Tag Archive for 'Memorable'
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I suppose that there are only a couple of exciting things to report from the last few days. On Friday I donated blood for the second time, and it was not nearly so pleasant an experience. The loss of blood volume meant that, after standing outside for the dedication of the Newton tree, I quite nearly passed out while standing in line for a sandwich. I actually had to be helped to a table and ended up going to health services after the incident. This was the second time this semester that I'd nearly passed out--with the same symptoms both times but different triggers. It turns out that I just need to stay aware of my blood pressure. The signs don't point to this being a problem I'll have to face frequently (especially with high blood pressure running in my family) but it's something I should keep in mind when standing in lines, apparently.
As if that excitement weren't enough, my nurses seem to have been incompetent, leaving me with a triangular red bruise nearly 2 cm a side set against a purplish background. It's pretty hideous looking, although it doesn't actually hurt. The interesting thing is that the bruise is nowhere near where they drew the blood. It also looks like I'm developing an allergic reaction there, which worries me...
Today was the big presentation to people from NASA. Everything went pretty smoothly. There were questions we couldn't answer, but most of those were squarely outside of the scope that we defined for the project, so we were safe. Now I get to dedicate the next two days of my life to making this report as perfect as possible. Because I want that A, dammit.
Today also marked my last day of undergraduate classes. From here, there's just one final, a couple of project reports, (some more research), and possibly one graduate homework and then my undergraduate career will be over. What a thought. As a kid, you never imagine that you'll ever get done with these things. Of course, I remember a time when sixth-graders were like unto gods. And, now, I tend to look at college freshmen and think, "Oh, look at the little freshman! I wish they knew how nice they had it!" Goes to show how things change, I guess.
In more Frames news, Ross of Broken Sounds has posted the results of his interview with Glen Hansard:
Fans will know that Frames concerts are peppered with verbal interludes of Glen spinning tales about the inspiration behind his songs. This works both as entertainment and as an insight into the songwriting craft. If pressed further on the subject, however, Glen is entertainingly elusive. “I wouldn’t be able to tell you what informs my lyrics even though I write them,” he laughs. “I was watching a Bruce Springsteen DVD recently, and he was asked a question about the meaning behind one of his songs. He said, “Now, was I thinking that when I wrote it? Not at all. Was I feeling it? Every bit of it”.” #On a personal note:
It is this openness and abundance of affection for his audience that continues to attract new listeners to The Frames. One fan recently wrote on a music website that the appeal behind the band’s majestic yet intimate live performances was that, in spite of the adulation he receives, Glen remains human and down-to-earth. “That’s good to know,” Glen says, sounding genuinely flattered. “What other option is there? What else can one do? If you are not singing about human, then you are lying.”That fan would be me.
My trip to North Carolina on Wednesday was largely uneventful, despite national news coverage of the weather in Ohio as I left. On the second flight, however, things took a turn for the unpleasant. Midway through the flight the captain came on the loudspeaker, and, between the crackle of the system and the roaring of the engines, I could tell that this was no ordinary announcement. Nor was it of the John-Cleese-the-wings-are-not-on-fire sort. I wish to God that it had been.
Instead, what I could make out of the pilot's speech was this: we had two American soldiers--the pilot used the words "two American heroes," and I'll agree out of respect for those who serve in the military--onboard our flight. One, whose rank I didn't catch, was escorting his friend, a staff sergeant, back home. For the last time. They had both been in Iraq.
When we landed, the escort rose and made his way to the front of the aircraft, while the remainder of the passengers remained seated, applauding. He paused at the entry, raised his hand, nodded once. I can't be certain, but it looked as though the back of his head was scarred and slightly burnt. The pilot and co-pilot met him and led him off the plane. From my place over the starboard wing of the aircraft, I watched as a white hearse drove up, and an officer carrying a flag, wrapped in the same triangle we used to make at Girl Scout camp, greeted the escort with a salute. Several minutes later, a dozen more soldiers marched into place on either side of the cargo belt. A coffin, black in the night, crawled into view and they spread the flag over it while the guard saluted.
Tears burned in my eyes, but I resisted the urge to cry in public. Who was the young man and why had he gone to war? Why did the government send him?
I burst into tears the moment I hugged my father, and, for awhile, my parents couldn't understand my attempts at explanation. How terrible and shallow was I to think little of going home to see my family when this young man would never see his family again?
It's easy enough to ignore the pictures of coffins on television or the headlines when they announce a new mark for the number of soldiers killed (the civilians remain unnumbered and will remain so). But I can't see how anyone can face those coffins and flags and uncomforted families. How can we let this go on?
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