I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near Tannhäuser Gate.
In an instant, before I could fully appreciate all that's happened, before I could even remotely begin to write appropriate journal entries covering everything, the summer comes to its inevitable end.
Of course, it technically continues for nearly another month. However, my subjective season change will come when I set foot on the Brandeis campus at noon or so tomorrow.
Not that that's a bad thing, mind you. Summer's been great, but it's time to go back.
In some sense, very little happened over these three plus months.
I didn't accomplish all that I wanted to, didn't read as much as I wanted to, didn't "find myself", or a Quest. Plans for movie productions fell to the wayside, Super Nintendo saw a bit too much action, as did my Buffy tapes. I took an absurdly long time making my school decision. I didn't see my friends as much as I wanted to.
On the other hand, more than I can possibly hope to detail in just one entry [So why didn't you update more? - Eds.] happened.
I did make a school choice, as hard as it was to make, and as long as it took. I concretely decided where I would spend the next few years of my life. While I don't sometimes wonder about the alternate universe I shunned, I think, at least now, I am happy with my decision. The only trick is feeling that way during the coming months and years. This, I think, is doable.
I went back to CTY. After several trials and tribulations, I was hired as a one session RA at the Skidmore site in Saratoga, NY. After another trial and three more tribulations, I was, much to my delight, granted the position for another three weeks, the second and final session. Going back to CTY was a fantastic experience, though in many ways it almost transcended description. After four years of CTY as a camper, from 1998 to 2002, a whole story in its own right, going back was, in many ways, surreal. Suddenly, I was an RA, DJing the dances, telling kids to go to bed, trying to come up with entertaining activities. Oddly enough, it was easier for me to conceptualize the kids as me just a few years ago, whereas it was much more difficult to place myself alongside the ranks of the RAs from years past. When you're a student, you experience the entire student life, but only get a glimpse into the world of the RAs. Being suddenly privy to that world was a shock which, while I knew was coming, was one I had to adjust to. Ultimately, the biggest mental roadblock to get around was that, this time around, it wasn't about me. It was about the kids, as it always was. Just, this time around, I wasn't a kid. I got through this issue, though perhaps the most dead-on student assessment cited my greatest strength as "caring a lot about CTY." and my greatest weakness as "caring A LOT about CTY." Guilty as charged, guilty as charged. That said, I think I found my place well. I empathized with sobbing CTYers on the last nights, but I myself was dry-eyed. The whole experience was a lot of fun, in some ways more fun than being a student, but certainly a different sort of experience. I think, ultimately, my kids enjoyed themselves; hopefully in part due to, not in spite of, my presence. Of course, they can speak for themselves; far be it for me to put words in their mouths. I may return next summer, as an RA or in some other capacity. Maybe I won't, as summer plans are always murky a year in advance. CTY is still as it was to me three years ago, and yet, a whole new world as well.
I also made several good friends at CTY. I'm doing my best to keep in touch, I really hope I can keep it up this time.
Then I went on vacation with my family. The trip was a series of experiences, such is life, many of which were, in some sense, almost transcendental experiences.
I went gliding (not to be confused with hang gliding) outside of Elmira. I soared to over two thousand feet above the ground in a small, engineless, two-person craft. We've all been in airplanes before, but this was entirely different. To see the world like that, flying almost like a bird, steering myself (the designated pilot did the actual landing, but I was given free reign for the rest) is something that no picture or words can describe.
I went to the Baseball Hall of Fame. While I'm not a huge baseball fan (or sports fan, in general), there was something quite captivating about it. I read of men who accomplished things I almost couldn't comprehend. Hitting .400. Eight hundred career home runs. Pitching a perfect game. These may be cosmically meaningless accomplishments, but at the same time are Herculean. I can barely hit a softball; these men did things I can barely begin to dream of. Far and away the best part, however, was listening to the others there, listening to the parents tell their children stories of the game they love. They'd point to the bronze plaques on the walls, and say, in almost hushed awes, "See him? He hit for over fifty games in a row. No one else has ever come close." "He was a Negro League player, but he hit more home runs than any major league player ever." "I saw Roger Maris hit his sixty-first home run of the season." "He didn't play on a religious holiday, even though it was the World Series. He knew there were some things more important than a game." "My granddaddy, your great granddaddy, caught the last home run ball he ever hit." And so on. There was very little this vacation I enjoyed more than that.
I visited Mark Twain's grave in Elmira. The cemetery itself was enormous, dating back to the nineteenth century. Some headstones were large and prominent, almost trying to defy the finality of death. Others were sunken into the ground, grasses growing over them, invisible if you weren't looking for them. It's difficult to imagine ending up like that, living your entire life, then receiving a stone marking somewhere in the middle of a field. Then again, the parties this concerns are too busy being dead to notice. The cemetery also contained a portion of land for veterans, dating back to the Civil War, where both Union and Confederate soldiers were buried. There must have been literally twenty thousand or more graves of veterans. It was stirring to think of all the men who died defending freedom. Shameful to think of the men who were lost, in some sense for nothing, predominantly those from Vietnam. At the same time, it was almost incomprehensible, impossible to take in. It was just a sea of white. Unending marble white.
I went to Niagara Falls. I've been many times before, but this time my family and I went on the Maid of the Mist, the ship which actually goes up to the falls. After the ride, we ascended an outdoor stair directly adjacent to the American Falls. The sheer force of the water was overwhelming, both on and off the boat. I first saw the falls well over a decade ago. Since then, they have not lost their majesty, their beauty, their thunderous power, their totalitarian domination. They are a mammoth force of nature the likes of which I have never seen elsewhere.
I ate a one pound cheeseburger in eight minutes.
I listened to my grandfather, who is now ninety-four, explain engineering work he did during World War II. He showed me equipment he designed over fifty years ago. He taught me how to operate basic functions of a slide rule. He showed me the slide rule-based device he made while working at a hospital in Sydney, Australia, which he used to calculate proper radium dosages for cancer patients. He's one of the most amazing men I've ever met or known, and I'm beyond lucky to not only be his grandson, but to be able to still interact with him on a meaningful level. If I can accomplish just a fraction of what he has, live to his age and retain my mind and body as he has, I'd say I'll have had a pretty good life.
And now, summer draws to a close. Farewell, summer. Onto Brandeis, where I'll do my best to have an incredible, fun, meaningful time.
Love,
~Kenny
Of course, it technically continues for nearly another month. However, my subjective season change will come when I set foot on the Brandeis campus at noon or so tomorrow.
Not that that's a bad thing, mind you. Summer's been great, but it's time to go back.
In some sense, very little happened over these three plus months.
I didn't accomplish all that I wanted to, didn't read as much as I wanted to, didn't "find myself", or a Quest. Plans for movie productions fell to the wayside, Super Nintendo saw a bit too much action, as did my Buffy tapes. I took an absurdly long time making my school decision. I didn't see my friends as much as I wanted to.
On the other hand, more than I can possibly hope to detail in just one entry [So why didn't you update more? - Eds.] happened.
I did make a school choice, as hard as it was to make, and as long as it took. I concretely decided where I would spend the next few years of my life. While I don't sometimes wonder about the alternate universe I shunned, I think, at least now, I am happy with my decision. The only trick is feeling that way during the coming months and years. This, I think, is doable.
I went back to CTY. After several trials and tribulations, I was hired as a one session RA at the Skidmore site in Saratoga, NY. After another trial and three more tribulations, I was, much to my delight, granted the position for another three weeks, the second and final session. Going back to CTY was a fantastic experience, though in many ways it almost transcended description. After four years of CTY as a camper, from 1998 to 2002, a whole story in its own right, going back was, in many ways, surreal. Suddenly, I was an RA, DJing the dances, telling kids to go to bed, trying to come up with entertaining activities. Oddly enough, it was easier for me to conceptualize the kids as me just a few years ago, whereas it was much more difficult to place myself alongside the ranks of the RAs from years past. When you're a student, you experience the entire student life, but only get a glimpse into the world of the RAs. Being suddenly privy to that world was a shock which, while I knew was coming, was one I had to adjust to. Ultimately, the biggest mental roadblock to get around was that, this time around, it wasn't about me. It was about the kids, as it always was. Just, this time around, I wasn't a kid. I got through this issue, though perhaps the most dead-on student assessment cited my greatest strength as "caring a lot about CTY." and my greatest weakness as "caring A LOT about CTY." Guilty as charged, guilty as charged. That said, I think I found my place well. I empathized with sobbing CTYers on the last nights, but I myself was dry-eyed. The whole experience was a lot of fun, in some ways more fun than being a student, but certainly a different sort of experience. I think, ultimately, my kids enjoyed themselves; hopefully in part due to, not in spite of, my presence. Of course, they can speak for themselves; far be it for me to put words in their mouths. I may return next summer, as an RA or in some other capacity. Maybe I won't, as summer plans are always murky a year in advance. CTY is still as it was to me three years ago, and yet, a whole new world as well.
I also made several good friends at CTY. I'm doing my best to keep in touch, I really hope I can keep it up this time.
Then I went on vacation with my family. The trip was a series of experiences, such is life, many of which were, in some sense, almost transcendental experiences.
I went gliding (not to be confused with hang gliding) outside of Elmira. I soared to over two thousand feet above the ground in a small, engineless, two-person craft. We've all been in airplanes before, but this was entirely different. To see the world like that, flying almost like a bird, steering myself (the designated pilot did the actual landing, but I was given free reign for the rest) is something that no picture or words can describe.
I went to the Baseball Hall of Fame. While I'm not a huge baseball fan (or sports fan, in general), there was something quite captivating about it. I read of men who accomplished things I almost couldn't comprehend. Hitting .400. Eight hundred career home runs. Pitching a perfect game. These may be cosmically meaningless accomplishments, but at the same time are Herculean. I can barely hit a softball; these men did things I can barely begin to dream of. Far and away the best part, however, was listening to the others there, listening to the parents tell their children stories of the game they love. They'd point to the bronze plaques on the walls, and say, in almost hushed awes, "See him? He hit for over fifty games in a row. No one else has ever come close." "He was a Negro League player, but he hit more home runs than any major league player ever." "I saw Roger Maris hit his sixty-first home run of the season." "He didn't play on a religious holiday, even though it was the World Series. He knew there were some things more important than a game." "My granddaddy, your great granddaddy, caught the last home run ball he ever hit." And so on. There was very little this vacation I enjoyed more than that.
I visited Mark Twain's grave in Elmira. The cemetery itself was enormous, dating back to the nineteenth century. Some headstones were large and prominent, almost trying to defy the finality of death. Others were sunken into the ground, grasses growing over them, invisible if you weren't looking for them. It's difficult to imagine ending up like that, living your entire life, then receiving a stone marking somewhere in the middle of a field. Then again, the parties this concerns are too busy being dead to notice. The cemetery also contained a portion of land for veterans, dating back to the Civil War, where both Union and Confederate soldiers were buried. There must have been literally twenty thousand or more graves of veterans. It was stirring to think of all the men who died defending freedom. Shameful to think of the men who were lost, in some sense for nothing, predominantly those from Vietnam. At the same time, it was almost incomprehensible, impossible to take in. It was just a sea of white. Unending marble white.
I went to Niagara Falls. I've been many times before, but this time my family and I went on the Maid of the Mist, the ship which actually goes up to the falls. After the ride, we ascended an outdoor stair directly adjacent to the American Falls. The sheer force of the water was overwhelming, both on and off the boat. I first saw the falls well over a decade ago. Since then, they have not lost their majesty, their beauty, their thunderous power, their totalitarian domination. They are a mammoth force of nature the likes of which I have never seen elsewhere.
I ate a one pound cheeseburger in eight minutes.
I listened to my grandfather, who is now ninety-four, explain engineering work he did during World War II. He showed me equipment he designed over fifty years ago. He taught me how to operate basic functions of a slide rule. He showed me the slide rule-based device he made while working at a hospital in Sydney, Australia, which he used to calculate proper radium dosages for cancer patients. He's one of the most amazing men I've ever met or known, and I'm beyond lucky to not only be his grandson, but to be able to still interact with him on a meaningful level. If I can accomplish just a fraction of what he has, live to his age and retain my mind and body as he has, I'd say I'll have had a pretty good life.
And now, summer draws to a close. Farewell, summer. Onto Brandeis, where I'll do my best to have an incredible, fun, meaningful time.
Love,
~Kenny