Pedestrian Prose

Have you ever noticed how soda from the fountain tastes radically different than that from the can or bottle? Jenna is tired of me noting this; perhaps if I get it all out here, the office dynamic will return to normal, and she’ll quit trying to kill me with folk music and her talk of the missing “shift” key (youth is wasted on the young, lemmie tell you).

Anyhow, we had the fortunate pleasure of venturing off-campus for lunch today to a lovely establishment (Subway) for the most-coveted red-labeled beverage, not served within 100 ft. of UALR’s sphere: Coca Cola.

Ever since the controversial “switch” of the 2003 fiscal year from serving only Coca Cola products on campus to serving only Pepsi, getting a good soda fix has been difficult to say the least. At first there was much resistance to the blue-skinned alternative, but after a while the complaints died down and sales rose.

How is it that a campus, so firmly rooted in the ideology of the deep south’s trademark beverage, could simply deny God and Jimmy Carter and happily reform to a new drink? Well, it wasn’t without causalities, that’s for sure.

Since then we’ve lost over a dozen department chairs and three deans. Numerous faculty members have elected to “retire” early, giving up their tenure to be free of the blue. What’s more troubling is the ideological switch by the survivors who are brainwashedpoisoned, evenby the blue’s enchanting elixir. Some have even been quoted saying they like it now. Disturbing.

But not Jenna and me. We’ve become immune to its tricks. Even though its shinny cans sit waitingfreein the office fridge, we go through great dangers (crossing University Avenue) just to taste that sweet, true southern freedom.

After all, even in Cuba they call it rum and Coke. And who better to determine the taste of freedom?

Perhaps the most disturbing film I have ever watched, Mysterious Skin still haunts me now, nearly 12 hours later. It also didn’t help that I had to go to Catholic Mass this morning.

Director Gregg Araki (The Doom Generation, Nowhere, The Living End and Splendor) brilliantly crafts the critically acclaimed novel by Scott Hein. The film follows Neil McCormick (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) down a road of drinking, drugs and prostitution, while Brian Lackey (Brady Corbet) blocks out memories by developing a whole alien-abduction fantasy.  At the root, the film is about pedophilia and how sexual abuse at an early age shapes one’s sexuality (among other things).

I’ve often thought that, one day long from now, I could potentially want a child (or two) of my own.  But now I wonder if I could ever be prepared to raise a child.  Think of all the dangers and suffering in our world. Who could stand the responsibility of bringing another life into this world?

Anyhow, this is a film everyone needs to endure.  Watch it with friends or watch it alone, but either way, be prepared.  This film makes Todd Solondez’s Happiness seem like Pee-Wee’s playhouse.

The train usually offers little more than a rumble
in this quiet neighborhood.

Yet this evening their polyphonic horns cry out,
waking a memory with each resounding yawp.

Is it the mourning of the dead,
or the sound of angel choruses?

May God give rest to Nell Strong, friend and mother;
let light perpetual shine upon her.