What I Just Read: On The Grand Trunk Road

Steve Coll and Mr. Staggs (yes I just Googled a High School teachers name and I got his Twitter page in under a minute, the world we live in is bizarre. I also got his blog and Linked in page, as a result I now know pretty much everything about the guy since I last saw him 6 years ago) are the two main reasons why I chose Political Science as my major. Thomas Friedman is another reason but I like to forget about that time in my life.

Anyway, as a result of my love of all things written by Coll it was inevitable that I would stumble across On The Grand Trunk Road at the Derby Square bookstore and therefore force myself to buy a book that was published in 1994. So what if most of the info on India and Pakistan is out of date and the Tamil Rebels are no more, I still enjoyed learning more about India and Pakistan than just Nehru and Jinnah (not to mention learning anything at all about Sri Lanka, for one I had no idea India occupied Sri Lanka for a few years).

My favorite part of the book was Coll's work on the question's surrounding General Zia's death. Besides it being perfectly obvious that Zia was assassinated by his own men it shows exactly to what lengths Coll will go to in order to find the real story. My understanding for what drives Coll is much clearer as a result.

Though I ended up not reading the end of the book because it contained only a fraction of the insight Coll gave in his book Ghost Wars a decade later (10 years works wonders, especially with the help of a research assistant or two), I would say that the book was worth reading even if time has given it quite a beating. His first hand accounts and the present day feel of events that happened 20 years ago make reading the history easier than it would be if I were sitting in a history class.

Like the majority of non-fiction books this book did little for me when it came to the cover. And why should it have? It's is about actual events and not some parallel universe which allows the imagination to do whatever it wants with the cover as long it is remotely linked to the story in some way. He is a journalist not a creative thinker.

In summation: Do I like the cover? Not really. Do I think it could have been better? Certainly. Do I care to spend another line talking about how much better it could have been? No.

What I Just Read: The Grapes of Wrath

My pledge to avoid all things trendy and hip has brought me to The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck. The Grapes of Wrath is the foremost novel cataloging and illustrating the effects of The Depression of the early 20th century. Don't worry, I'm a step ahead of you, I realize what could be more trendy than a book about The Depression when the American economy is in the worst recession since the early 20th century. My answer is, probably nothing. If anyone were to see me reading this book they would probably think "he must be worried about the economy". Blast! Foiled again!

No I am not in fact reading this because I might be heading Californy way because my crops failed and my Political Science degree holds no value (though with recent headlines California may not be a viable option). In fact I read (or was supposed to read) The Grapes of Wrath in my AP English class. It being a large book as well as my mothers favorite book, and wtih me being a rebellious teenager and there being something called SparkNotes, I took a pass. Being a little older, and a little geekier (or maybe its embracing my geekyness) I have decided to revisit books that I passed on in High School, this being the first one.

I really enjoyed reading it this time, took me a bit to get into it, but once I got past the part where I stopped last time I started to get into it. I particularly enjoyed how with every other chapter Steinbeck takes a different approach to the story. By that I mean every odd chapter is a sort of short story, mirroring the way he writes in The Pearl, except when he does so it is setting up the scene for the next chapter where the story of the Joads continues. A story of poverty and what that poverty does to those in it and those outside of it.

It's actually a very pertinent book in respect to my situation right now, granted I have a roof over my head, food to eat and if it came to it I always have my parents. That being said, the past few months have been like the Joads heading to California, thinking about working, thinking about what I'm going to do when I graduate. Tom Joad's parole is like my Logic grade, I'm just waiting to get caught, and the Joads finally reaching California is like me taking my last final, now I really need a job.

It may have been that weak connection with the book I just mentioned or it might be that I realized Steinbeck isn't that wordy after all. Regardless I think I like the man.

******

This is the most common copy of the book in bookstores today. It is a paperback, not a hardcover, so therefore it does not have nor does it need a dust jacket (I hate dust jackets). For some odd reason Penguin Books got it into their heads that they should sully some of their books by making it appear as if it does in fact have a dust jacket on it. They do this by elongating the front and back covers of the book (so the covers are double the size of the book) and then folding the outer half of the cover in upon it self, making it resemble a dust jacket. The reason for this is twofold; one is to add more information about the book to the inside cover, and the second reason is to infuriate me.

I would remiss if I did not tell you that I have contemplated removing the inside portions of all these books with a razor blade. Not just my books (for which I have and never will have any such monstrosities) but all books such as this, a crusade of sorts, a crusade to purify the ranks of books.

And so this is why I purchased a Penguin Classic version of The Grapes of Wrath. Now Penguin Classics are not the most desirable versions of a book to buy, mostly because the format is the same for every book (black background, white trim complete with orange and white font, only the upper two thirds of the front cover differing from book to book) and the quality of paper is only a step above Bible paper (Bible paper is incredibly thin in order to make the thickness of the book as small as possible, the offset is easily tear-able and partially see through paper). I only buy them when every other copy of the book is undesirable to me.

That being said, I do like this cover (upper 2/3) for the artwork. Not being an art critic, I cannot tell you why I like it (if I was to tell you I would say it is for the burnt tones of the piece), I just do. Though I think it might have something to do with the simplicity.

What I Am Reading: A Farewell to Arms

Eh it was ok, review here.

Not to be confused with Hemenway St. Ernest Hemingway is the author of small book we all know and claim as one of the best books we read in High School (judging by the size it's hard to see why that is) that book being The Old Man and the Sea.

Surprisingly that is not the only book Mr. Hemingway wrote, there appears to be countless others since and before then. One of which I happen to be reading now, A Farewell to Arms which takes place during World War I which was ironically known as "The War to end all Wars." You didn't really need to know that, I just thought you might enjoy it. If you didn't then you probably should not be reading this blog, it's full of useless things like that.

Before we get to the cover I would like to point out ways that Hemingway is connected to my life:

• He is Katy's favorite author (A Farewell to Arms is also her favorite book) which only perpetuates her fascination with creepy old men. I still don't quite understand why she likes me though.
• My cat is known as a Hemingway cat because of her extra toes, a type of cat that can only be found in Key West, New England and parts of Europe. All places Hemingway spent time drinking, enjoying the company of many women, writing and apparently breeding 6 toed cats.

There is not one Hemingway book in print that has a good cover. I implore you to find one, and if you can't I beg you to make one and break a few copyright laws in the process.

What I Am Reading: The Pearl

This book has since been learned, go here for thoughts on it.

I have never really enjoyed Steinbeck's writing, I say that having not read anything by him since High School. So in the name of retrying things I bought The Pearl, ta novella. I figure that if I am to try to read Steinbeck again a 89 page novella of critical acclaim is not a bad place to start.

I am still reading The Corrections, but because of it's rather large length and then the relatively short length of The Pearl I thought I should submit this post early because of the small period of time (an hour or so) it will take me to read this book.

As for the cover, being that I purchased a copy that is only printed in England, for more money than it is worth (in Egypt), when at Borders there are about 3 other copies of this book in stock (where I have a discount mind you) I believe that should tell you something about my opinion towards the cover. The spine and back cover, which can not be seen continue the theme of the front cover with Steinbeck's name being written in two different fonts on the spine as well.

I think in the future I am going to take my own pictures of the cover, spine and back covers and upload them, partially for quality as well as it is nearly impossible to find anything but the front cover online. We'll see how that goes in the future.

I hope to finish this (and The Corrections) before I fly back to Boston so I can leave it for Katy because she has never read any Steinbeck before.

An answer 6 years in the making.....

I'm on a plane right now, here is a useless little post just for you (and the whole internet)!
If you are out there Mr. Staggs (Spencer Staggs, just in case you search your own name on google) I can finally answer the question. Arthur St. Clair is the only President of the United States not to be born in the US, he was born in Scotland. Though I must say it was sort of a trick question because he was the President of Congress under the Articles of Confederation which pre-dates the Constitution.

I Want My Money Back

I’m not one for using lyrics to express myself but in this case it’s just to hard to pass up. In the words of Ben Folds, give me my money back, give me my money back.....you bitch.

I Want My Money Back.

It’s been a little over a month since my classes started, and having taken a few tests and read a few books I think I can give me overall first impression of my classes. This is also my final full semester at NU (I have two summer sessions left) so naturally there is going to be some NU grumbling (A certified grumble has been spotted!) is to be had. Onward comrades!

Global Climate Change

It was this class, Dinosaurs or Natural Disasters in the running to fill my Natural World requirement. Natural Disasters was a class of 250, and Dinosaurs I have heard is not what it is advertised as, so I went with Climate Change.

So far I’m happy with my choice, knowledge has been learned and the reading easy. All in all I have received the education I expected; a bunch of facts I could have learned via a few hours of internet research. Go NU!

Spanish

I took Spanish instead of testing out of Italian (for my language requirement) because I thought it would be better to walk away with an understanding of Spanish rather than bullshitting my way into two years of Italian on my transcript. I knew it would be hard but I figured it would end up being a fruitful choice, and so far it has been, very good choice on my part.

That being said, is it the best use of my money towards learning a language? Probably not. For the amount of money I spend on tuition I could probably spend a month or two in a Latin American country and I would walk away from it with a much better understanding of Spanish. Or I could go to a more cost beneficial program (compared to the cost of tuition) at a Language Institute.

If it wasn’t for the language requirement for a BA at NU I would not be taking Spanish, but this was the best use of the 4 credits I could find.

Contemporary Black Politics

I went into this class thinking we would start off by talking about local black politics (Chuck Turner and the like) and the up and comers in national African American community (Jesse Jackson Jr, Cory Booker, Michael Steele) and the effect of Barack Obama on the political process, especially for African Americans. Sounds like an interesting class right? That’s what I thought and that’s why I took it.

Well instead it has turned out to be a history class, centering on slavery and the struggle of African Americans from Reconstruction to Civil Rights. All well and good but the class is call CONTEMPORARY Black Politics. For those of you who may be confused about it’s definition, I present it to you now.

Contemporary
adj.
1. Belonging to the same period of time: a fact documented by two contemporary sources.
2. Of about the same age.
3. Current; modern: contemporary trends in design.

No where in the definition does it say history.

Now I understand that one needs to put the current political climate into a historical context but do you really need to do so for a 2 months (effectively half the scheduled class time)? If I wanted to learn about slavery and the struggle for equality I would have taken a History of Black Politics class. Instead I took this class because I all ready know about slavery, W.E.B. Du Bois, Frederick Douglass, Malcom X and Martin Luther King. What I wanted to better understand is the current state of African American politics the post-Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton era. I want to talk about my local African American community, something I encountered on my last Co-Op (btw I will post something soon about the BRA) and the future of African American political thought process.

But know I am learning about slavery for the 5th time in my life.

Senior Capstone

Going into this class (a graduation requirement mind you) all I wanted to do was write a 25 page paper on a Political Science topic of my choice. I wanted to research something that interested me and end up with a sizable piece of writing in a field I could head into in the future.

Yes I was asking for a large paper and mundane lectures, you would think I would get what I wanted.

What I got was group led class discussions, a bunch of mediocre to terrible books to read, and a pair of book reviews. No 25 page paper.

Quick rant: What is the benefit of group projects. I get that in real world working on a team is common but that doesn’t translate well to group projects. In the real world there is a designated leader who gets paid more and has the qualifications to delegate tasks. In a classroom setting there is no incentives for one to be the leader, and those who do step up are hardly ever qualified. There I said it.

Back to our regularly scheduled program.

In a normal class room setting this isn’t a bad thing, but when the discussions come from all corners of the Political Science spectrum and your teacher is versed in only one of them it can end up being vague and misrepresented. Couple that with the fact that there are 65 Political Science majors in one room open to discussion there is going to be some problems.

First you have to understand that Political Science majors go on to be, among other things, lawyers, policy wonks, politicians and professors; all people who carry large opinions and enjoy discussing them (or in most cases, shouting them). So yes this class has been a bunch of know-it-all students shouting unfounded statements at each other while the professor tries to manage a volume of students that is too large for each subject.

For once in my life I am not one of the top 5 talkers in the room.

*****

Overall I’m disappointed, I expected more from this semester. So far all I have come away with is a bunch of facts I could have found from looking in a geology book and an understanding of the Spanish language I could have gotten (and then some) for cheaper by living in a Latin American country for a few months. I’m starting to think Will Hunting was right when he told that asshole from Harvard that he could get the same education with a library card and late fees.

That being said I should have seen this coming. I can count on one hand how many classes that I consider to have gotten my money’s worth out of. Not to mention I consider College to be a game in the way that High School was a game, just that this time I have to pay $40,000 a year for it.

From The Archive: The Gloucester Man and The Sea

I was going through old documents again the other day in a quest to organize them (that's not going to happen) and I cam across yet another poem. I'm starting to think I may need to switch professions. Well here it is, for what it's worth.

There lived a man in Gloucester
A happy man was he
Happy as a clam was the man
With a love for the sea

His love for the sea was so strong
He worked with all his strength
To make a house out of a boat
One wide and of great length

Then one day came a wicked storm
With high seas and heavy rain
The old man knelt and prayed
But all his prayers were in vain

After a night of heavy high seas
The old man washed ashore
Finding himself pleading to God
“No more kind sir, no more”

So with his sea days behind him
He moved to the mountain
Where atop the highest of peaks
He built a great cabin

There the old man lives his days
Minding his many trees
He stays far from the vast oceans
For God keeps him from the sea

Top Five: The Day of Days

The Underling does not enjoy last days at all. They make him paranoid, antsy, and above they bring about his Catholic Guilt. So in honor of his last day working for the BRA we are proud to bring you the Underlings top five most awkward/memorable last days. Today we will actually go in reverse to build up some excitement and intrigue!


5. Tie between working for my father and Northeastn Intramurals. I am still off an on with both so this doesn't really count but I needed a #5.

European Parliament: Stagiere to Pawel Piskorski:
There was really nothing awkward about this day other than the hug and good bye with Weronika and the obvious absence of my boss. What really hit me about this day was that I was leaving Belgium shortly there after, a place I could have spent the rest of my life and been happy about it. A very emotional day, the most emotional last day I have had, to say the least.

Enos Marine:
My first job ever and coincidentally it was my first last day ever! This last day was awkward because my boss thought that I should work for 2 more weeks and then go to college. I on the other hand thought that I needed two weeks to get my shit together and fully deal with the fact that I was moving on. She thought it was irresponsible, I thought it was normal. Regardless to this day it is difficult to talk to my old boss when I take my father's boat out.


Secretary of the Commonwealth Corporations Division:
I consider this awkward because I avoided saying good bye to every member of the Corporations division (40 people) on my way out. How I did that I have no clue, but it was glorious.

Woodman's of Essex:
This job takes the cake when it comes to awkward memorable last days. All in all it was a few last days wrapped into one because of all the titles I held here. What makes it so memorable is that at Woodman's it is tradition to be thrown into the lobster tank out front on your last day. I was no exception. The entire day I was a nervous wreck waiting to be thrown into the tank (which is something like 40 degrees Fahrenheit) while my co-workers kept snickering at me and making gestures that implied that I would be getting really wet later that evening.

Now I'm a good guy and if I don't say so myself a rather cute one, something that worked in my favor at Woodman's because at least half of the workers are High School girls. And on my last day that worked in my favor. With a few minutes before close a couple of the girls told me to leave and that they would punch me out so I could avoid getting dunked in the tank. I took them up on their offer and was out the door only to realize I forgot my regular shoes, which I had to go back for. That of course was my undoing. I was immediately grabbed and dragged out to the tank, at this point I decided I would not go down without a fight. I kicked my legs and swung my arms breaking someones glasses and knocking someone else to the ground, but to no avail, I went in the tank. I then drove home without any pants on.

My plan of leaving early would not have worked btw because earlier that day the other guys in the kitchen went out and blocked me in with their cars. That would have brought upon a situation where I would have waited out my co-workers until the wee hours of the morning then would have snuck off and called someone to come pick me up. Oh if only that had happened.

From The Archive: Happy Families are all Alike

The holidays are all about family, undoubtedly because of all the time spent amongst them. Families come from all over the country to see each other, eat food, give thanks, exchange gifts and inevitably bicker. some Uncle says something to some cousin who cries about it to their mom who happens to be the sister in law of said uncle. Things always get messy and that's why they only do it a couple times a year. The following poem, written in High School is a tribute to dysfunctional families and how they are in fact functional in a way "happy families" never could be. Anyway here is the poem, I have no clue as to what I wrote it for, the former title of the file gave me no clues. All we have is the result. Enjoy. Merry Christmas!

Happy families are all alike;
Every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.
But are the happy families truly happy?
They put on smiles, and sing and dance;
Making it seem that way.
But no quarrels or qualms they grow tired.
They begin to ask, “What is wrong?”
They start to second guess the love their family,
And wonder if it all just an act.
Is it a fake love or is it true love,
One can not love when smiles are all that can be found.
Because arguments have to happen,
Or something must be wrong.
That is why happy families are all alike.
They all do not know what makes them so “happy.”
Now an unhappy family is not unhappy all the time.
When they are happy they know it.
They take that moment, however small,
And cherish it until the next happy moment comes.
Happy moments they notice, unlike their “happy” counterparts.

From The Archive: The Christmas Impostor

Back in High School I was on the school newspaper called The Gillnetter. Yes I was a blowhard early on in life as well. While most of my articles were difficult to sift through and find any type of coherent meaning some were slightly comprehendible to the audience it was meant for. The following article I wrote for the Christmas issue and I suppose still has relevance today and I figured instead of lashing out at corporate America again I would just give you a piece I have written before. I guess I didn't need to post this then. Here you have it, a High School version of what I posted yesterday, from the archives: The Christmas Impostor.

(As before anything in this color delineates a note from my present self)

Where is my Christmas? (The nerve of that young man)  What has corporate America done with it? Who is this gift bearing impostor? This is no Saint Nick I see, this is some fat man hired by big business to take my money! (Oh how little you knew!)
Money, Money, Money! That is all the corporate giants see when they find Christmas on the calendar. And all they think about is how best to make more money than the previous year. That would explain why it appears that Christmas comes earlier every year (I'm going to start keeping track of that next year, maybe it will be a new feature "When _______ started this year!).
That thought occurs to me once every year, you know the thought, it usually happens when you walk into CVS (Or Borders) in mid November and see Christmas decorations throughout the store (Pre-Thanksgiving this year). You just stand there in awe and, if you are anything like me, use an explicative or two to show your bewilderment (Such a bad ass this kid is, someone should let him know). Some of us, alright maybe just me, go up to the manager and ask them if they have gotten their dates or holidays mixed up in some way because it is clearly not even Thanksgiving yet. The manager generally replies that its corporate policy and he, or she, knows nothing more. (Those last two sentences were bold faced lies, there is no way, I mean it was impossible that at that point in my life I would walk up to a stranger, let alone a stranger with authority and say something like that. LIAR!)
That answer leaves me wondering, are we all OK with this impostor Christmas that has been installed by corporate America or is it that we are all just oblivious to it? Are we content with a Christmas that mandates lavish gifts for all and decorations and the festivities to be up and running by mid-October? Or do we all just not realize that the true meaning of Christmas has been masked by a scheme from the Fortune 500? (I don't think I knew what the Fortune 500 was at this point)
By no means am I trying to be Ebenezer Scrooge (Yes you are), I mean I do enjoy the holiday. Sorry to disappoint but I actually do like Christmas time (Really, because I could have swore that you were just ripping it for the past few minutes). I’m not the complete anti-society child you take me for (Wrong, I am such a shut in). It is just I do not think we should start the Christmas festivities so early. Allowing corporate America to take Christmas and stretch it over a three-month span takes away from the true meaning and feeling of Christmas. What ever happened to the twelve days of Christmas? Why can’t we put up a real tree a few days before Christmas (Now that is something I can get behind) and take it down a week or so after? Why does it have to be up right after Thanksgiving and down the day of Christmas? That’s not Christmas spirit that’s just going through the motions, showing to the world that you can go out and buy the gifts and put on a good show. Anyone can buy a gift and put up a tree, but it takes a real human to actually have some feeling behind it.
So this year go out and buy a real tree and buy some slightly cheaper gifts that will actually mean something to the recipient, and please don’t just go through the motions.
A Merry Christmas to All!

That's a whole lot of Christmas ranting for someone who is not all that religious. I was such a liar back then, and a bad one at that.

From The Archives: Alfred (My Ode To Orwell)

This next piece is a total rip off of George Orwell's 1984, I must have just read it. Throughout my life I have had a tendency to copy things, be it writing style, story lines, personality traits or dance moves (which I do poorly mind you). This piece is most likely not an exception to that rule, though likable and well written (at least in my opinion at least). I present this one to you with out any in text notes because it is a story, I think any that is fictional from here on out I will try to leave untouched (to your eyes at least, I may change some words around here and there to make it flow better). Non-fiction pieces on the other hand will make up for the lack of notes.

So here you have it, my ode to (or straight up rip off of) George Orwell: Alfred (I have no idea why I called it "Alfred")

Buzzer goes off. Six o’clock says the time keeper. Time to wake up and smell the coffee; but remember as bad as it smells the taste is worse. The buzzer goes off again. Alfred can now smell the God awful coffee that is rationed out to everyone. He rolls out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom.
Alfred pries open the rusty medicine cabinet and grabs for the bottle of green pills. He opens them as he does every morning, but he does something he has never done before, he pauses.
“Why do I take them?”
“Because they are good for you.”
“But they hurt my head.”
“That is because you do not take enough.”
The logic of this unknown voice confuses Alfred. He stands there for a moment longer, but the smell of burning coffee brings him back, he puts the bottle of green pills back in the cabinet.
Alfred steps out on the street, straightens his tie, licks his lips and makes his way to the subway station. Alfred heads below ground accompanied by the same nameless faces as countless days past.
Waiting for the train to arrive Alfred poses the question again, “Why do I take them?” There is no voice to answer his question this time, so he is forced to ponder the question on his own.
The train interrupts his thinking, he boards the train, looks around for a seat, like usual there is none to be found. The lack of seating did not bother Alfred, for Alfred was thinking. Alfred thinks about a lot of things; about the green pills, why the sky is blue, and why the voice was not responding.
Yet again the train stops his thoughts. He disembarks the train and shuffles out of the station. He is met with an overcast day and a crowded street. “Bah,” he says to himself, yet no voice is there to scold him. Something was different, but Alfred could not put his finger on it.
Alfred arrived at his building, and stood in the long line that led to the security checkpoint. “Damn government, can they not keep out of my life,” thought Alfred. Now that one would bring out the voice in his head for sure, maybe even a shock. Again nothing happened. Alfred started to worry that he might be in trouble. Though he did like his new ability to think freely. It is his turn to go through the security checkpoint.
A buzzer goes off, but this time it is not the time keeper. The world goes dark. Alfred will not be rising at six tomorrow.

A bit dark isn't it? I wonder what possessed me to write that. Now that I think of it I believe I saw the movie Equilibrium for the first time around the time I wrote this. Could be why I wrote it. Either way I ripped it off of something.

From The Archives: ?

This is some kind of poem that I had to write in my Writing For Publication class in High School. I think it has to do with writing down a series of events that pertain to a keyword and then cutting up all the lines and then placing them into specific places. Pretty cool, but weird. I pass it on to you unedited.

Scary driving, high speed,
Ten seconds sweating.
Bracing of the body,
Breakdown the aftermath.

That smell,
I can’t have it!
Clean white, pure white.
Shocks back expected behavior.

Tune out parents fighting.
Background,
Stomping feet,
Slamming doors, convey the sentiment.

That button, let’s push it!
Pop back, let’s investigate!
Cylinder, not button.
It burns!

Loved;
Red, blue, black, yellow.
Slight click, scratchy touch, smooth sides.

Everyone,
Old young and middle aged.
Devoted fans,
Drunk fans,
Lucky fans.
The best one to see.

From The Archives: A Letter to Gary Bettman from the Canadian People

So you know how something like an hour ago I posted a poem about hockey and the lock out? And how I said if I found any more poems about hockey I would send them your way? Well yes, I found one, one in which I am Ghost writing as the Canadian people (I always wanted to be the Canadian) who are putting the hurt to Mr. Gary Bettman (nice guy). Sadly since I posted this if Gary Bettman is ever found entombed in a sheet of ice I may be suspected of having the keys to the Zamboni. Here you are poetry piece #2!

Letter to Gary Bettman from the Canadian People

Your most honorable fool: We the Canadian people
would like to know what it is you want
with our great game we call hockey.
At first you took our teams
from Quebec and Winnipeg,
but now you have taken your purge one step further.
You have destroyed our game.
Not by taking our game from every Canadian city,
but by taking it from all of North America.
You have forced our players to all corners of the globe.
Yet you laugh, you smile, like the fool you are.
You make your claims, you make your assertions,
but you know nothing of our game.
You are a businessman, not a hockey player,
and even at that you are not good.
We wish you no ill,
We are of course a peaceful people
But as for your job
we care not to let you have it.
So pack up your things,
turn in your keys,
because if it were not for you,
we would have some hockey.

Going to be found in poetry classes for years to come.

From The Archives: Hockey Has Gone Away

I was going through things I wrote while taking a class called Writing for Publication taught by one of my favorite teachers Dr. Konaxis (she has since been let go from her post because of certain sexual advances and relationships she had with former students, I was not one of them). Anyway as I was going through these pieces (of which many will be undoubtedly posted here) I found this little tidbit I wrote during the NHL lockout a few years ago. I am awful at poetry, a subject that has always and will continue to perplex me, so do forgive me for the quality and instead pay attention to the raw emotion that resonates within the piece, the hatred, the sadness, the longing and of course like and badly written poem, the bullshit. Here you are the poem that Gary Bettman has suppressed for years: Hockey Has Gone Away.

Oh, hockey, where did you go?
Why are you on the lamb?
Oh, hockey, how I love you so!

Was it because your popularity is low?
Or was it Gary Bettman?
Oh, hockey, where did you go?

I have not once seen Jumbo Joe,
Barreling down the ice like a big old Ram.
Oh, hockey, how I love you so!

All the players and the owners say “No!”
For the truly do not give a damn.
Oh, hockey, where did you go?

I have not once heard “Go Bruins, Go!”
But a fan still I am.
Oh, hockey, how I love you so!

I just want the NHL to know
That I do give a damn!
Oh, hockey, where did you go?
Oh, hockey, how I love you so!


Not to bad eh? I must have been truly depressed if the lockout moved me to start writing poetry....... I date myself with the Jumbo Joe reference me thinks, the beta version of what was to become Milan Lucic. Regardless if I come across anymore hockey inspired poetry, I promise to post it here, for you the reader! Until then you shall have to make do with this timeless piece.

Oh and I attached a picture of Bobby Orr for no other reason than that he is the best defenseman who ever played the game.