybe, they'll change the sign: "TO PITTSBURGH, VIA HARRISBURG". Those are the magic words.
I am weary of this line of people. Motionless lines are soul-crushing. Finally, I see my salvation approaching. A big blue double-decker ambles to the bend between the street and the curb. The curb is where the hulking buses perch to expel or ingest their squirmy, impatient gu(es)ts. I squint and match up the bus number to the number on my ticket: M29. The number 29 has never looked so beautiful (it really is quite an ugly number).
But it stops at the corner. It can't pull up to the curb because a pair of inferior single-decker buses are blocking its triumphant entrance. I glare daggers at the cold metal beasts until they grow wise and depart.
Blessed kinetic energy flows into the stagnant line. It lurches forward, and I make my way toward the ticket-checker and the baggage-chucker. "Pittsburgh," I inform him, so that my purple suitcase does not get dumped unceremoniously at the Harrisburg stop. "Thanks," I say, although it surely doesn't register.
I immediately climb to the second floor of the bus. Ever since the Philly/Pittsburgh Megabus line started using double-deckers, I haven't sat at the bottom once. It just feels more special to sit on top.
I manage to get one of the few remaining window seats. Everyone huddles against the windows as if to affirm their claim on their new territory, their comfort with being alone, and their resigned reluctance to allow the late-entering passengers to claim the aisle seats next to them. Every Megabus passenger's dream is to seem like an unattractive enough travelling partner that they get a whole two seats to themselves. This time, however, the bus is packed to capacity.
Soon after I claim my seat, a girl claims the one next to me. Bus protocol dictates that I do not look at her directly, unless I am willing to take on the role of the friendly, chatty, socially-at-ease passenger. I cannot take that role, particularly because it is a difficult role for men to subsume properly. It's so easy for the friendly chatty man to come off as the creepy flirty man, and that's the last impression I would want to make on a seven hour bus ride.
Instead, I get a vague image of her through my peripheral vision as the bus rumbles to life. Granted, that could probably be construed as creepier than simply starting a conversation, but when you think about it, it's much more common. I only pick up a few details before my attention is diverted elsewhere: she is college age, she is reading an unfamiliar novel, she has face jewelry.
I like to watch the city go past during the first part of my Megabus rides. Especially because the vast majority of the trip consists of -tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree lake tree tree tree tree tree tree hill sign tree-
I look down at the car below me in the next lane. I have a God's eye view through the rear windshield. A book is sitting on the shelf behind the back seat. It is called: I Can Finish College. The car has New York license plates.
I had planned to get a lot of reading done on this bus ride. The best laid plans... Generally Megabuses have some sort of overhead light source, one two-light fixture for each pair of seats. These are off by default. Mine were off by malfunction. For some reason, most of the little lights on the bus would not turn on to a state of full illumination. Instead, they were stuck in a green-tinted limbo. Apparently, instead of being on or off, this bus's lights were only capable of emitting a dull greenish glow. This was barely bright enough to read by, but the sickly lighting and constant squinting grew wearisome fast.
At the Harrisburg stop, neither myself nor my traveling partner move from our seats. A few of the passengers disembark, and the bus refills with new ones. Just before the bus departs again, a thirty-something black woman and her four- or five-year-old child climb to the second level. The boy points to the empty seat across the aisle from me, next to a college-age boy. "There's a seat here Mom," but she hushes him and ushers him further back. A few moments later, they return to that seat, apparently finding no other prospects. "Here, sit on my lap," she says, almost as a reprimand. The college-age guy remains purposefully oblivious to his new travelling companions, his earbuds firmly attached to his laptop. The boy situates himself on his mother's lap, and I am struck by how uncomfortable the situation feels.
After a time, the boy falls asleep draped over his mother. I listen to The Killers for the first time in a while. I find a Killers song I've never really heard before on my ipod. I have no idea how it got there, but I'm not complaining. I've been listening to The Killers for years, and it's undeniably refreshing to unexpectedly encounter brand new material in well-worn territory. I enjoy the song, and the rest of The Killers that I listen to. I understand their lyrics better on this bus ride than I ever have before.
I'm listening to music and staring absently out the window when I see the first flash. I'm not really sure that I actually saw it at first, so I focus my attention on the dark, amorphous landscape. Another flash lights up the sky and strikes the landscape into stark clarity. I look at the front window and see droplets on the windshield. I hadn't even known it was raining. I pause my music to listen. Despite the rain, and despite the flash, I hear nothing. No patter, no distant rumbling. A silent storm.
We pass through a tunnel. The strobe-like alternating light and dark sections are startling. As soon as we exit the tunnel, however, I am more startled to find that I can hear the rain now. It sounds like it should. And then, a massive flash illuminates the world, followed by a distinct blast of thunder. I watch the strengthened storm for a few minutes, until it dies down once again. Silent flashes, silent raindrops fade to darkness.
I am starving by the time we reach the rest stop. A grievous lack of foresight allowed me to set off on this journey without eating dinner first. It's after ten o'clock by the time I have another chance. I order an original chicken sandwich meal from Burger King. I get the Medium by accident. I really didn't need a drink that big; why did I say "medium"?
I have exactly enough time to finish my sandwich and most of my fries, as well as stop briefly in the restroom, before the Megabus departs again. This is the final leg of my journey, usually the part where I get the most antsy, but I am calm this time around. Maybe I'm getting used to the trip, just like the way my hour-long weekend drives home from Kiski and back took forever at first, but breezed by like an afterthought by the time I was a Senior.
A conversation wafts up to me from the back of the bus. It is one of the few conversations going on. "I'm a huge Penguins fan, no doubt. If yer a Flyers fan, this conversation hasta end right now. Cause I hate the Flyers, I'm tellin ya right now. I got a Marc-André Fleury signed jersey, I got a piece of a stick used by Kris Letang. I got a shirt right off the back a Sidney Crosby!" The conversant continues his rant, in an entirely apparent Pittsburgh dialect.
I try to read a bit, then listen to music. I shift from The Killers to Sufjan Stevens' Age of Adz album. I was in the mood for this album in particular. Every time I listen to it, I think of Minecraft. My obsession with both of these took hold of me at approximately the same time, so I played/listened to them in conjunction a lot. As far as I'm concerned, the great hill under which I mine and make my home in Minecraft is one and the same with "Vesuvius".
I have been dozing throughout the trip. The past four nights I'd gotten five, five, three, and six hours of sleep, respectively. I'd been scrambling to get everything in order this past week, in a way that I hadn't needed to for most of the semester. So I slept on the bus, on and off. Sometimes the only way to tell that I had fallen asleep was to check my ipod, and realize that I had absolutely no recollection of listening to the past several songs on my queue.
But at some point, I just stop listening to music. I see that the girl next to me is reading the book again. I glance sidelong at the book, trying to figure out what it is. There is some strange textual structuring on one of the pages. She flips it before I can see more. The book is almost certainly a novel. I can't see the title until she sets the book down to respond to a text. It is called exit here. I don't know anything about it, but the cover has an interesting design. I want to ask her about the book, I want her to tell me why she's reading it, and whether it's good or not, and what she likes or dislikes about it. I'm tired of taking trip after trip like this, spending seven hours sitting next to another human being who has interests about which I know nothing, and yet never, not once, dipping a tentative toe into the pool that is their life.
I don't ask her. What if she turned out to be boring? What if my question freaked her out? I know that these are ridiculous, and nothing more than half-assed excuses for letting myself return to the Age of Adz, but the bus is absolutely silent in this moment, and what would it mean to break the silence now, at the end of the journey?
Pittsburgh greets us with open arms in the form of sprawling, all-embracing bridges. I text my dad to let him know we're getting close. He's waiting for my return at an Eat N Park somewhere.
We arrive at the Pittsburgh station (which is slightly more of a station than the Philadelphia station) and pour out of our metallic container. I push through the crowd around the luggage area when I see the purple flash of my suitcase being unloaded. I quickly extricate myself from the milling mob to get some breathing room and look for a place to wait. I'm wondering how long it will take for my dad to arrive, when I see his bright red jacket from a distance. I'm pleased that I don't have to wait after all.
The next day, I look up the book exit here online. It seems okay. I'll probably never read it.
I usually take the afternoon Megabus home for breaks. That means at least half of my trip takes place in some semblance of daylight. This time, however, I've got the evening bus. I thought that I was going to have class until 4:00 PM this day. I didn't. It was cancelled.
The Philadelphia Megabus "station" is clogged as usual. This is partly because it isn't a "station" so much as a "street corner", and isn't "Megabus" so much as "like five different brands of buses". Who rides the Bolt Bus anyway?
I keep getting faked out by double-decker Megabuses. Perhaps it's wishful thinking, but even when a Megabus displaying the digital letters "TO NEW YORK" shows up, I hope that maybe, just maybe, they'll change the sign: "TO PITTSBURGH, VIA HARRISBURG". Those are the magic words.
I am weary of this line of people. Motionless lines are soul-crushing. Finally, I see my salvation approaching. A big blue double-decker ambles to the bend between the street and the curb. The curb is where the hulking buses perch to expel or ingest their squirmy, impatient gu(es)ts. I squint and match up the bus number to the number on my ticket: M29. The number 29 has never looked so beautiful (it really is quite an ugly number).
But it stops at the corner. It can't pull up to the curb because a pair of inferior single-decker buses are blocking its triumphant entrance. I glare daggers at the cold metal beasts until they grow wise and depart.
Blessed kinetic energy flows into the stagnant line. It lurches forward, and I make my way toward the ticket-checker and the baggage-chucker. "Pittsburgh," I inform him, so that my purple suitcase does not get dumped unceremoniously at the Harrisburg stop. "Thanks," I say, although it surely doesn't register.
I immediately climb to the second floor of the bus. Ever since the Philly/Pittsburgh Megabus line started using double-deckers, I haven't sat at the bottom once. It just feels more special to sit on top.
I manage to get one of the few remaining window seats. Everyone huddles against the windows as if to affirm their claim on their new territory, their comfort with being alone, and their resigned reluctance to allow the late-entering passengers to claim the aisle seats next to them. Every Megabus passenger's dream is to seem like an unattractive enough travelling partner that they get a whole two seats to themselves. This time, however, the bus is packed to capacity.
Soon after I claim my seat, a girl claims the one next to me. Bus protocol dictates that I do not look at her directly, unless I am willing to take on the role of the friendly, chatty, socially-at-ease passenger. I cannot take that role, particularly because it is a difficult role for men to subsume properly. It's so easy for the friendly chatty man to come off as the creepy flirty man, and that's the last impression I would want to make on a seven hour bus ride.
Instead, I get a vague image of her through my peripheral vision as the bus rumbles to life. Granted, that could probably be construed as creepier than simply starting a conversation, but when you think about it, it's much more common. I only pick up a few details before my attention is diverted elsewhere: she is college age, she is reading an unfamiliar novel, she has face jewelry.
I like to watch the city go past during the first part of my Megabus rides. Especially because the vast majority of the trip consists of -tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree lake tree tree tree tree tree tree hill sign tree-
I look down at the car below me in the next lane. I have a God's eye view through the rear windshield. A book is sitting on the shelf behind the back seat. It is called: I Can Finish College. The car has New York license plates.
I had planned to get a lot of reading done on this bus ride. The best laid plans... Generally Megabuses have some sort of overhead light source, one two-light fixture for each pair of seats. These are off by default. Mine were off by malfunction. For some reason, most of the little lights on the bus would not turn on to a state of full illumination. Instead, they were stuck in a green-tinted limbo. Apparently, instead of being on or off, this bus's lights were only capable of emitting a dull greenish glow. This was barely bright enough to read by, but the sickly lighting and constant squinting grew wearisome fast.
At the Harrisburg stop, neither myself nor my traveling partner move from our seats. A few of the passengers disembark, and the bus refills with new ones. Just before the bus departs again, a thirty-something black woman and her four- or five-year-old child climb to the second level. The boy points to the empty seat across the aisle from me, next to a college-age boy. "There's a seat here Mom," but she hushes him and ushers him further back. A few moments later, they return to that seat, apparently finding no other prospects. "Here, sit on my lap," she says, almost as a reprimand. The college-age guy remains purposefully oblivious to his new travelling companions, his earbuds firmly attached to his laptop. The boy situates himself on his mother's lap, and I am struck by how uncomfortable the situation feels.
After a time, the boy falls asleep draped over his mother. I listen to The Killers for the first time in a while. I find a Killers song I've never really heard before on my ipod. I have no idea how it got there, but I'm not complaining. I've been listening to The Killers for years, and it's undeniably refreshing to unexpectedly encounter brand new material in well-worn territory. I enjoy the song, and the rest of The Killers that I listen to. I understand their lyrics better on this bus ride than I ever have before.
I'm listening to music and staring absently out the window when I see the first flash. I'm not really sure that I actually saw it at first, so I focus my attention on the dark, amorphous landscape. Another flash lights up the sky and strikes the landscape into stark clarity. I look at the front window and see droplets on the windshield. I hadn't even known it was raining. I pause my music to listen. Despite the rain, and despite the flash, I hear nothing. No patter, no distant rumbling. A silent storm.
We pass through a tunnel. The strobe-like alternating light and dark sections are startling. As soon as we exit the tunnel, however, I am more startled to find that I can hear the rain now. It sounds like it should. And then, a massive flash illuminates the world, followed by a distinct blast of thunder. I watch the strengthened storm for a few minutes, until it dies down once again. Silent flashes, silent raindrops fade to darkness.
I am starving by the time we reach the rest stop. A grievous lack of foresight allowed me to set off on this journey without eating dinner first. It's after ten o'clock by the time I have another chance. I order an original chicken sandwich meal from Burger King. I get the Medium by accident. I really didn't need a drink that big; why did I say "medium"?
I have exactly enough time to finish my sandwich and most of my fries, as well as stop briefly in the restroom, before the Megabus departs again. This is the final leg of my journey, usually the part where I get the most antsy, but I am calm this time around. Maybe I'm getting used to the trip, just like the way my hour-long weekend drives home from Kiski and back took forever at first, but breezed by like an afterthought by the time I was a Senior.
A conversation wafts up to me from the back of the bus. It is one of the few conversations going on. "I'm a huge Penguins fan, no doubt. If yer a Flyers fan, this conversation hasta end right now. Cause I hate the Flyers, I'm tellin ya right now. I got a Marc-André Fleury signed jersey, I got a piece of a stick used by Kris Letang. I got a shirt right off the back a Sidney Crosby!" The conversant continues his rant, in an entirely apparent Pittsburgh dialect.
I try to read a bit, then listen to music. I shift from The Killers to Sufjan Stevens' Age of Adz album. I was in the mood for this album in particular. Every time I listen to it, I think of Minecraft. My obsession with both of these took hold of me at approximately the same time, so I played/listened to them in conjunction a lot. As far as I'm concerned, the great hill under which I mine and make my home in Minecraft is one and the same with "Vesuvius".
I have been dozing throughout the trip. The past four nights I'd gotten five, five, three, and six hours of sleep, respectively. I'd been scrambling to get everything in order this past week, in a way that I hadn't needed to for most of the semester. So I slept on the bus, on and off. Sometimes the only way to tell that I had fallen asleep was to check my ipod, and realize that I had absolutely no recollection of listening to the past several songs on my queue.
But at some point, I just stop listening to music. I see that the girl next to me is reading the book again. I glance sidelong at the book, trying to figure out what it is. There is some strange textual structuring on one of the pages. She flips it before I can see more. The book is almost certainly a novel. I can't see the title until she sets the book down to respond to a text. It is called exit here. I don't know anything about it, but the cover has an interesting design. I want to ask her about the book, I want her to tell me why she's reading it, and whether it's good or not, and what she likes or dislikes about it. I'm tired of taking trip after trip like this, spending seven hours sitting next to another human being who has interests about which I know nothing, and yet never, not once, dipping a tentative toe into the pool that is their life.
I don't ask her. What if she turned out to be boring? What if my question freaked her out? I know that these are ridiculous, and nothing more than half-assed excuses for letting myself return to the Age of Adz, but the bus is absolutely silent in this moment, and what would it mean to break the silence now, at the end of the journey?
Pittsburgh greets us with open arms in the form of sprawling, all-embracing bridges. I text my dad to let him know we're getting close. He's waiting for my return at an Eat N Park somewhere.
We arrive at the Pittsburgh station (which is slightly more of a station than the Philadelphia station) and pour out of our metallic container. I push through the crowd around the luggage area when I see the purple flash of my suitcase being unloaded. I quickly extricate myself from the milling mob to get some breathing room and look for a place to wait. I'm wondering how long it will take for my dad to arrive, when I see his bright red jacket from a distance. I'm pleased that I don't have to wait after all.
The next day, I look up the book exit here online. It seems okay. I'll probably never read it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)