WWI Draft Registration Card 6th September The ragtime era, stretching from the last years of the 19th century to the end of the second decade of the 20th century, produced many fine pianists who were forced by the social conventions of the time to ply their trade in honkytonks, barrelhouses, vaudeville theatres, movie theatres, music stores, hotels, steamboats, saloons, and, of course, the multitude of sporting houses throughout the United States. Sanford Brunson Campbell was born on 26th March in Washington, Washington County, Kansas, a small town founded in in the northern central part of the territory, which was admitted to Statehood on 29th January as the 34th State of the Union. His father was Lewis E.
All of these words apply but none of them really convey what I mean. I read a blog post over the weekend that reminded me about the idea of a continuum that connects all the different writing that I like. Maybe a name exists in literary theory but outside academia there is not a mainstream accepted satisfying name for this tradition.
But there are exemplars of it and I want to force the world to read their books, so I have to figure out what this tradition encompasses and what to call it.
It was green spray paint, and I remember thinking that almost any other color would have been more appropriate, more violent and emphatic. Like everything else about the gesture, it needs a lot of context to make any sense.
I had taken the paint from the Art Sophie davis essay 2 where I was failing a sculpture class that semester.
It seems ridiculous that I was failing sculpture but I was. I came to class and did the assignments but the professor, an Ohioan famous for his large cheery site-specific installations in Columbus office park atria, just really hated my work.
My work was pretty bad. In a previous art class I had mostly gotten around the limitations imposed by my lack of technical skill by working with appropriation, pastiche and performance, ie I had put on a bikini and smeared myself all over with lipstick for the midterm and built a giant fake wedding cake topped with doll heads and surrounded by bowls of Karo syrup fake blood for the final.
But in this class we had to carve and weld, and I lacked both the patience and the innate knack that you need in order to be good with tools. I made two Easter Islandy heads out of wood and metal which were intended to be realistic but came out more impressionistic.
This was my masterpiece and I think it also got a D, or maybe a C. The professor circled my work like Tim Gunn and pointed out its flaws with one outstretched finger. I guess I was still at the stage of life when I thought I could potentially be good at anything I liked doing.
I only knew that I loved to get onstage and cry or scream or tremulously declare myself, to generally chew the scenery. Part of it was just the pleasure of being allowed to say the lines.
The class had a greatest-hits type curriculum so I had little bits of Shakespeare and Chekhov to memorize for it all the time. I thought I was the best actress in this class for sure.
The best actor in the class was Dave and we had a lot of scenes together, I began to look forward to our scenes, we sometimes had to meet outside of class to rehearse. I want to also step back from making fun of myself a little bit here and acknowledge that what was happening to me and around me at time was often terrible.
Many things were happening, some were great, others were terrible. I also met Val and she became my roommate. Basically things were looking up, with a few exceptions. This was my first experience with this relationship dynamic so I guess I can be forgiven for not recognizing it for what it was and shutting it down immediately.
Until the body was found, months after her disappearance, everyone thought she had committed suicide. Maybe the administration suppressed attempts to discuss what had happened or memorialize the murdered girl.Whoa! That’s a really good essay, kind of scattered and intense but very interesting and thought-provoking.
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