One Home to Another

Hello again,

Despite what I might have said at the end of a rushed, fantastical, and loud Senior year, I find that I cannot let up this hobby that had dominated my Monday evenings of years past. However, there are a few key differences to note that change things. First, this is no longer required, how lovely is that? Second, I am no longer a bulldog, but an Eagle, an American Eagle to be precise, the most cliche mascot of all time. Third, I'm writing this blog from one of the busiest cities in the nation in a small room waiting to go to a 5:30 class on Urban Development. In short, I have successfully transitioned to the college freshman lifestyle without too many large obstacles in the way.

Transitioning from Batavia to Washington was perhaps the most unique experience of my 18 years. Now, instead of getting into my car and driving at 7 AM in the morning, I roll out of bed and walk a few hundred yards to my first class at 8 AM three times a week, followed by a lovely period of napping. In addition I can no longer simply go to any store, I have to instead catch the metro, a terrifying, fast paced, and enormous piece of this wild thing called the Capital, to the nearest station and go to either Whole Foods, Target, or, somehow, Best Buy.

 The students here are from all around the world, and by all around the world I mean the majority come New England, California, or DC itself. Most have never heard of Batavia, Ohio, just that it is not Batavia, Illinois, and that Cincinnati is essentially the same thing as Cleveland, right? Regardless, the international diversity level is immense. People are here from all over the globe, so much so that walking to class normally involves hearing at least two other languages that are not your own. Talk about a culture shock for someone who was raised in the land of farms, small high schools, and a majorly white community.

Perhaps one of the most difficult aspects of adjusting to this new life would be the social change. No longer do I have my close knit group of essential family members to talk to at every waking moment, to make jokes about class or to make late night runs to Wendy's when the procrastination reaches new heights. Instead, it's awkward fumbling during floor meetings, five minute conversations that rarely progress into the foundations of a relationship, and a lot of alone time in a dorm room. However, it isn't completely all for not. In a true surprise I have managed to make two fairly solid friends here. One, blessedly, is my roommate, who is essentially my twin in everything except the fact that she is fantastically able to run long distances every morning at 6 AM. We get along splendidly and have yet to have any sort of conflict. Secondly is the strangest set of circumstances. One moment I am watching the eclipse with a group of strangers and the next, I have realized that the person sitting next to me during this once in a life time event shares almost all of my interests, faces most of the same challenges I do (migraines, lactose intolerance, etc),  is an equal amount of a dork, and is equally grateful to have found a friend. Somehow, I have made my quota with friends for the first few weeks. These two have helped my comfort levels immensely, and hopefully, as time goes on, we can establish a friendship akin to the very special ones I enjoyed, and miss very dearly, back in Cincinnati.

In short, the first week and half here at AU has been not terrible, but not overly exciting either. I get to wake up at 6 AM once again and be thrust into the foreign world of Russian and perhaps later I will dare to venture past campus boundaries to feed myself something that isn't the school's main dining room. I miss my Cincinnatians dearly, from the quiet peace of a rural area to the newly renovated Music Hall that has yet to stop calling my name. The knowledge that I get to see them all in just a month is enough to keep my spirits high and I can't wait to see the faces of Molly, Seth, Chloe, Ronni, Alex, and the rest of the people who somehow found themselves in my company and chose to stay long enough to become my closest friends. Until then, however, I am content to merely keep going, to enjoy life here in this vibrant, unique, and already welcoming city, and look forward to the opportunities that will be presented to me here.


Until next time.

A Bid Adieu

To the reader(s) of this hodgepodge of a blog,

True to the cliche, it can only be expected that some type of sentimental farewell is in order, as this is the last required post of a more or less ongoing assignment of the last two years. This blog has been an affectionately received normalcy in a world full of the unforeseen and surprising. An open platform for rambles, grievances, reviews, or analyses,  this idea is wholesome and well rounded, giving not only myself, but other students the opportunity to express themselves weekly in a relatively private setting, away from the often harshly judgmental eyes of their peers.

There was the fair share of show reviews, a love of the theater weaving itself through every few weeks, and the endless grumblings about the weather or stress or worse yet, the mess that is the political system. Every once in a while came a homage to tea or another small trinket that offers some type of peace while the world continues to run at full speed. The favorite, however, was something deep and literary, a look inside a favorite author, work, or movement. From Oscar Wilde to Dickens to Voltaire, the chance to write about what was deep and intriguing outside of the restrictions of a specific essay was immensely satisfying. As apprehensive as I may have been at the start, the blogs were a form of odd stress relief, an outlet for some of the ponderings that would otherwise forever be kept as simple thought.

Two years since the beginning and there is a newfound appreciation for blog posting in general, and  a hope that I will have the chance to continue the practice as I advance to new stages of life. Whether or not this blog continues to be updated remains to be seen, but it seems to be a form of stress relief to ramble on about a wide range of topics and put said thoughts in one spot. At the very least it results in an entertaining walk down memory lane if I should be feeling either particularly sentimental or extremely bored in the future. Regardless, out of the many hobbies I have tried throughout my life (as described in one of these very posts), this activity seems to be one of the easiest and most enjoyable. There is no outspoken competition or extensive length requirement that adds unwanted pressure. For the more literary based, blogging is the perfect way to keep the mind turning, fueling the passion for the finer artistic forms.

Overall, "Thoreauly Unoriginal" has been far more entertaining than I had previously expected. Giving life to new ideas and inspiring many a thought piece, the blog platform has become a comfortable mainstay in a life about to embark on great transition. Should the opportunity arise to continue the form, my hope is to be filled with much more inspiration, or at least sources for said inspiration, as I travel farther from the small town view and into a big picture that can transform into interesting writing fodder. Perhaps I will find a niche of specific topics that will interest me for years to come and I will create a platform specifically for something like poems, philosophy, or the performing arts. Or it's possible that another class at another institution will have a similar assignment and I will start the process over again with coming up with a slightly humorous title and filling the logs with posts that may or may not fit a common theme. Maybe I'll even take up a specific blog for a specific purpose, perhaps an organization or club, and actually send out a message to a targeted audience. The options are endless, the key is choosing one that fits.

Until I find this next thread of opportunity, though, I shall affectionately for the time being say au revoir with the hopes of casually writing again in the future.

Effective Communication: A Muddled Standard

It's no secret that the past few months since the inauguration of Donald Trump have been perhaps the most scandalous and widely criticized in the history of the modern Presidency. The first 100 days have thus far seem to consist more of committing every cardinal sin of the media than achieving the list of polarizing goals set out on a now infamous campaign trail. While it is true that the criticisms of President Trump could surely write more than one blog post in themselves, there is a bigger issue that fuels the flames for what is shaping up to be an administration rife with controversy. That issue is effective communication. 

When analyzing the Commander in Chief's communication strategies, one must simply take a glance at perhaps the most famous Twitter feed in the world to see this unprecedented stance on communicating Presidential opinion, stance, and action to the public. Social media has been the source for some of the more controversial moments of the Trump administration, with typos from Education secretaries, grammatical phrases that would have Webster and Shakespeare rolling over in their graves, and statements that make even the most ignorant tilt their head in confusion.

 However, while the social media platform does reach a wider range of people, in recent times it has not been where the controversy originates. Instead, the spotlight falls on Sean Spicer, who is already making a name for himself as both White House Easter Bunny and one of the most notorious Press Secretaries in US History. From "alternative facts" to "Holocaust centers" there are few press conferences that have so far gone off without at least one statement being used against him and the reflection of the Trump administration that he represents. 

One could go on about the bigotry, the intellectual inadequacies that Spicer exerts, raging over the completely unpardonable butchering of significant world tragedy and lamenting over the lack of fluid, well crafted speech that would commonly be expected for one who is the head of public relations for one of the most important institutions in the world, but that is merely the surface of the issue. While it is true that such ignorance should not be tolerated in a world slowly evolving towards acknowledging hard truths correctly, there exists an element of ineffective communication that creates the atmosphere of uninformed animosity that currently prevails in American society.

Partially at fault is the media, whose biases are far reaching on all spectra, muddling information that then proceeds to cause a level of discourse in society that only succeeds in dividing the public apart instead of together to achieve a common goal of social progression. This is not to say that biased pieces should be discouraged, on the contrary, there will, and should always be bias, but the lack of the more unbiased sources has caused a dramatic shift towards an age of misunderstanding and ignorance. For example, taking a look at the significant learning curve facing this green administration shows these consequences of less purely factual portrayals in the media, as many voted based solely on big words and some passionate yelling both at the podium and in the newsroom. 

However, on top of a long corrupt media system, comes a key issue facing the American public in current times. Not only is the media heavily biased, but many of the people in charge of creating the information in the first place are part of a government institution being run by businessmen and, similarly to attempting to making business deals, are portraying key issues in warped ways to make people believe what they are attempting to promote. Alternative facts, indeed. The problem is that there are also those who know more and are fervently working against the institution, screaming truth, shoving historical repetition into anyone who will listen's face, plastering social movements on every platform available. This creates a polarizing disconnect. For the average American, who may not have a PhD in Sociology or be the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, they are pulled back and forth between one end to another, until they either check out or stray from their own personal belief systems for simple peace of mind. The cause of all of this lies in ineffective communication.

Every time Spicer "miscommunicates",  stating that Hitler didn't use chemical weapons or that the Trump inauguration was the largest in history simply out of spite, an untruth is sent out to the media who then interprets it with a biased filter, which then is taken by an intellectual and presented in another complex format. How can someone who has better things to do than interpret news sources all day possibly keep up with what's actually happening in the world? The media will always be biased, this much is true, but the source of the information has the capacity to lower the overall muddled-ness that would otherwise come from the current trend of contradiction and pettiness. 

The White House has a duty to the public: to communicate their intentions and events clearly and truthfully. The government serves the people by the will of the people and are therefore obligated to communicate in a manner that does not jumble preexisting events in poorly structured comparisons or be laced in unnecessary rivalry. For even when a Press Secretary gives an entirely factual, unbiased report on say, a diplomatic conference in Moscow, the media will still conform it to their specific image, and the rest of us will still have to piece together facts to get a clear picture of what's actually going on. When the White House is sending out tweets full of sudden aggression or hosting press conferences that cast a veil of shame at the lack of composure in the system, the process has been put on steroids, and by the time the small bit of information has been sent through the ringer that is the media platform, there's hardly any unbiased truth left. Society cannot progress healthily in an age of blurriness, of animosity simply for the sake of aggression, and undignified flailing when the learning curve is too great. It's high time for the White House to drag themselves from the depths that they have been stuck in since even before Trump's inauguration and back into the world of candor if we should all want to survive without killing each other over convoluted opinions.  

A Culmination of a Life's Work

When one thinks of Oscar Wilde, normally the first pieces to come to mind are the wildly hilarious play, The Importance of Being Earnest or his only true novel, The Picture of Dorian Grey. A splendid satire on the ridiculous frivolity of the Victorian upper class and a complex piece describing inner moral conflict, these and many of Wilde's plays, short stories, and poems are not necessarily light-hearted, but are abstractly humorous enough to create a commentary on real social issues that is appeasing to those who would prefer not to be faced solely with the true negativity of the world. With a decades worth of pieces embracing this comedy of manners, it would logically be expected that the final culmination of Wilde's life's work would be a masterpiece of satiric humor or complex story line, full of deep metaphors and allusions that leave no social flaw criticized. In actuality, the final product is not a comedic masterpieces that would rival Voltaire or a suspenseful drama, but rather something quite the opposite: a master thesis that both reflects and predicts the social aspects of life and the importance of staying true to one's ideals.

This piece, known as De Profundis, is not a riveting four act play, but rather a solemn, regretful letter addressed to one Lord Alfred Douglas. It may be known that Oscar Wilde's tastes were not what would be considered mainstream in the height of Victorian England and that these specific preferences would land him in prison for "indecent behavior". While Wilde is now a cultural icon for many minority groups (specifically the LGBT community) as well as for those who favor aestheticism above all else, 19th Century England demanded he serve two years in the dreary Reading Gaol for his ideals, forever altering the rather snarky personality of the Irishman into something more solemn, more profound (hence the title, De Profundis). 

De Profundis reads like a woeful break up letter, addressed to the long lost lover of Wilde, Lord Douglas, or "Bosie". Like any typical airing of grievances, the piece is an endless lists of wrongs that were committed by Wilde's partner both against Wilde directly and against himself, as Wilde accuses him of tainting his ideals with excessive vanity and frivolity. However, coupled with these pages and pages of remorse and love lost come also , in true Wilde fashion, a complex analysis of Wilde's past and how his hardship forever changes his perspective of the world.

While pointing out what seems like an infinite number of wrongdoings, Wilde also describes his own flaws, recounting how he lost his aesthetic ideals throughout his fatal dalliance with Douglas, portraying in great detail the difficulty with which it took him to complete even simple writings with the man around. He criticizes himself on his straying from embracing art for its true beauty and separating it from the trials of a corrupt society. In doing this, Wilde firmly makes the point that had previously appeared in most of his writings: that one must appreciate and separate art to achieve true beauty, that one must value true this beauty above all else, and that vanity is the downfall of those who seek the truly morally beautiful.

Exceptionally raw and well rounded, Wilde's final publication reflects on the progression of his perspective as he goes through struggle after struggle: a personal testimony to sway others from straying from the path of true idealism. De Profundis acts as a near scripture, telling the intended audience of the wrongs committed against him on account of this vainly corrupt society and how, if he had embraced the virtues that he captured in his many works, he would most likely not have been subjected to such a shameful downfall. Truly a culmination is this letter that captures all of Wilde's life views, using his own experiences as the plot, and his own mistakes as the action meant to convey a theme. In this way, Wilde's own life is used similarly to the plots of his plays, showing an audience the evidence proving how a society obsessed with the self will ruin a person morally.

Compared to all of Wilde's previous works, De Profundis takes elements from each, forming a deeply complex analysis of life. It is as extensive of a farewell as an author can give: a beautiful summing up of a life's worth of exploration into the deep world of morally right vs. morally wrong. It isn't happy, light, or warming, and should be explored only when one has a strong, stable mind prepared for an eternity of reflection. However, as morose as it may seem, there are few other pieces of literature so inclusive of all of one author's true ideals and feelings as this letter written by a shamed man from the cold confines of a prison cell manages to achieve.

Ramblings of the Uninspired

Perhaps it is the various assignments, extra curriculars, or impending pressures of standardized testing piling up on the conscience. Maybe it's simply the agitation at the lack of intriguing events occurring in my field of view, or just as conceivably, a simple exhaustion of resources. Quite possibly, all of these potentialities are working together in a plot to prevent me from catching the one small thing I desire: inspiration.

Just one thread, one intriguing thought, would be enough to send me on a pleasant writing spree lasting at least a half hour or more. I would be granted with the gentle ease of an exciting discussion, the flow of deep, complex perspectives that excites and sparks hours of progressive conversations, the kinds that leave one satiated with their knowledge, or perhaps new discoveries, on a specific topic at hand. Be it a theme from a novel, a social issue, a new invention, or an obscure dream, anything would be welcome to spark the imagination and prompt the creation of a passage much more interesting to read than this simple lament.

It's not that I lack the outlets to find these nuggets of entertainment. I have a fill of monthly shows from Rogers and Hammerstein to Dvorak, an endlessly growing list of "to reads", "currently readings", and "read agains" that will always be at the ready for a casual peruse. The problem is, there are only so many times one can write about Oscar Wilde's uniquely hilarious social commentary or how fantastic, dazzling, or beautiful the latest production to hit the Aronoff Center is before the audience and the writer herself will grow tired. How many times can a person describe the idiocy and social crimes committed by institutions such as the government before they are reduced to repeating the same argument in only increasingly muddled rewording?

Perhaps the solution lies in merely looking into other authors, finding new, not yet widely debated, topics that will fuel the desire once again to expand my horizons and see yet another perspective of humanity. Should another reason appear as to why I have such passion for society and its improvement, I would write paragraph after paragraph, blog post after blog post, describing and theorizing until I have my own novella. Unfortunately for me, that dreamed of cause has not yet revealed itself. Instead lies this dry spell of continued, outstretched ramblings about the weather, or daily life, or how adult-like changes are causing teenage anxiety: the simple basics that fall much lower on the spectrum of what I consider truly intriguing.

In all, it seems that until this long lost and desired i passion for intellectual debate returns, the only topic I seem truly inspired to capture in my writing is just how uninspired I am, and how I yearn for the refreshment of a unique theme, perspective, or motif that I have not yet deeply considered.

 

Harsh Realities of Lackluster Spectacles

"Congratulations to the Batavia High School Marching Band on their acceptance to participate in the Red's Opening Day Parade!"

For many, particularly the freshman and sophomores who were denied the opportunity to participate in this uniquely Cincinnatian event, there is justifiable cause for excitement. Everyone watches the Opening Day parade, it's essentially a local holiday. It's quite possibly the most notable parade that these students will march in their entire career. Parents will take off work and pictures will grace the feeds of every social media platform. There is an element of pride in being one of the few bands selected to be in the event, and even more so in the fact that this is not the first, but rather, the fourth time that Batavia High School will make the trip to Findlay Market to participate.

That being said, he only group of students that have successfully participated in all four parades is the current senior class. Being given the opportunity to march 8th grade year in the height of the awkward transition from "big kid" to  what would become "young adult", the idea of doing an official marching band function with the official marching band was nothing to shrug at. It was a momentous occasion. It was the first test for those who were desperate to join the ranks after years of gawking at the flashy green uniforms and loud sound. The parade was a whirlwind of thrills, from being thrown into the block formation in front of thousands, to knowing that the event was televised. For us rookies it was a moment to remember with gratification.

The excitement continued into the next year, when the now new freshmen once again marched the streets of downtown Cincinnati. The music was upbeat, and the morale was high. Plus, we got out of school for the day, what's better than that? Nevermind the legs and shoulders that were severely sore afterwards, as muscles that hadn't been used in months were once again awakened. Overall, though, the overwhelming enthusiasm and anticipation offered a significant distraction from an otherwise miserable physical sentiment.

Sophomore year signaled the turning point in feelings for this parade that was said to be a monumental achievement for our kind of band. Now, as third time parade marchers, the excitement dwindled. It was very much "been there, done that". No one was overly excited to go out and march after months of not marching, and no one was quite ready for the perfectionist based stress that comes with being part of a band to increase. Nevertheless, we went out and performed enthusiastically, happy to see the sights on the first day back from spring break rather than suffer in the confines of the high school. We tried our best to ignore the sweltering heat and the desperate need for ice packs and ace bandages as we all but dragged ourselves to the equally stuffy buses waiting to bring us home.

Transitioning ahead two years, here we sit, two weeks away from the fourth and final time participating in the Red's Opening Day chaos. Now, for many, the excitement exists only in the form of a small sliver of pride at doing this rather surreal affair the most times out of any class. The anticipation that distracted us from the grievances that come with the parade has long faded, and now there lies only the difficulties. The practice that is required to get back into form will be trying, the weather will either be uncomfortably cold or uncomfortably hot, the food will be overpriced, the lineups will be unorganized. In actuality, the parade seems like more of a challenge than it's worth.

On top of this comes actually doing the parade in itself. Almost two miles of marching on uneven ground while holding up an instrument in perfect form is not something easily accomplished by those who have not set food on a marching field since November. Already, we feel the tension and complaints from our shoulders, necks, backs, legs, and hips. There is nothing exciting about being in significant pain for the week following due to the sudden strain of unused muscles, or the money being spent on the chiropractic appointments just to prep for the event. The thought of being drenched in sweat and dying of thirst is everything but pleasant, and the possibility of stepping in the unsanitary remnants from floats or carriages that are ahead in the lineup can make anyone cringe.

In retrospect, each time out on the parade route has been, at least in some degree, miserable. The excitement is there, yes, but when one looks past it, the same grievances remain and it's easy to see just how grueling the whole affair actually is. It is an event defined as "once and done", fitting into the category of occasions that only really need to happen one time an one time only. For the first timers, hopefully they will embrace blissful ignorance, energized by the dramatics of it all, and will be able to look past the physical and mental state of extensive displeasure that will come afterwards, when they rub charlie horses from their calves and ice their throbbing shoulders. For us veterans, we can only prepare the best we can in hopes that the consequences of suddenly jumping in for the longest parade of the season will not last a full week and hinder us from the school work that demands a functioning brain.

Hobbies For Hire

With the hours upon hours of dedication to what has resulted in a perfection-based decade of academia, free time is not a term that floats around often. Almost a taboo, free time occurs on the rare occasions when there is a break in the work flow, when the body says no to doing any more worksheets, essays, or labs, or on the rare weekend afternoon when there isn't another appointment that demands attention. But when the time comes that a physician formally recommends this previously blasphemous idea into the complex workings of a never ending schedule, the negative connotation of free time must be relieved and instead, embraced.

In 2017, it's common for many to embrace the idea of relaxation and self rejuvenation. The stigma connecting free time with laziness and poor work ethic has faded, at least enough for those who choose to live more freely to do so without widespread criticism. It isn't uncommon in the slightest for people to have fun activities that they do to relax or specific time set aside purely for wellness. In fact, it's almost encouraged. Regardless, for me, an uptight, by-the-book perfectionist, free time is merely an idea. With free time comes at least one thing weighing on the mind, be it another assignment or some sort of family function that I will, in some shape or form, have to mentally prepare for. Free time is not as much about relaxing, having fun, and embracing life's simple pleasures, than it is about recharging after a long week and preparing for the next one.

As one might expect, this frame of mind does not work out so well in terms of dealing with the copious amounts of stress that fill every minute of every day. Free time should not be about simply readying oneself for the next task, but should instead be about learning about oneself and taking the time for simple enjoyment, and while I do find myself enjoying the finer things in life (taking a trip to the theater, for example), many of these activities require the same amounts of energy to do the work during the week, just with a different outcome. Therefore, I have deemed it essential to find something to do that embraces an element of frivolity that does not involve extensive travelling or preparation, something simple that embodies the true definition of free relaxation time. And thus, I have made the decision to find a hobby.

A hobby is something that I have always strove to achieve, yet never actually successfully carried out. In the course of my near two decades of life, I have tried numerous different activities, regretfully finding that none of them quite stuck. From infatuations with collecting things and creating pieces of art to dedicating a few years to martial arts, equestrianism, and rock climbing, the list is extensive and wide ranging of all the hobbies I have tried (and failed) to embrace. Based on this experience in unsuccessful dabbling, I have managed to come to a few conclusions about finding some sort of past time that would prove beneficial to rejuvenation and my own personal enjoyment.

For starters, it would have to fit in with my busy schedule, something quick and easy that I could do at home or on the go. Next, any physical element would have to be limited, on account of an unfortunate shoulder issue and the equally unfortunate fact that anything athletic has often resulted in bouts of extensive humiliation. It would have to be sophisticated, nothing too extreme or bold, yet also unique in a way that would stimulate the always running mind of mine. Complicated enough yet?

Any hobby fitting these over-analyzed requirements would be acceptable, and I would ideally like to find one before devoting the next decade to a college degree or two. Needless to say, expectations for something of this sort are not exceptionally high. In trying to sort out what works for me and what doesn't, I've almost made my own hobby out of overthinking about hobbies themselves. It's possible that a reason for not being able to find something entertaining that lasts is the fact that I subject to this overthinking and grow bored by excessive simplicity. Or maybe there is a bizarre trend out there that I have yet to stumble across. Zen Gardening, perhaps? Painting ceramics? Anything to actually make use of the free time I am to be granted would be acceptable and very much appreciated.

On Late Night Severe Weather Adventures

There's always that bit of apprehension, going to bed mere hours before the world is supposed to shift from relatively calm to being caught up in the intensity of a storm. The possibility of a restless night and facing the next morning with that lack of sleep is enough to make any early commuter agitated, especially with a full day ahead. Seeing a radar splashed with greens, yellows, or even reds as the hour grows late is normally never something that brings a smile to one's face. 

This unhappiness is only increased when local meteorologists pace in front of their green screens, stressing the likelihood of a storm turning into something more severe, more messy. The chance of being woken up is heightened with the possibility  of the tell tale whine of a weather siren going off at ungodly hours of the night or early morning, causing clumsy shuffling out of beds and trudging down to TVs and radios, listening to whether or not there's the immediate danger of being blown away or not. This kind of event always tends to occur during these poorly timed hours of day, when everyone had long settled into the warm confines of their beds and had put the day's events behind them, and it is only made worse when it happens to those of us who live without the security of a basement or another means of proper shelter. 

Growing up in the Midwest, severe thunderstorms are a normalcy. While Ohio isn't the tornado alley along Kansas, Nebraska, and Oklahoma, every so often there is the line of storms that spreads extensive damage throughout the counties, making headlines for the weeks following. Why then, would anyone build a house without a basement or at least a logical shelter, will always remain a mystery. 

Looking back at the storms that plagued the tri-state area in the past week, this question came back to mind as I rolled out of bed at four am to brave the harsh rain, intense lightening, and piercing tornado sirens to drive to the closest neighbor who would welcome anyone into their house during such an event. Not having a basement is not the end of the world, but when the only room away from a window is next to the heating systems and all of the circuitry that would prove dangerous in the event of severe weather, things become problematic. 

Last Wednesday saw the familiar scenario of adapting to these illogical circumstances unfold for the hundredth time. With preparing normally for bed came turning up volumes, placing shoes by the bed and wearing pajamas that would prove durable in the event of getting pelted by rain in them. An almost ridiculous sense of anxiety prevailed throughout the house, perhaps due to the anticipation of panicked dramatics that often unfold in the few minutes between waking up and breaking speed limits to get to a shelter. It was almost comically pre-scripted, the warnings going off and the three of us stumbling through the house not fully awake, grabbing random things, including a very disgruntled, yowling cat, and racing around the corner to another house full of equally sleepy people, only to realize that not only was the tornado five minutes east, but that it had already touched down by the time we even left the house. Better safe than sorry, I suppose.

The luck we faced being missed by the first tornado to actually hit the immediate area in some time aside, there was still the overwhelming annoyance at having to deal with the event in the first place. Returning home at nearly 5 am, still in the pouring rain, how could anyone go back to sleep and be fully rested for the next day? No one wanted to go back out into the storm should the sirens go off again. Nevertheless, choosing to embrace the more likely option of being able to stay in for then night, we settled back into our beds, hoping that our little excursion would be the one an only. It was another run of the mill tornado warning adventure to add to the collection, another reminder of how illogical our own house was, and something to talk about if we ever got into school the next day. It is perhaps a first sign of spring or more evidence of the rapidly changing climate that has wrecked our winter. 

Omelette, The Musical

"The future is bright if you could just write a musical!"

Just off Broadway comes the Tony-snubbed, hidden gem that is a Shakespeare enthusiast's (or dis-enthusiast's?) and a theater lover's greatest dream. Full of snark, puns, and just the right amount of vulgarity is this show that, while deprived of proper recognition, is filled to the brim with originality.  Despite the off putting title, Something Rotten!, a satirical take on England's Elizabethan age of literature, is one of the most entertaining shows to grace the stage in the past decade.

Telling the story of Nick Bottom (a clever play on Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream) and his brother, Nigel, the musical satirizes the accusations against Shakespeare for his copyright tendencies. With an extended commentary on Elizabethan society in general, the struggles of Nick and Nigel Bottom to write a play that competes with that of The Bard's is brought to life with bright, wildly entertaining musical numbers. The musical's pinnacle explodes in a whimsical homage to musical history while Nick Bottom searches the future for Shakespeare's greatest play, Hamlet. Unfortunately, this results poorly for him as he misinterprets the vision and instead forms the first musical, Omelette. Yes, like the breakfast food. 

While this type of breakfast humor may seem superficial and far too immature for the seasoned literary, underneath lies a deeper type of comedy, one that only those who know their shows will fully appreciate. From mocking Richard III to calling out Andrew Lloyd Webber for the anomaly that is Cats, the humor that exists throughout each scene is superficially funny for most but uniquely funny for those who are more aware, creating a performance that appeals to a wide array of people in different ways. 

On top of this never ending humor and catchy, uplifting songs, comes the undertones of familial bonds and speaking up for oneself that add the morality for those who crave a more sentimental feel. Standing up for love and adjusting to create equal relationships for all allow for this mainly satirical act to have even more depth than the complex literary allusions. 

Combining all of these aspects together, Something Rotten! has something for everyone. Even if one is not versed in the plays of Shakespeare or every Tony winning musical under the sun, the heartwarming story line and the amusing music will get even the least musical/literature inclined person's feet tapping. 

After seeing this show, it is clear that it stands among the many underappreciated shows that have graced the Great White Way. Missing the window and lacking the prestige for the Tony nominations, the musical has now closed on Broadway and is now in the midst of its first, and perhaps only, national tour. This cache of comedic treasure has gone unnoticed by many and those who take up the opportunity to see it are often blown away by its splendor. Take the chance to see the show before it disappears into the vaults, it will leave you giggling over repressed puritans and musing about the ridiculousness of a musical about danishes, bacon, and fried eggs. 

By Appointment Only

When organizing a schedule, especially for those whose schedules are more than averagely full, one commonly thinks of meetings, parties, appointments, birthdays, or familial obligations making up the majority of the open time slots. For those of us who prefer to have our day mapped out to the exact hour, there may even be time blocked off for the gym or the yoga class that one may or may not attend depending on other, more pressing occasions. Often, the day is packed full of reminders and obligations until late in the evening, when the only thing left to is fall into bed and start the process over again in the morning. Which is why it should be relatively unsurprising that one who is so devoted to the upkeep of their plan book will eventually have to make time to do something as trivial as absolutely nothing at all.

For those determined to maintain optimal efficiency in all that they do, there is no greater taboo than free time. It's a waste, an open slot where something useful could be occurring but isn't, often creating nothing but self deprecation and anxiety over a potentially missed event. These overachievers and workaholics can often be seen thoroughly scanning through calendars and double checking with coworkers or friends, ensuring that everything in their day runs smoothly, one engagement transitioning into the next without any gaps. Free time is often not a feasible option. Why do nothing when something can be done to be ahead of the game?

It is this type of thinking that drives these determined perfectionists into a wall of exhaustion. With a "no break" mentality it's only a matter of time before there's no energy left and the body demands to sleep, shutting down for longer than normal, backing up the schedule that was previously so meticulously organized. With this consequence in mind, the idea of free time may become less ghastly and more logical, especially when bringing into account precious productivity. The last thing overly productive people want to hear is that their lifestyle is in actuality less efficient.

Using this hook, this threat upon a seemingly perfect system, the door for free time begins to edge open. Thinking logically, the idea of taking systematic time off to recharge the batteries seems more and more beneficial. Setting aside scheduled time a few times a week, whether it be an hour of pleasure reading or forty five minutes of meditation, results in long term heightened efficiency with more energy and a lower likelihood of feeling negative emotions. Rather than going until a crash, ensuring that there are periods of rest in a normal work week create a healthier life style that will allow for  more opportunity to live successfully.

The problem with this, however, is implementing it into a way of living that has always neglected rest and free time. Looking at this issue personally, as someone who writes everything into a schedule and rarely agrees to take time off for reasons other than illness, there never seems to be any time to simply not do anything. Something always requires my attention, there is always something I could be doing to better my education or my chances for a successful future. However, after four years of running endlessly, crashing, and starting over, the need for a change, especially before college, is necessary. That being said, it has proved more than difficult to carry out this way of life after years of free time neglect.

As a result, I have resorted to putting these break periods as actual events in my complex and ever filling planner. As basic and trivial as it sounds, by putting the activity (or rather, lack thereof) in its own designated time slot two or three times a week, I find it much easier to let go of the itch to do something stereo-typically productive, and to take time off. By accepting that it is not only beneficial to have these periods of rest, but mandatory, I find it easier to give these moments their own appointment, something that I usually would not miss.

I hope to find that these "appointments" with myself eventually do evolve into something that doesn't need to be specifically written down, and that for other people who feel the compulsion to work until they drop, the idea of free time becomes less taboo. Until then, I will embrace the transition, and ensure that I begin getting the extra beneficial rest that I need to be the best I can be, even if it is by appointment only.

An Airing of Grievances from a Disgruntled Ohioan

Dearest Inconsistent Ohio Weather Patterns,

Your volatility is exasperating, and your February dreariness does nothing but depress. Your lack of action leaves those who silently yearn for the gift of accumulation endlessly downcast, a veil of melancholia that makes every day appear somehow gloomier than the one preceding. You offer nothing but a tunnel of disappointment that amplifies irritation, anxiety, and impatience as you choose a dalliance with abnormality over century long expectation.

In addition, while you fail to make up your mind about which season you want to express, us mortals are destined to suffer an endless cycle of sinus infections, weather specific migraines, and unnecessary emotional shift as the air pressure spikes from one extreme to the other: from 60 degrees and bright to a subzero windchill with nothing but unforgiving black sky to greet us in the mornings. The ability to achieve efficiency dwindles as the last of our energy is sapped away as your out of line antics result in monotonous stagnation

Not to mention, you bipolar, theatrical nuisance, the inability you posses to achieve anything worth merit, worth mention. Unprecedented spring like temperatures are painfully dull when all anybody under the age of eighteen wants is for several feet of snow to stir up the expected season specific excitement, with early morning phone calls of promise an extra day of recuperation. Despite what must surely be your best of efforts, the fact remains that you have proved significantly lackluster in your duties of providing the significant traits that differentiate spring from winter and autumn from summer. How can anyone not be unimpressed when the only thing you have to offer is rain that doesn't even freeze and clouds that produce no lasting snow?

And so, after a month of letdown and anticlimax, it has become mandatory to release this airing of grievances, to state firmly that in the four weeks or so that remains in what truly counts as the winter season, it may be in your best interest to fall in line with what is desired. Cold and snowy is preferred over cold and stuffy as you flicker dangerously between the line of unseasonable and seasonable conditions. For the sake of health and happiness, it is implored that you provide at least one instance of the anticipated temperatures complimented by precipitation of the frozen variety. The ability to continue working successfully for many of us is at stake.

Sincerely,
A Snow Day Deprived Local

La La Lame?

Considering the 14 nominations, expectations for this year's predicted best film, "La La Land," were obviously higher than for the other lesser films currently playing in movie theaters around the country. It's not often that all the bases are covered when it comes to movie nominations, and the interest of those who enjoy watching the best picture nominees is currently piqued enough for many to leave their homes and pay the $10 for surround sound and leather chairs.

Telling of two artists trying to make their way in competitive Los Angeles, the movie itself is rather aesthetically satisfying, with a bright color scheme to grab viewers' attention and an upbeat opening theme that has feet tapping. The entire soundtrack itself is unlikely to leave your head for the next few hours after leaving the theater. The protagonists are lovable and relatable, and the plot has the typical romance that many thoroughly enjoy. On the surface, these aspects alone seem like enough to make a strong case for why this film is so successful. 

What one fails to take into account, however, are the deeper levels that usually give a film the credentials needed to be considered one of the greats. The script, camera work, lighting, and all the minor details that are enough to either amuse or annoy, enough to create the difference between "I loved it!" and "It could have been better." In the case of "La La Land" it turns out to be the unfortunate latter.

With the loving characters the classic, artistic aesthetic, and the unique soundtrack comes blurry shots, awkward lighting, and a script that doesn't live up to the height that has been associated with the flick. A slow build leads to a rapid, heavy finale that, while interesting to think about and original in its own right, seems long awaited and drawn out. It seems as if the colorful lights and the score is compensating for this plot that is rather dull and redundant.

Overall, the film is vibrant and comical, but only on the surface. With an excellent score comes a basic verbal script and plot line that leaves many shifting uncomfortably by the end, anxious to get through to the end credits, and with lovable characters comes shaky camera work and blurry sequences that require more concentration than any audience member wants to exert. While it isn't the worst film, it certainly isn't the best, and rather undeserving of the exaggerated hype the academy has created for them.

The Fantastic Tale of King Arthur

At the 6 o'clock hour, before the sun has risen and when groggy students and adults begin to trudge through their morning schedules, and fellow early birds are sipping through their first cup of coffee, silence is golden. No one, not even the lively, always chipper, morning lovers want to be disrupted from this brief moment of peace before the world speeds up and there isn't a second to rest. It is an understood quiet, an upheld staple of early goers. That's why, of course, there is no better opportunity than during this cherished silence, to cause mischief.

Sitting on the couch, a warm beverage in hand, and wrapped in a blanket, I found myself catching up on potential future assignments, relishing in the fact that the morning had gone smoothly and that for once I would not be rushing out the door. The rest of the household slept on, my introverted self more than satisfied to have the extra recharging time. No one was shouting at each other to wake up on time, there was no loud shuffling or the obnoxious sound of warm water rushing through cold pipes, just me, myself, and I and the rejuvenating scent of lavender earl grey tea.

This silent sanctuary, however, failed to take into account anything outside of the comfortable bubble that encompassed the warm couch. There was no reason to take into consideration the potential movement from upstairs, it was far too early, and the kitchen had no purpose save offering the light necessary to see the paper I was writing on.

What I failed to notice, however, was the movement in said kitchen, the seemingly casual shuffling as the only other organism awake at this hour meandered around on the playground of counters and shelves, making his rounds to see if there was anything worth his interest, worth meddling in. He was carrying out his own morning routine, happily sniffing in places he didn't belong, knowing he was walking on the edge, and happily content to cause any and all trouble. Always one for dramatics, it seemed to please him to happily swat at the full glass of water sitting precariously close to the edge of the counter.

All at once, the peace and serenity of the morning shattered with the glass that was now scattered all over the kitchen floor. Sitting proudly on the counter was the devious ginger looking smug, waiting for me to unravel myself from my warm nest to clean up his mess. He watched as I cleaned up the glass, casually perched, his tail flicking back and forth, as he himself wouldn't dare to risk walking through the shards. After I finished, risking slipping from the spilt water and the cuts form the fragments, he hops down like it was nothing, walking into the living room to take up a new spot nestled in no other place than in my blankets, promptly settling in for the first of many morning naps.

This diva that shares my house resembles a king in his castle, prowling through the halls as if he owns the place, and in his mind, he does. He sits where he pleases, eats where he pleases, breaks glass where he pleases, and demands attention at least three times a day, but only for a few minutes before he's swatting and biting at your fingers, as if you had committed a heinous crime of touching his long fur. Even now, he sits, comfortable to block my hands from the keys of my computer, as he always has priority. Because why type a blog when I can devote my attention to pampering his royal highness as he pleases? I am, after all, merely his humble servant.

A Bleak Road

The excitement is over, the holiday season fading back into the far off distance where it lies dormant for nine months of the year. The Christmas presents have all been put away or put into use, the lights come off of the bushes, the trees, and the gutters, and the champagne and party poppers have all been disposed of. New Year's resolutions are forgotten about, and the wheel starts turning again, bringing back into full motion the grind of the work week. Before us lies the cold, dark months of January and February, unforgiving in their lack of excitement and crushing dullness.

There is nothing to look forward to save the one or two holidays that manage to close school, banks, and businesses and the unending hope that a blizzard will grace the world overnight, effectively cancelling any and all responsibility, at least for the next twenty four hours. Students spend their time dwelling in fatalistic humor, wishing for anything and everything to get them out of these two months of endless responsibility, be it a tragic accident or a simple flu. Anything exciting enough to create bumps in the road, to briefly take the eyes off the very straight, uneventful path ahead and off to the side where something more interesting may be occurring.

A veil of depression covers everything and anything as the days are shorter, the sky is rarely blue, and harsh cold berates those who trek out in the early morning and the late evening, unforgiving even towards the prepared ones with coats, hats, mittens, and gloves. It seems endless, this empty abyss of the start of the year. Productivity dwindles below the highest efficiency, repetition kills happiness as each day passes, one after the other, until they all muddle together in a mass of average boredom.

The days are numbered, though, and it's the only thing keeping us all going, determined to work through til the end.125 days until graduation. Two months til spring break.  Four days until the weekend. The countdowns make the dullness tolerable, providing a semblance of a purpose for a time that seems absolutely purposeless. Soon, the days will be long enough to battle the exhaustion that has kept us all in its unrelenting grasp for the dark winter months and the rejuvenation of spring will attempt to strike life into the dreariness.

Despite these dwindles of hope, until the next large event appears on the horizon and the excitement builds for next chapters and extra down time, we all are doomed to continue the monotonous grind, waking every bleak morning and returning home every colorless evening, repeating over and over, seemingly consumed by a desolate winter.

A Gentleman's Guide to Surprise Comedy

The year is 2014, and the Tony Awards have just named this year's best musical. It is a flashy, hilarious, and slightly morbid but endlessly catchy production, one that had been previously off of my radar, as I was too caught up in the classics to pay much attention. A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder. It was a long title, one so blatantly British that I was intrigued enough to watch their Tony's performance and take a peak at their cast recording. Content with my discovery of a humorous and modern new musical, I filed the album away for later and moved on to other things, thinking back to the work only when a song would pop up on my playlists.

Move two years ahead and I am immersed in the world of Hamilton and Lin-Manuel Miranda's next big hits throughout the movie business and the theater world alike. The best musical winner from two years ago certainly wasn't on my mind. That is, until I looked at the shows coming to Cincinnati this season, and discovered that this musical that had closed on Broadway over a year ago had launched its first national tour, and had placed one of its first stops on the stage of the Aronoff Center. Once again, it managed to spark my interest.

I pursued tickets, putting them on Christmas lists and setting aside money here and there, admittedly rather lazily. If I didn't see the show, it wouldn't be the end of the world. There were plenty of others that I wanted to see more adamantly this season. However, as fate would have it, Christmas morning bestowed me with a pair of tickets for the first Friday evening of the new year. I'd get the chance to see a show that had been put on the back burner with hopes of being as impressed as everyone else who had seen it.

The plot is relatively simple, the average, unassuming man Monty Navarro suddenly realizes he's eighth in line to be Earl of High Hearst, held by the flamboyant Dysquith Family. Like any man desperate for an improved station, he begins killing all of his relatives in hopes to succeed the current Earl. All the while, he is seduced by the alluring Sibella, an unhappily married woman, and is also pursuing a relationship with the quiet, kind Phoebe Dysquith. These two conflicts collide into one messy entanglement of murder trials and marriages until Monty achieves his goal of rising considerably above his station as the new Earl of High Hearst.

The production, while rather small and quaint, succeeds to surpass expectation. Gentleman's Guide is wildly funny, with both the dark sensed humor, full of snark and irony, and the light humor of silly jokes and foolish antics. While not for the faint of heart, the musical does offer touching moments full of affection, perfectly balanced with the grotesque notion of mass murder for personal gain. The cast is top tier with the unique trait of having one man play each of the eight murdered relatives, encompassing the full range of stereotypical characters once may act as. The talent is immense and refreshing, a true modern musical with a familiar, traditional sound.

By the end of the long running time (a surprising three hours), the viewer is engrossed in Monty's life, tapping their feet to the catchy, witty songs and taking in the bright colors distinct for each character, paired with a wildly different personality. The plot is far from predictable, with twists and turns that enthrall and excite, and by the time of the final act, one is on the edge of their seat, waiting for the overall irony of the last resolution of the show to make its hilarious impact.

A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder in the end proved to be much more entertaining than initially presented. Expectations were high with a musical that took the prime honor of the glamorous Tony's, but the unique comedic atmosphere presented in the flamboyant production has yet to be matched. For those who thrive on the snarky, darker humor, the show is nearly perfect. It is a hidden gem that is a welcoming surprise to those who happen to receive tickets, whether on a whim or out of genuine interest. It is the perfect way to spend an evening, for what could be more entertaining than watching eight elaborate murders taking place within the span of two acts?