"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing"
"In modern culture / my friend you must be careful / they've a million / ways to kills you / in this dangerous world / there's an art to growing old / taking chances / magic happens // one mistake's all it takes / and your life has come undone / walk away 'cause you're breaking up the girl..." ---Garbage
"Take another litle piece of my heart now baby" ---from Jenny's goodbye CD
August 13, 2003
note: written at various times in my mind randomly, thus no info for this one.
...and does eat oats, and little lambs eat ivy. Three visions from the past that have been very vivid and resonant with me as of late:
1 Freshman year fall semester my swing class with Kathy. We were two of only four freshpersons in the class (along with Neal and some other kid, I forget his name). It was in this community center despite being a University class, and it got so hot in there! We took our breaks on the fire escape when we could, relishing the bitter cold of winter or its approach. We danced for almost two hours straight every Wednesday night, learning something new each week. The lighting was bad and the building was old, and most students were there to learn for a wedding (theirs or another) or as seniors looking for an easy class. There were about 40 people and our instructor was a wacko, but pretty cool. He knew his stuff. The ladies rotated around the circle so each time you had to go through the introduction process until finally the fuzziness wore off and everyone could remember the others' names without embarassment. Kathy was my buddy at the time, if solely because we shared three out of five classes with one another; this coincidence meant friends for first-year college kids far from home. We made the long walk to and from the bus each evening letting talk of past and present spill into the dark sky, chatter of our classmates and their dancing skills shimmering through as we made the careful play that would begin our Minnesota years, all the while wondering where these strange introductions and natural laughter in the classroom with our schoolmates left us. I remember the whole ordeal feeling like a glimpse into the future, into where I might be, our forced interactions with older members of the University widening my perspective and shaping what dreams and realities may come. It was just a dance class; the memories, however faded, still stick for some strange reason.
2 The fall of sophomore year I drove Sarah Komomua to the airport after our Anthropology class. She was flying to see Trent (boyfriend of how many years? two, I think it was) graduate from basic Army training in Kentucky. His enlistment and the graduation meant that he and Sarah would be even further apart than a 10-hour drive to South Dakota - he would then join the Army as a full-fledged soldier and head off to Germany for three years. (Three years! But that of course was what had brought Sarah and I together in the first place - our commiseration over long-distance love.) We walked through the atrium of some West Bank hall that was normally quiet and gray on our way to where I had parked. Garbage's third CD had just come out, and though it was not quite what I had expected I listened to it obsessively, even as I drove Sarah. I remember we bitched about school and other random things for awhile until I pulled up to the curb. "But none of that matters," I remember telling her, "because you're going to see Trent."
3 The winter of my junior year, last year ('spring' semester, some call it), I made the trek from our recently opened Coffman Memorial Union - my new chosen home for the semester - to Cooke Hall, land of sport study sweetness, twice a week. I had waited and waited for this union of ours to reappear from the memory I had of it during high school visits, and once it did, I hooked into it right away, spending my free time Tuesday and Thursday mornings in various nooks and halls of its greatness. One of the best things to do during this time was listen to my walkman and whatever was playing for me then, which at that time was Jenny's goodbye CD. As I left the Union those mornings to head to my so adored Kinesiology lectures in Cooke, I would wrap in as many layers as possible to shield myself from the bitterness of the hated cold that was winter, but also be sure to allow my walkman to play on in my ears, because the more music I had, the less my mind wandered into thoughts of homesickness and freeze. "Take another little piece of my heart now baby," wailed the voice from the CD, and while no one was breaking my heart, sometimes it felt like school, with all of its obliging trappings, distance from home, and disconnect from those around me, was breaking my spirit. But for the first time through this drag I felt an odd glimmer of independence, of the contentment to be a college student that I had never really had before. "You know you want it / shout if it makes you feel good!"
I have no idea why these might be coming through to me right now other than (1) having a dance lesson with Mar, Ter, Shells, Chris, and the Skogens on Sunday (Matt was very skilled by the way) (2) listening to that 3rd Garbage CD (though Jenny stole my copy) (3) hearing 'take another little piece of my heart' at Oakcrest on Monday night. It is a very strange life I lead, as is everyone's. Have a nice day.
---Lexi
Mares Eat Oats...
"I am going to see my boyfriend!" she exclaimed, finishing my phrase, so excited, so happy, face so warm and eyes so bright. And with that she yanked her bag out of the car and ran to the gate, and I pulled away from the curb as "breaking up the girl" came out loud and strong through the stereo.