What’s the Deal with Spanish? A Series of Posts

This week I’ll be doing a series of posts on how people learn a foreign language, which is known as “Secondary Language Acquisition”, or SLA in short. Specifically, I’ll be discussing SLA in reference to the Spanish Language.

In my high school career, I’ve come to greatly enjoy Spanish class. So much so, that in college I will be a language major. Fortunately for me, I have a knack for picking up other languages and learning them isn’t too much of a problem for me. However, I’ve noticed that this isn’t always the case for my classmates. I looked around my Spanish 4 class one day and thought to myself, “if we were all dropped in Mexico City, with only the ability to speak Spanish, there’s no way more than 3 of us would make it back.” And it was that scenario that I have been seeking to tackle with my social action project- What can I do to help fluency?

 

4 Things to Know Before Seeing “Puddin’ and the Grumble”

Puddin’ and the Grumble is the latest play written and assistant directed by Becky Boesen, a Rolla, MO native and a local playwright. It has been graciously put on by the Lied Center and sponsored by the Food Bank of Lincoln. Now with a name like “Puddin’ and the Grumble” one might wonder what to expect from such a production. Here, I have the 4 things you need to know before attending this unique play.

1.The Back Story: Librettist Becky Boesen and her friend Petra Wahlqvist stumbled across a disturbing news article where one day in the Fall of 2014, dozens of elementary students in Utah had their lunch trays taken right out of their hands. An article from CNN reported that the rationale for this act was that they had negative balances in their accounts for lunch. The children whose accounts were negative had their food confiscated and were given a substitute of only Milk and fruit. The Lied Center was also at that time looking to start up a project to raise awareness for the “startling numbers regarding children living in poverty in Lincoln”. Executive Director from there went to Boesen and David Von Kampen. They then visited Lincoln’s own Clinton Elementary School and thus, Puddin’ and the Grumble was born. With help from the Food Bank of Lincoln and the Lied Center donors, their vision became a reality. The story follows the life of a quirky 5^th Grader, Puddin’, whose life is constantly plagued by “The Grumble”, an anthropomorphized representation of Hunger.

2. Boesen’s Playwright History: Becky Boesen has been heavily involved in theater for much of her life, but in the last few years she has really begun to take off as an accomplished local playwright. One of her first forays into writing was “What the Wind Taught Me”, a heartfelt play about a young boy struggling with the death of his father, when suddenly a tornado strikes his hometown and bring to him a special friend. The play received mostly favorable reviews from the Journal Star and helped develop her passion for writing. Becky then followed up with two plays that dealt with real-life events or people: “In My Daughter’s Name” and “Catherland”. The former is a dark tale, of a daughter murdered and her mother’s despair when trapped in the inefficiency of the American justice system. The later is about a young author named Susan who flees to Red Cloud, Nebraska in the wake of tragedy, searching for answers. There, she embraces the writings of Nebraska’s own Willa Cather and begins to find the answers she’s been seeking. It is through these plays that Boesen demonstrates her masterful ability to take the events of real life (and with help from some very talented musicians) and make engaging stage content.

3. The Lied Center: The Lied Center for the Performing Arts has been operating for more than two decades, bringing art and culture to the burgeoning city of Lincoln, NE. Throughout this time, the Lied Center has been stage to both local theater and globally acclaimed acts and shows. Most recently, the Lied Center played host the Russian National Orchestra- one of the most recognized and sought after touring orchestras in the world- and in the coming months will be hosting the Moscow Ballet. So for Boesen to have acted in and now have written and directed two plays to be on that stage is no small feat. Currently, in the program for the Lied Center, there is a section dedicated to Puddin’ and the Grumble complete with cast bios and a short intro to the play itself.

4. What Actually Goes into Making a Show? Seeing a show from conception to completion is a long, hard, tiring, and rewarding experience. As shown above, Boesen has been written and produced many plays, and it’s shown in her schedule. Specifically in the last 6 months Boesen has gone to studios across both California and Nebraska, tracking the soundtrack for Catherland. It’s caused her to miss out on family time, being gone for up to two weeks per recording session. She currently has a 6 year-old and an 11 year-old at home. “It’s one of my greatest struggles as an artist,” Boesen said when reached for comment, “to know that I’m missing out on so much time with my children. But to see the end product after hours of work and stress and practice with my actors and directors. There’s nothing like it.” But she does all she can to spend time with them when she’s home. She will often take them to play practice or coffee shops while working on her various projects.

 

Hopefully Puddin’ lives up to its namesake, and the high bar set by its playwright. And if Boesen’s work in the past is any indication, audiences are sure to laugh, cry, and contemplate the seriousness of child hunger both nationally and locally.

 

 

 

More than One Story

Many peoples and cultures have felt the impact of Imperialism and Colonization in the course of Human history. And even though there are many cultures and aspects to these two things, there often lines up to be two perspectives: the Western (white) and the Native (indigenous people). The two points of view couldn’t be more different. Being a Westerner myself, it is important to learn the perspective and the view of the Native peoples on Imperialism and Colonization.

Throughout history white men have deemed themselves as “better” and decided they had more rights than people of color. The result was years of violence and hatred and the destruction of lives. And from a non-Western perspective, this is what Imperialism and Colonization look like- oppression, hate, and a violation of rights. Slaves were captured and sold into bondage and slavery, being forced from their country and moved across oceans. Native Americans were forcibly and violently removed from their ancient homelands and forced onto reservations where their way of life was totally removed from them. Throughout history white men have deemed themselves as “better” and decided they had more rights than people of color. The result was years of violence

One of the largest institutions that violated human rights in American history was slavery. The book Roots by Alex Haley paints a brutally honest picture of what the salve experience was right. The book spends its first half detailing the life of Kunta Kinte, and Mandinka tribesman stole from this homeland in The Gambia. It describes his tribal upbringing; his manhood training before he was 16 “rains” (years) old. And what Haley does is make the reader aware of the tribal uniqueness and way of life, and how suddenly the white man could disrupt it.

It was just one day in the forest when Kunta was captured by the toubob (the Mandinka word for white person). The book then takes 15 chapters or so and describes the 4 “moons” (months) on the slave ship. It describes the inhumane conditions that were so terrible one almost wishes it was made up and not historical fact. And so it goes that not long after the people were taken from their homeland they were crammed into ships, stuffed as full as the hold will go. The men and women would lie against the wood of the ship and Kunta described how the men would lay in their own bodily fluids and filth (page 230). The wood was so rough that the shoulder blades and elbows would start to show through the skin of some. It’s this gruesome, brutally honest perspective of Imperialism and Colonization that Roots provides to the reader. Slavery wasn’t all profit and prosperity- it was cruelty and bondage and oppression.

While Roots itself never directly mentions racism, Mean Spirit by Linda Hogan describes the racism and hatred of the Osage Indians that took place in Oklahoma in the 1920s. On page 63 of the book, Hogan makes reference to how the native people of the land “knew, from history itself, that it was a smart thing to keep silent on the affairs and regulations of Washington, to be still and as invisible as possible. They might be cheated, but they still had life, and until recently, even that was not guaranteed under the American laws, so they remained trapped, silent, and wary.” This just goes to show that the oppression of native peoples was so widespread that it even happened at the national level, that is, oppression was law.

The mistreatment and racism went even farther than the national government, though. It reached into the every day lives of oppressed peoples. Jeanette Armstrong talks about racism in Slash, mentioning how “All the white kids stayed away from us [Indians]. We all noticed their shiny bikes and brand new clothes and shoes” (page 23). For the children in this novel, racism was a way of life. So bad was it in fact Armstrong said how the Indians, “have nothing to depend on except a hope that things will be better if they do things the white way” (page 48).

The reading of books and novels of non-western peoples is an eye-opening experience. It allows the reader to step into a world that has a perspective they might not have considered before. It shows history how it really happened; it shows the real effects of Colonization and Imperialism. Those two long words weren’t good things. They weren’t progress, they weren’t “for king and country” or manifest destiny. Imperialism and Colonization led to uprooted lives, oppression, racism and years of racial tension that led to the destruction of lives for indigenous peoples. These were all perspectives that I was aware of, but never had my eyes opened to the brutality of what reality was. It took reading the stories from the Native perspective to shift the One white Story that I had been fed my whole life.

 

 

 

 

Hamlet Final Project

Intro:

Community is a word with a very fluid definition; it can change all the time. Personally, I like to consider my community the city of Lincoln, Nebraska. It’s the city that I’ve spent my whole life in, and numerous events and people throughout the whole city not just one small group have influenced me and helped to shape me in to the person that I am. Great as it is, I’ve also noticed some bad things. One thing that sticks out is Power. It exists everywhere, and no matter how hard one tries, it’s inescapable. It seems that people are always trying to one-up somebody else, have more strength, or have more than the person next to them. And one would do well to keep in mind that a person can lead justly every bit as much as they could cruelly. The order I chose to display the characteristics goes from the most negative aspects of Power to the more positive, or at least not so malignant aspects.

Greed

 

“If it will please you

To show us so much gentry and good will

As to expend your time with us awhile

For the supply and profit of our hope,

Your visitation shall receive such thanks

As fits a king’s remembrance.”

 

Act II, Scene II

 

This is the Pinnacle Bank Arena, the new pride and joy of Lincoln, Nebraska. This basketball and concert venue has cost the city millions of dollars to build and maintain, but of course it’s always all right to tax the people to pay for something like this, as long it will make a profit, right? In Hamlet, we don’t hear of Claudius or Gertrude levying taxes to get what they want, but we do see them using money to buy favor, as in with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. They promised them money that “fits a king’s remembrance” in exchange for phony friendship to Hamlet. What makes this picture an especially poignant symbol of greed is both the enormous size of the Pinnacle Bank Arena, but also the glistening silver sheen of the building. Claudius, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern all had their eye on one thing throughout the whole play: power, especially the kind that comes from money and wealth. It was that greed that drove them to commit their foul deeds. Greed was enough to kill the King and marry his wife. It was enough to betray a childhood friend to his murderous uncle, and as we see in Lincoln, it was reason enough to tax the city of Lincoln for $179 Million. Certainly $179 Million “fits a kings remembrance”

 

Control

 

 

 

“Let’s further think of this,

Weigh what convenience both of tie and means

May fit us to our shape…

And that he calls for drink, I’ll have prepared him

A chalice the nonce; whereon but sipping

Our purpose may hold there.”

 

Act IV, Scene VII

 

At first this picture might seem quaint, almost peculiar. It’s no more than a lock holding some lever or handle in place of a fire hydrant. And it’s precisely that mindset that led to me using this picture to represent control. A lock is a relatively unassuming object; it’s something that even though we might not see in our everyday lives, it is still inconspicuous and doesn’t catch the attention. But yet despite the lack of glitz and glam, the lock still is so powerful, it has so much control. This lock determines whether or not someone will get to use the lever for its designed purpose, whether or not someone can get into a locker or a jewelry box. It is that very control that Claudius so desperately clings to, scheming with Laertes about how to kill Hamlet. Claudius is power-hungry the whole play, and will do anything he needs to keep hit. Part of him thrives off of the control that he has, using his kingly authority to preserve it at all costs, which is symbolized the silver of the lock. It’s partly the money and wealth at his disposal that allows him to have such control. But yet when his money fails to send him to his death in England, he opts for the steel of Laertes’ blade- the hard steel of the lock- to ensure his fate. But even then, Claudius is not trusting of that and mixes a poisoned cup, every bit as inconspicuous to kill Hamlet. Claudius goes to such lengths all to maintain his Control.

Ambition

 

 

“Both you Majesties

Might, by the sovereign power you have of us,

Put your dread pleasures more into command

than to entreaty.

 

But we both obey,

And here give up ourselves, in the full bent

To lay our service freely at your feet,

To be commanded.

 

Act II, Scene II

 

This is a picture of Gate 25, a locally owned restaurant in the newly developed Railyard, home of the great Pinnacle Bank Arena. On the outside, one finds a nice, well kept building with trendy and modern black and red accents with a modern name that has a nice nod to Memorial Stadium (which has 24 gates). In the background of the picture you see other buildings every bit as new and shiny, and also, another restaurant sign. Gate 25 is only but one of many new restaurants, both local and chains, striving to become the King of the Railyard. There is an undoubted ambition in the heart of the restaurant owners that keeps them going. There also seems to be an unwritten rule in ambition that one has to “pay their dues”- the restaurant owners knew that they’d have to pay their dues to the people of Lincoln and as such went with the name Gate 25, sure it’s a cool name, but it doesn’t carry the bravado of naming a restaurant after oneself. Also, Gate 25 is on the edge of the Railyard, not in the thriving heart, once again paying dues. And much like Gate 25, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had a lot of ambition, they wanted wealth and power. But they both knew that power and the wealth that comes with it don’t just come easily. They knew that they would have to pay their dues. In their case, their ambition brought them to the King and Queen in servitude, whether they liked it or not, as friends to Hamlet. It certainly wouldn’t have been the most glamorous job, but also it wasn’t the worst way to pay dues. And that ties in rather nicely with the pristine exterior of Gate 25- it looks nice on the outside and harbors ambition within- just like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern in relation to Hamlet.

Strength

 

 

“Sith I have cause and will and strength and means

to do’t. Examples gross as earth exhort me.

Witness this army of such mass and charge…”

 

Act IV, Scene IV

 

When talking about power, one thing that comes to mind is brute strength and force. But one aspect of strength that people seem to forget is surprising strength. It would have been easy to take a photo of a building and note how strong its foundations are to hold up tons and tons of weight, but that would be to neglect the hidden strength, especially the strength that resides in Hamlet. All throughout the play he is plotting his revenge and death of Claudius, and as he says here, “he as the strength and means” to do it. Hamlet is a younger person, probably around 20 years old, and his strength and resolve for revenge would probably have been surprising to Claudius, whom for much of the play though of Hamlet as little more than an emotional teenage boy. It is that spirit of hidden strength that drew me to the train. While everyone knows a train is strong- much like how most people assume that a young man is strong- I don’t think people fully grasp how powerful trains really are. Trains are capable of pulling tens of thousands of tons, and all the power of trains is contained within the locomotive, seen here. And while Hamlet isn’t capable of the physical feat of trains, killing someone does take both physical and mental strength, and a lot of it at that. It is the power that comes from his physical and mental strength that allows Hamlet to act upon and commit his revenge against Claudius.

Leadership

 

 

“Of that I shall have also cause to speak,

And from his mouth whose voice will draw on more.

But let this same be presently perform’d,

Even wile men’s minds are wild, lest more mischance

On plots and errors happen.”

 

Act V, Scene II

 

Throughout the whole play, Horatio never held a single position of power. Even at the end of the play, with everyone he has ever known dead, he still lived in loving servitude to Hamlet choosing to tell the story of what had transpired instead of killing himself. Even when it would have been easier to die, he chose to live humbly and honestly and committed himself to giving aid to the new leader, Fortinbras, saying how he will “draw on more” which means gain more people to support their new leader. With everyone dead, the power balance in Denmark has shifted, and a new leader must step in, and he must be a good one, as leadership is a very important aspect when it comes to power. The leadership of a ruler influences everyone they have power over. And that is why this image of the Capitol building is slightly off center and off balance- Claudius certainly wasn’t a good leader, he abused his power, and Fortinbras isn’t even a Dane! But yet day in and day out, there are good citizens, the Horatios of the world who know that their leader might not be the most stable or the most secure, but they serve them wholeheartedly because they have a sense of duty and honor and respect.

 

 

 

 

In Days Past

Althalos eased himself back into his chair in the study. Once, he had been a spry, able-bodied man, capable of making the trek across the Ka’el Plains in little more than a week. Now, Althalos rarely ventured outside of his corridor in the Castle of Drüweis. Althalos muttered something under his breath while flicking his finger towards the hearth and a warm, cozy fire erupted, the scarlet and golden flames gently licking the surrounding stone.

He meandered over to his bookshelf, half searching for a particular title, half seeking to ignore the correspondence that had appeared on his desk. He could tell from the seal on the letter that it was from King Terryn, and Althalos knew that he would have to respond sooner or later. But for now, the elderly mage was content to rummage through his old, leather bound books and perhaps for today, he could escape from his responsibilities in the world. It was just as Althalos was beginning to actually enjoy his time studying his bookshelf that his momentary peace was disrupted by one of his books falling to the floor.

Althalos walked over to it, puffing in annoyance as he stooped down to pick it up. The book was certainly far larger than any other book in his keeping. So large was it, that he found it hard to believe that he had no recollection of a book this big. He turned the binding to face him and blew off the dust that wasn’t knocked off when it fell. Ad Mysterium Fati it read. Aha! thought Althalos, and suddenly he did remember. This book had belonged to Fendrel, Althalos’ mentor. He remembered the many moons he had spent poring over this book, learning its every secret and teaching by heart. He had spent so much time in reading it in fact that he had memorized whole chapters of the book in an attempt to impress Fendrel.

Oh Fendrel, if only you were here, surely you could help me. With a sigh that carried the weight of many lonely years, Althalos turned back to his desk and opened the letter that rested there. He knew it was about his taking on of an apprentice, a task he was not nearly as eager as the King to have happen. But Althalos knew that he was old and that he did have to pass on his knowledge and wisdom to a new student, and knew even better that Fendrel would encourage him to do so. The letter, as it turned out, contained a myriad of names that Terryn had collected from the various sorcery schools throughout Drüdægen, and it read,

 

Dearest Althalos,

 

In honor of your noble and heroic service to the land of Drüdægen in years past, I have been patient and allowed you time to yourself. I granted you a corridor of my own castle to have to your studies and pursuit of every study under the heavens. As your King, I feel I must make this request of you.

 

But as your close friend, I must say that it is with a heavy heart that I ask you to take on an apprentice. The Great War was a terrible time, and I know that it took Fendrel the Wise, may he rest in peace, from us, but especially from you. He was your mentor and your closest confidant. And even more than that I know how heavily the immense cost of the war was for this whole kingdom.

 

Althalos, venerable Althalos, it is time for you to take on an apprentice. You are aging and I fear for the day that your health will fail you. As is the tradition and right, being the Grand Mage and Defender of Drüdægen, you must pass on those deep magical secrets that Fendrel taught to you, as was taught to him in his time. You knew full well when accepting apprenticeship the burden and honor it would be to become our Grand Mage. I know that you will choose the best apprentice and no instructor shall be your equal.

 

In an attempt to be kind and to hasten the process, I have collected 10 names of the most promising students from our Sorcerers Guilds throughout Drüdægen. Each of these fine young men have received the highest marks in their classes and have showed a capability to master advanced spells and I am told that they have the most earnest commitment to the Sacred Art.

 

Merek, from Guldaerth

Sadon, from the Al-adir Mountains

Rulf, from Volkh

Cedric, from Lake Omoc

Janshai, from Bel-dur

Berinon, From Stadtwald

Tybalt, from Oceal

Borin, form Thalmista

Terrowyn, from Drüweis

Cassius, from Jal-rafir

 

Any one of these should be a most fine assistant and apprentice to you. Choose well, friend

 

Your King and

Your Friend,

Terryn

 

Althalos put the letter back down on his study’s desk. He appreciated Terryn’s sympathy, but how could Terryn possibly know difficult of a thing he was asking? The Great War had cost Althalos nearly everything. Everything worth having he thought to himself, as the old man’s head hung with sadness. And Althalos sat there for quite sometime, losing himself in the sadness of his memories. All too vivid were those terrible, cursed memories. He remembered staring at the blackened heaps of ash that used to be the magnificent Ätherisch Forest. The majestic cedars that grew there smoldered in an unnatural green haze. This forest had meant so much to Althalos, and he wasn’t even able to save it. Althalos had been raised in Stadtwald, a small village two days’ journey from the Ätherisch Forest. He had spent many boyhood hours there, playing with his older brother Doran. They would bring some blank pages they had smuggled from their home along with some charcoal and they would draw all of the different kinds flora and fauna they would see. Doran was always the better artist, but he still let Althalos try his best at capturing each nuance of the living organism that made up its being, its essence. In fact it was even in that forest that Althalos learned he had The Gift. At first he was scared of it and didn’t want to pursue it, but Doran convinced him to at least try. One day, Doran stole the oldest book he could find in Pa’s study that had funny words written in it. He had encouraged Althalos to read them; maybe these were the words of Galdyrran, the magical language. And they were! Althalos found that when he spoke them, he could feel a deep power within himself being unleashed, and to be truthful, it exhausted him to channel this power into the words. But he tried for Doran. And it was all those years later that he again tried for Doran. Tried to save their home, their forest full of mystery and wonders, tried to save Doran. He tried to save the place that made him into who he was. But he wasn’t capable. The most powerful sorcerer in all of Drüdægen, the Grand Mage of Galdûr couldn’t even protect those most dear to him. Not Doran. Not the Ätherisch Forest. Not Stadtwald. Out of that war, the only two that survived who even mattered to Althalos were Terryn and Cymrear, and both were wounded greatly at that. Althalos could remember every little detail, and he remembered how his lapse in concentration had almost cost Cymrear his life. He remembered Cymrear’s brilliant gold and bronze scales soaked with blood. Oh the hot, sticky blood, how it reeked. It had taken him hours to clean the wound and get the blood to stop flowing. He had thought he was going to lose Cymrear. And while he couldn’t forgive himself for all of his failures already, he couldn’t have dared continue to live should his beloved companion die because of his own blunder. It would have been too much. But fate had spared him those two, and it was them who had convinced him to continue as Grand Mage.

Althalos woke with a start at a loud noise, scattering the papers on his desk. He raised his bleary eyes to his door to see what it was that had woken him. There in the doorway stood King Terryn himself.

“I hope that I, uh, am not interrupting anything,” he said, his warm, kind voice filling Althalos’ study.

“Oh no, certainly not at all” replied Althalos. He couldn’t let Terryn know that he had fallen into a slumber, dreaming of the horrors of The Great War. It would worry him, and Terryn could make quite a fuss about something he needn’t.

“I see that you have had time to read my letter,” Terryn remarked, eyes glancing at the paper with the broken wax seal on Althalos’ table. “Listen, Althalos, I know that you are not eager to take up an apprentice, and I know it won’t be easy—“

“Oh, yes, you must know how hard it is to take on a new apprentice. How hard it is to teach the incredibly intricate pronunciations of Galdyrran. How difficult it is to remember each word, each phrase. You surely know how much time and effort it will take to even find an apprentice to begin! Yes, please Terryn; tell me how much you know about being the Grand Mage of Galdûr, and the hardships I face! How could I ask someone else to step into my shoes and live out the misery and regret that I am?” Althalos spat the last words out at Terryn, all of his anger and regret pouring out of him like a waterfall. Althalos sat down after his rare outburst, with cheeks still flushed.

“You forget, Althalos, that I am your King. And while we certainly have a special bond, that you still are to pay me proper respect.” Even in the face of such disrespect, Terryn never lost his calm, and still spoke to Althalos with that special kind of reverence served for the most prized things in all of mankind. “I surely cannot pretend to know your struggles. I know The War cost you, and I cannot pretend to fathom how much.” At this Terryn’s gaze softened even more, and he continued in a quiet voice, “And I would not have asked this soon, but the messages of the priests worry me, Althalos. They are seeing something dark, something malevolent. I don’t want to say there will be another war, but all of Drüdægen needs to be prepared. I had sent the list in an attempt to help expedite the process.”

“I have reviewed the list of your ‘top students’, and while their marks are impressive, I did not feel anything as I read their names. I’m sorry Terryn, but none of them are to be the next Grand Mage. Fendrel did not choose my name from some list, and I will do nothing different. Now if you’d be so kind as to excuse me, your Majesty, I have an appointment with Katrina the Herbalist that I intend to keep on time.”

Terryn wasn’t sure whether Althalos actually had an appointment, as he hardly ever left his study, much less venture in to town. But he could tell that his visit had irritated the elderly mage, so he decided to let him pass.

“If you must,” Terryn sighed, “but please promise me you will at least think about taking on an apprentice.” Althalos grunted a reply that Terryn interpreted as more than likely Althalos wouldn’t, stood up to put on his old red cloak, hemmed with gold and promptly exited to go into town.

Galdûr help him Terryn prayed internally, to a being he wasn’t sure existed.

 

Index

Humans

Althalos (Ahl-tha-los)– Grand Mage of Galdûr, the highest ranking and most powerful sorcerer in the land of Drüdægen

Terryn (Ter-in)- King of Drüdægen

Fendrel (Fen-dral)- Althalos’ mentor and former Grand Mage of Galdûr

Places

Ka’el Plains (Kah-el)- A large plain leading into the Al-Adir Mountains

Al-Adir Mountains (Ahl-ah-deer)- A mountain range splitting Drüdægen in half

Drüdægen (Droo-dai-gen)- A relatively advanced medieval kingdom, “Land of the Druids”

Drüweis (Droo-vais)- Capital City, “White Druid”

Ätherisch (Ae-ther-rish)- Mystical Forest in the east of Drüdægen, German for “ethereal”

Stadtwald (Stahdt-vahld)- City near the Ätherisch Forest, from German stadt “city” and wald “forest”

Beasts and Creatures

Cymrear (Kem-reer)- Althalos’ dragon companion

Supernatural Entities

Galdûr (Gall-du’r)- The magical deity who bestowed magic to humans

 

It’s Not Easy to be a Hero

Heroism is a tricky thing. People have their own little individual preconception of what a hero is. For me, there are multiple kinds of heroes. There are the every day, unsung heroes. They are those who go about their daily lives and give all they can, even though it might not be appreciated. They are the people like teachers, policemen, etc. These people go about doing a basically good thing. They want to give of themselves, and don’t expect a whole lot in return. Instead, they make sacrifices in one way or another (i.e. pay, long hours) so that they can give back to their communities.

In V for Vendetta, the character of Finch displays some, although not all, of these qualities. Finch, I argue, is a basically good character. He’s not setting out to do malicious or evil things like Mr. Creedy or Helen Heyers. All Finch is trying to do throughout the novel is solve the case of whom V is. Finch is doing his job. That is all he doing, nothing more, nothing less. Finch gives of himself in the hope that England will be a better place. Perhaps Finch is a little bit misguided in what constitutes a “good” England, but that is neither here nor there. What matters is the driving force behind Finch, and that is to be a good detective in service of his nation. That is the basic principle of heroism, to do what is right.

The movie The Dark Knight then serves to remind the difference between a thing being good or right and a thing being necessary. It’s a very paradoxical statement, and it is one that is hard to grasp. It would seem a good thing would be necessary, but that’s not true. Throughout the movie there is this idea of, “the hero Gotham needs, but not the hero Gotham deserves” or vice versa, coined by Lt. James Gordon . In the movie Harvey Dent was viewed as a champion of Gotham, he was their hero. Through the course of events in the film the Joker manages to corrupt Harvey enough to kill in cold blood. He becomes an immoral person. Batman eventually stops The Joker and Harvey, but Batman takes the fall for Harvey’s crime. Harvey was not a good, moral person. He did terrible things. But Batman and Lt. James Gordon know that in their hour of darkness that Gotham needs a hero to believe in. Even though the right thing to do would be to let Harvey’s crime be known, Batman does a necessary thing instead for the people. And James Gordon knows that it isn’t a good thing for a hero like Batman to be punished, he knows it is needed for Gotham. It’s a strange thing, but there is a very fine distinction that must be drawn between the two.

What V for Vendetta, The Dark Knight, and The Grand Inquisitor do is show how important it is for a hero to have a limit to their power. In V for Vendetta, V kills with reckless abandon, or, at least there seems to be no check to his murder. Early on in the novel, Evey helps V take out the Bishop (47-54). Immediately afterward, she questions him about how killing is wrong. V really pays no mind and uses his ends of a “free” England to justify his means, and when no one is there to stop him, it takes Evey to decide to cling to the ideology of “ave atque vale”, Evey decides to “hail and farewell” (263). No longer will she use the Roses V favored to justify the end results. In my mind this makes Evey as much of a hero as V ever was, and perhaps a better one.

Similarly in Batman’s case, he has near unlimited power. He has such an extensive reach that he can tap into every single person in Gotham’s cell phones to create a sort of Sonar like vision. It’s an incredible amount of power for one man to have, and Lucius Fox even comments on this. He’s reluctant to help Batman use the system because of how immoral of a thing this is. But again, Fox knows that it is what needs to be done. The thing, though, that separates Batman from V is his knowledge of how far power should go. After Batman has won his battles, he has his computer system self-destruct from Fox’s code. He knows that there is something innately wrong about that device and as thus limits his use of immorally immense power.

Then in The Grand Inquisitor, the Inquisitor himself has too much power that he wields in a terrible way. The Inquisitor isn’t set up to be a hero to the reader, but he proves the point that “absolute power corrupts absolutely”. But it is fair to say that the Inquisitor is a hero to the people in his religion. He has as he says, “freed them from the burden of choice”. And he does what he thinks he has to with Christ to keep his people happy and safe. The Inquisitor has let his own power go to his head so much that he thinks he has more of a right to lead than Jesus Christ, the Messiah. He got so full of himself and his power that he lost sight of a gracious, saving faith.

For me, to be a hero is not an easy thing at all. It’s an almost impossible thing to do. Heroes have to know when to do the good thing, and when to do the right thing. And their motives need to always be for some greater good, because if it’s not for the greater good, is it really heroic? True heroes know when and how to limit their power, or at least how to share their power with others who can keep them in check. Heroism is not an easy thing, but it is certainly something to aspire to.

Community Response Q2

This quarter, I decided to go to Cultiva, a local coffee shop. I chose Cultiva first of all because I feel that coffee shops that aren’t the Mill get overlooked here in Lincoln. I wanted to go to a place that would provide a still authentic, local experience, but one that wasn’t the first place everyone else thought of. While there I had a wonderful conversation with a good friend, and I wanted to use a memoir to capture the joy of simple, ordinary things that we often overlook.

The Simple Things

     There are few things better than good, ordinary, black coffee. Well, good black coffee and good company, that is. Sure, there are many things that would suit a conversation with a friend. A stroll in the park, perhaps. Maybe just sitting at a bench outside the school. But, for a conversation as deep and as serious as I intended to have, few things are as suitable as the depth and darkness of coffee.

The drive there was simple enough. I played some music. One of my Russian songs maybe, I’m not really sure. It was surprisingly heavy traffic for being midafternoon. Cultiva lays just across the road from scenic East Campus, and I suppose traffic around there is usually heavy. After the 15 minutes or whatever it was, I finally got there.

My friend who I was meeting there and I walk into the store, and we go to place our orders. I haven’t had a good French Press in a while, so I know that’s what I’ve got to get. He places his order as well, a Cubano, which is a delicious cinnamon latte. We make our way over to our table and sit.

Cultiva’s French Press

He and I both have had some very similar (unfortunately for the both of us) life experiences. Details aren’t needed, but it is sufficient to say we have both gone through some very unfortunate events. Now I know, guys aren’t supposed to be all “feely” or “sensitive” or whatever your word is for that. Frankly, that’s a load of crap. Sometimes people need to talk it out, feel it out. And that’s okay.

I’m very thankful for my friend. He’s one of the few people who I know an actually talk to. And boy, talk we did. It’s never an easy thing to begin a conversation like that. I feel so burdensome asking someone to listen to me. Who am I to have my problems heard? But it was over the deep, rich coffee that problems, worries, concerns flowed freely between us. Nothing was too serious or too light to not be talked about. It was so easy, so simple to be able to talk like this. And we were talking about big things, important things! To think how I had fretted over traffic, it seems so silly.

I didn’t realize it at the time when I agreed to go get coffee, but I needed to talk. Talking isn’t really in my nature, so I guess I could say that I never know when I need to talk. But this one was different, everything about it felt right. From being in Cultiva, to getting my French Press, down to the very green and black flannel I was wearing, I knew the situation was the right one to talk. It was therapeutic. It was one of those little events that happen in your life that don’t stand out to you when they happen. They’re nothing out of the ordinary. It’s just a coffee shop, right? But it’s the little things in life that give you your joy. I get so caught up in the “big” things in life. But those big, important things pale in comparison to the bliss of the ordinary.

Ordinary is good. And there are few things better than good, black coffee with a good friend. How lucky I am to live in a place where things can be ordinary. Sometimes to appreciate something, you have to experience it again, to be reminded of what it is that you missed. Simple coffee in a simple coffee shop reminded me of that.

Personal Essay

Personal Essay

 

Who am I? It’s not exactly an easy question to answer. The nerd in me would humorously say “24601” (any Les Misérables nerds?). It’s funny, because “I” is not a topic that I really care to talk about much. It’s so awkward, I find, to discuss myself. Because really I am just one big nerd, who likes to read nerdy things, and learn nerdy stuff. Now of course there’s a lot more to me than that, but at times it’s hard to see myself past that.

It goes without saying that everyone in their life experiences significant hardships. Loss is real, and loss is often very difficult to cope with. Each struggle is so personal, so intense. And we are often left without something to blame, only left with a whirlpool of anger and hate at this nameless object we want to blame. It can leave you feeling hollow and empty.

And that hollowness, it’s indescribable. It doesn’t feel good to hate. No person actually wants to be angry with other people or hate them. Even if you want to be angry with someone who has wronged you, you still end up with that emptiness. In my own life I found myself pitying those who had inflicted so much pain on me. How torturous their souls must be to do that to another person!

Life hurts. It hurts a lot. It’s full of loss, and sometimes it seems like each one is worse than the last. It’s like getting punched in the same spot over and over again until the skin is raw, and the muscles are in pain beyond belief. But there are few things so satisfying as getting punched by Life, and then standing right back up. Surviving is hard, but it is rewarding. And having a life worth living is infinitely better than the alternative.

So it really is a hard question to answer. “Who am I?” That question is filled with so many nuances, so many possible different answers. It takes a lot of personal reflection; it takes a lot of me looking back on my life.

And it is really interesting as I look back on all of the things in my life, both the good and the bad. Each one has their own unique way of shaping us, helping us to grow into the people we are today. And when taking both the good and the bad in my life, I find one constant: other humans. There are so many different things we can experience in life. And from our highest joys to our most crushing sorrows, I’ve found humans at work in all of them. It’s really a funny thing. Life at times may seem to be a silly and trivial thing, but there’s so much more to it than that. And it’s those other humans. Those people that create life experiences. Those people that God has placed in our lives for a reason. So take heart! There are other people around. We each experiences to have, lives to live. I’m a total dork and like to make up my own philosophical sayings. And my favorite is this: “Humans. Can’t live with ‘em. Can’t live without ‘em.”

 

 

Crime and Punishment Review

Crime and Punishment is a very heavy book. Very, very heavy. What makes it so heavy are all of the deep philosophical queries and points that Dostoyevsky so masterfully weaves in. One of the most enjoyable things about this book is the comfortable rhythm that Dostoyevsky uses. He takes a dozen pages to set up the scene with dialogue both external and internal. Then all of a sudden he slams you with three to four solid pages of emotion and intensity. Then back it goes to the dozen pages of digesting the philosophy and emotion while setting up the next scene. At first, it was a bit shocking to get used to. But by the time part 1 was over, I found myself gently lulled into reading and it has made the length of this book a lot easier to get through. The breaks in intensity and dialogue between major events really provide useful space that is needed to take in all of the philosophy that Dostoyevsky puts in.

The main character, Rodion Raskolnikov, is a deep thinker and it is through his eyes that we see the world. He’s incredibly cynical when it comes to both man and God, and it is mostly through his musings and thoughts that Dostoyevsky puts forth the heavy, philosophical points. If the whole plot were only Raskolnikov, the reader would surely be smothered. But thankfully, Dostoyevsky works in fantastic characters who provide a nice contrast to the bleak outlook on life Raskolnikov has.

One of my personal favorites is the saintly, admirable Sonia. She’s the daughter of Semion Marmaledov, the government Rodion met in the bar, and Katherine Ivanovna, his wife. Her family eventually became so poor because of Marmaledov’s wastefulness that she began to sell herself out as a prostitute. Sonia eventually becomes a rather close companion to Raskolnikov. She becomes to voice of reason and goodness in his ear, when all he hears in the other is how bad the world is.

The plot progresses to the point where Rodion confesses to Sonia that he killed Lizaveta, one of Sonia’s few friends. Rodion was sick and weak for months because of the heinousness of his crime and hadn’t told a soul, yet he opened up to the kind and gentle Sonia. He expects what really anyone should when you tell them that you killed one of their friends. But instead, Sonia responds with only kindness and love. “No, no, there is nobody, there is nobody anywhere in the world now unhappier than you!” she says to him. Sonia’s kindness and permanent amiability is confusing to Rodion, and it really forces him to stop and think about who he is, and why he’s done what he’s done.

Its really intriguing to see how Dostoyevsky uses different foils to highlight plot points and really adds to the messages that he conveys throughout this book. His mastery of character development and his perfect timing in bringing up different ones makes this one of the better books I have read.

Community Response

Nolan Schad

Mrs. Jank

English 12

19 October 2015

Ajora Falls

LINCOLN, NE—At 313 N 27^th street there is a small, unassuming little stretch of buildings. The outer decay hides an Arabic dessert bakery, a vacant, nondescript shell of a building, and nestled between the two is the pleasant surprise that is Ajora Falls restaurant.

Outside, the wrought iron furniture and fencing is faded and old. But don’t let that deter you. Inside, you are instantly greeted by a cozy light and the delightful smell of Ethiopian food.

With perhaps room for about 50 patrons, Ajora Falls is not a large restaurant by any means, but the booths are cozy and could easily fit parties of up to six. The owner, Tisfaye Alibe, has decorated the inside with a very appropriate blend of both modern and tribal art. It gives you the feel of actually being in Ethiopia, all in the comfort of America.

Ethiopian food isn’t exactly a cuisine for the picky and the unadventurous. But if you’re up for a cultural experience Ajora Falls is the place for you. The menu has only 8 entrees, but it is incredibly easy to read and navigate. The descriptions are clear and very informative.

Now unfortunately, due to time and monetary constraints, I was only able to sample the doro wat and the Ethiopian coffee. But I don’t think I could have eaten more if I tried! The mass of food that I got was one of the most delicious and satisfying meals that I’ve ever had.

Doro wat served on injera with lentils, collared greens, and onions and potatoes

I’m not one for dark meat. Maybe twice in my life have I ever eaten dark meat and I detested it with all my being. So I must admit I was a little bit disheartened and apprehensive when two drumsticks covered in a red sauce came out on my plate. But, I decided to push through. I was at an Ethiopian restaurant in a part of town I rarely visit; I was going to be adventurous!

And boy oh boy.

The chicken may have been some of the best I’ve ever had. The meat fell right off the bone it was so tender and perfectly cooked. There was no sliminess or stringiness that I usually find in dark meat. The sauce that covered it was every bit as perfect. Mr. Tesfaye Alibe, the owner, certainly knows his way around the spice rack. The sauce was a perfect balance of spices, tomatoes, onion and garlic. No one of the spices was dominant, but instead each complemented each other in a swirling synergy of flavor. Such food master! And I was only through the chicken!

The base for almost every meal on the menu is injera a type of spongy, naan-like bread.. Perfect for soaking up all of the delicious, savory sauce of the doro wat! Accompanying the injera and the doro wat was a generous helping of lentils, collared greens, and potatoes and onions.

Each of them added a wonderful splash of vibrant color to plate as well as each their own vibrant flavor. Each one was so individual and distinct in flavor, but contained the same amazing synergy as the doro wat. When my plate came, there was no silverware. No forks, no spoons, no knives. One of the best parts of the whole experience was using the bread as the means of shoveling delicious food into my face.

As with most meals that afford me the luxury, I had the pleasure of topping my meal off with the single best cup of coffee I have ever had. The Yelp reviews had mentioned the coffee being good, but I never imagined it would be that good. It was like the sweet, rich, black nectar of the gods. If you’re not a coffee drinker, the magic I suppose would be lost on you. But for those of you are like me and enjoy a cup of the stuff every morning, this coffee will put your best Keurig® or Nespresso® brew to shame. It was straight black coffee, yet it had this rich, dark almost sweet taste to it. Simply coffee like I’ve never had before. It was an amazing end to a fantastic meal.

After my coffee and my meal I had the most wonderful opportunity to talk with Mr. Tesfaye Alibe. He’s a warm and kind man, very open to conversation. I had the distinct pleasure of getting to know a little bit more about him and how Ajora Falls came to be.

For starters, Mr. Alibe came over to America from Ethiopia 16 years ago. He found himself living in Lincoln with his family. Then, 2 years ago he decided to go into the restaurant business and opened up Ajora Falls. He’s been coming in day in and day out to serve the food that he loves right there on North 27^th Street ever since then.

Perhaps what is most interesting about the restaurant is the reason Alibe decided to open it. He said he opened it to, “share the culture he loves, through food”. He believes that, “loving and caring are key” and that he loves being able to do that every day. In the course of our conversation he asked me if I ate my food using the injera and my hands to scoop it up. There was a distinct light in his eyes that came when I told him that I had. He explained that he was so happy that I had decided to eat as his people do, to eat as the culture says we should.

Mr. Alibe says that he really only gets a few regulars, mostly enough to pay the bills and whatever simple pleasures he wants in life, but that he really doesn’t mind. Given that I was the only patron in the restaurant from 6:30-7:30, this makes sense. The atmosphere was pleasant from the decorations and the smells that abounded, but other people in the restaurant always add to the ambiance. But, don’t let the sparse patronage discourage you from having a profound cultural experience.

And from start to beginning, that’s what Ajora Falls was all about. Culture. Located in an ethnic business strip, Ajora falls oozes culture. From the décor to the food to even the service, Ajora Falls provides a unique experience that I’ve never found to be repeated quite in the same way.

 

Food: A

Atmosphere: B+

Service: A

Overall: A

 

I returned home from my excursion full, happy, and with a to go box of doro wat to enjoy the next day, courtesy of Mr. Tesfaye Alibe. If you’re up for the experience, I highly recommend that you go and enjoy some delicious food and wonderful company in the hidden gem that is Ajora Falls.