A Sequence of Unrelated Events:
1. I am posting past writings as a reminder to myself that I am not a failure, despite the course of events this year, with the repeated misplacement of assignments, the forgetting of deadlines; the overall failure to be productive this semester is a result of something I was supposed to learn, i.e. how to be a failure for a little while. I have seen from this experience that 1) I do not like to be a failure and 2) I am not even going to pretend to be a failure because it is just not THAT amusing to others anyway. I exaggerate my delinquency, but really, this needs to stop. Thus, posting my old assignments, written the morning they are due, is a testament to my belief that I am capable of doing the work, and inshallah, in a timely manner.
2. A friend who used to read my blog, but no longer does, said: "It's all connected!" This is not so amazing an insight, and in fact, with enough time, I could easily have derived such a claim myself. The context of his claim is as follows:
X fails at y.
X fails at p.
X fails at z.
If x fails at y, p and z, then there may exist a d such that x also fails d. Suppose y = relationships, p = school, z = family life. These are all connected to the extent that they are all constituent parts to X's life. And now, introduce d. "d" might also be failed because it is a part of X's life.
3. In other news, Roman gets props for using the word "Alhamdullilah" in a sentence today. And Hanukah, is spelled h-a-n-u-k-a-h.
4. I also learned today that I come back inshallah the 16th from Hajj.
10.11.04
The Dynamics of the Cheese Bus
I remember cheese bus rides to school. To the five-year old, the bus itself is a monstrous contraption that could be confused for an ugly and elongated version of a mechanical cheetah. Do not enter the school bus, the yellow and black exterior call out to overly imaginative children. Indeed, the loud yellow and black colors of the bus warn of the inner dynamics of the bus occupants.
When rowdy, dirty children occupy the same space, the volatile mix erupts in spitballs, paper airplanes, screams, and laughter. The bus is segregated according to coolness, with young losers occupying the front and the troublemakers of tomorrow seizing the back of the bus. Of course, key personalities dictate the rules of spatial differentiation on the bus, with the bullies and future charismatic leaders claiming the most valuable territory on the bus (the spacious rear window seat).
The rowdy, dirty children of the cheese bus are replaced with pretentious journalists aboard the press bus in Timothy Crouse’s “The Boys on the Bus.” Here basic understanding of bus dynamics supplants Crouse’s tales of pack journalism. In fact, Crouse structures his novel around the power mongrels of journalism, what he calls the “the Heavies.” Despite the herd mentality of political reporters traveling and behaving as one monolithic entity called the press corps, Crouse highlights the singular men who have broken the formalist rules of journalism. Included in the personalities of political journalism is NY Times writer Johnny Apple, who Crouse unflinchingly describes as a “bullshit artist,” a hustler whose moral compass has been smeared with pretension and egomania (75). If Apple could be a transmuted into an audio bit, he would sound like the chipper wake-up call lady in a hotel. Crouse offers us a naked Apple, one magnifies our own insecurities and evils. In fact, I imagine Apple the Overachiever would have been battered and bloodied after a ride on my magical cheese bus.
Crouse suggests that Apple lacks the balls to be a good journalist. He is aggressive, pompous, and prolific but he does not offer the depth necessary to fully penetrate his stories, as say David Broder of the Post. He does not have the courage to stand up to his editors and write stories that analyze and interpret the news like Witcover of the Post. Apple would never say that campaigns are “essentially meaningless, that some of the candidates were shams and liars, that the process was unjust and anachronistic” as Hunter Thompson later divulges (332). Rather, Apple magnifies what other journalists are afraid of admitting—the ass-kissing, the ambition, the insecurity were all shared character phobias.
Crouse insightfully offers different slices of journalistic personalities. “Boys on the Bus” teaches readers about the personalities first, and the craft later. In fact, these colorful portraits of journalists are literally in conversation with one another. In a dialogue with Broder, Crouse examines the hardcore issues like the politics of institutionalized reporting and the role of the press. Using Brody as his mouthpiece, Crouse presents the theme of dynamism as the resounding character of good reporting. Not only are the individuals who write the stories flexible, changing their points of view and their politics over time, the reporting itself must be dynamic, complex, and moving. The changes in the institution of journalism are reflected in the styles and attitudes of the reporters, who, too, have changed.
The sharp, candid portraits of journalists parallel the fresh, colorful language Crouse uses to tell his story. He approaches the politics of journalism with a style that is funny, and unflinching. He describes the “whoredom of press agentry” and the “Heavies” with the same rawness. Crouse also pumps the text with lovely insights that are useful even to non-journalism students: “The larger the audience” he instructs, “the more inoffensive and inconclusive the article must be” (20). Ironically, Crouse’s creative nonfiction has had a wide enough audience to be read by fresh-faced journalism-majors as well as curious Strand bibliophiles.
When the twenty minute commute to school on the cheesy school bus ends, I always feel as if I had temporarily been enclosed in the womb of the something greater. Despite the harsh realities of social class and the coolness factor in elementary school buses, the feeling of release once the doors are open is wonderfully pleasurable. It’s the same feeling you get once you finish Crouse’s book. If you’ve endured the boys on the cheese bus, the older more sophisticated versions of these boys ought to be amusing.
1. I am posting past writings as a reminder to myself that I am not a failure, despite the course of events this year, with the repeated misplacement of assignments, the forgetting of deadlines; the overall failure to be productive this semester is a result of something I was supposed to learn, i.e. how to be a failure for a little while. I have seen from this experience that 1) I do not like to be a failure and 2) I am not even going to pretend to be a failure because it is just not THAT amusing to others anyway. I exaggerate my delinquency, but really, this needs to stop. Thus, posting my old assignments, written the morning they are due, is a testament to my belief that I am capable of doing the work, and inshallah, in a timely manner.
2. A friend who used to read my blog, but no longer does, said: "It's all connected!" This is not so amazing an insight, and in fact, with enough time, I could easily have derived such a claim myself. The context of his claim is as follows:
X fails at y.
X fails at p.
X fails at z.
If x fails at y, p and z, then there may exist a d such that x also fails d. Suppose y = relationships, p = school, z = family life. These are all connected to the extent that they are all constituent parts to X's life. And now, introduce d. "d" might also be failed because it is a part of X's life.
3. In other news, Roman gets props for using the word "Alhamdullilah" in a sentence today. And Hanukah, is spelled h-a-n-u-k-a-h.
4. I also learned today that I come back inshallah the 16th from Hajj.
10.11.04
The Dynamics of the Cheese Bus
I remember cheese bus rides to school. To the five-year old, the bus itself is a monstrous contraption that could be confused for an ugly and elongated version of a mechanical cheetah. Do not enter the school bus, the yellow and black exterior call out to overly imaginative children. Indeed, the loud yellow and black colors of the bus warn of the inner dynamics of the bus occupants.
When rowdy, dirty children occupy the same space, the volatile mix erupts in spitballs, paper airplanes, screams, and laughter. The bus is segregated according to coolness, with young losers occupying the front and the troublemakers of tomorrow seizing the back of the bus. Of course, key personalities dictate the rules of spatial differentiation on the bus, with the bullies and future charismatic leaders claiming the most valuable territory on the bus (the spacious rear window seat).
The rowdy, dirty children of the cheese bus are replaced with pretentious journalists aboard the press bus in Timothy Crouse’s “The Boys on the Bus.” Here basic understanding of bus dynamics supplants Crouse’s tales of pack journalism. In fact, Crouse structures his novel around the power mongrels of journalism, what he calls the “the Heavies.” Despite the herd mentality of political reporters traveling and behaving as one monolithic entity called the press corps, Crouse highlights the singular men who have broken the formalist rules of journalism. Included in the personalities of political journalism is NY Times writer Johnny Apple, who Crouse unflinchingly describes as a “bullshit artist,” a hustler whose moral compass has been smeared with pretension and egomania (75). If Apple could be a transmuted into an audio bit, he would sound like the chipper wake-up call lady in a hotel. Crouse offers us a naked Apple, one magnifies our own insecurities and evils. In fact, I imagine Apple the Overachiever would have been battered and bloodied after a ride on my magical cheese bus.
Crouse suggests that Apple lacks the balls to be a good journalist. He is aggressive, pompous, and prolific but he does not offer the depth necessary to fully penetrate his stories, as say David Broder of the Post. He does not have the courage to stand up to his editors and write stories that analyze and interpret the news like Witcover of the Post. Apple would never say that campaigns are “essentially meaningless, that some of the candidates were shams and liars, that the process was unjust and anachronistic” as Hunter Thompson later divulges (332). Rather, Apple magnifies what other journalists are afraid of admitting—the ass-kissing, the ambition, the insecurity were all shared character phobias.
Crouse insightfully offers different slices of journalistic personalities. “Boys on the Bus” teaches readers about the personalities first, and the craft later. In fact, these colorful portraits of journalists are literally in conversation with one another. In a dialogue with Broder, Crouse examines the hardcore issues like the politics of institutionalized reporting and the role of the press. Using Brody as his mouthpiece, Crouse presents the theme of dynamism as the resounding character of good reporting. Not only are the individuals who write the stories flexible, changing their points of view and their politics over time, the reporting itself must be dynamic, complex, and moving. The changes in the institution of journalism are reflected in the styles and attitudes of the reporters, who, too, have changed.
The sharp, candid portraits of journalists parallel the fresh, colorful language Crouse uses to tell his story. He approaches the politics of journalism with a style that is funny, and unflinching. He describes the “whoredom of press agentry” and the “Heavies” with the same rawness. Crouse also pumps the text with lovely insights that are useful even to non-journalism students: “The larger the audience” he instructs, “the more inoffensive and inconclusive the article must be” (20). Ironically, Crouse’s creative nonfiction has had a wide enough audience to be read by fresh-faced journalism-majors as well as curious Strand bibliophiles.
When the twenty minute commute to school on the cheesy school bus ends, I always feel as if I had temporarily been enclosed in the womb of the something greater. Despite the harsh realities of social class and the coolness factor in elementary school buses, the feeling of release once the doors are open is wonderfully pleasurable. It’s the same feeling you get once you finish Crouse’s book. If you’ve endured the boys on the cheese bus, the older more sophisticated versions of these boys ought to be amusing.
assalaamu alaikum,
ReplyDeletei haven't read the essay yet. definitely later.
I didn't know you were going for hajj. Please make dua'a for the rest of us who aren't going (InshaAllah, I hope to go next year). MashaAllah, between my parents, khalid, a couple of my penn friends, and you it seems like everyone is going this year.
And by the way, while I do not know of your supposed failures, going for Hajj is one of the penultimate successes (along with the other four pillars). Focusing on that would probably distract most people from the everyday doldrums of life (including writing assignments and deadlines (they should be called wishful-thinking-lines or something like that)). And anyway, failure in whatever aspect means nothing if you have success in the one that counts most (and typically that leads to success in every other area).
May Allah bless the rest of us as he has blessed you, and continue to bless all of us in helping our hurting ummah.
~back to studying for property