I’m currently taking my second class with the English Department’s most entertaining professor and writer, Mr. Sam Pickering. For an hour and 15 minutes every Tuesday and Thursday Prof. Pickering tells stories and comical anecdotes and peppers in some valuable insight on writing.  He often tells the same stories over and over again without realizing, but their entertainment value is never compromised. You’ve likely heard his southern cackle echoing through CLAS hallways.

Last week, Prof. Pickering had us read an essay by Robert Louis Stevenson (the guy with the great mustache who wrote Treasure Island), titled “An Apology for Idlers.” The essay basically sums up my thoughts as an overwhelmed undergrad. Here are some excerpts I like:

“Idleness so called, which does not consist in doing nothing, but in doing a great deal not recognized in the dogmatic formularities of the ruling class, has a good right to state its position as industry itself.”

“There is certainly some chill and arid knowledge to be found upon the summits of formal and laborious science; but it is all round about you, and for the trouble of looking, that you will acquire the warm and palpitating facts of life. While others are filling their memory with a lumber of words, one-half of which they will forget the week be out, your truant may learn some really useful art; to play the fiddle, to know a good cigar, or to speak with ease and opportunity to all varieties of men.”

“Extreme busyness, whether at school or college, kirk or market, is a symptom of deficient vitality; and a faculty for idleness implies a catholic apetite and a strong sense of personal identity.”

Prof. Pickering called this an Emersonian essay for its message of simplicity. But Stevenson also lays forth the message that we place importance on the wrong things. We dedicate ourselves to tasks that are lucrative monetarily and put simple happiness on the back burner. As he writes, “There is no duty we so much underrate as the duty of being happy.”

I found Stevenson’s insight both eye-opening and comforting. For the last six months I’ve been stressing out about what I want to do with my life and how I can make money doing it. Stevenson’s ideas are just as important (if not more important) than trying to make money, especially if you’re a writer. We all need money but we need passion as well.

(Quotes from The Art of the Personal Essay by Philip Lopate)

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A friendly man with friendly nipples, a sweaty DJ, grilled salmon. We saw these all at Bombfest, a one-day festival whose proceeds went towards various community-oriented charities throughout the nation. The crowd was energetic and danced hard.

Jarryd was from Branford, CT. He said he never drives alone.

GirlTalk crowd

Lupe Fiasco headlined to an energetic crowd. We couldn’t understand what he was saying but had fun dancing on stage.

All in all, fun day. Check out www.bombfest.com for videos and more information. Thanks.

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We’d been told the kitchen was closed.  Nachos, however, were vital.  We sent Milton up again, telling him to ask nicer.  He got the nachos.

This was the commencement of UConn’s Spring Intramural Bowling League.  A group of roughly fifty students, mostly boys, who get together on Monday nights and bowl.  There are teams of four and they compete for the championship.

My team consists of Milton, Clide, Rob, and myself, Wendell.  These are our bowling names, except for Rob, who didn’t want a bowling name.  We were originally a team of three, but Rob didn’t have a team, so we invited him.  Rob is a large, polite freshman.  When he bowls his butt crack pops out.  We think it’s cute.

This is also the first team I’ve been on since high school.  I wrestled, and had a like/hate relationship with the sport.  Keeping my weight down was annoying, and so was the absurd amount of stress I felt each match.  I was unsure why I was subjecting myself to such misery.  Because it’s good for me?  Because it’ll toughen me up?  No doubt, it toughened me up, and that’s good, but it sucked.  It felt good to win matches, but it didn’t seem worth the effort.  I questioned being on the team and relayed these thoughts to my coach.  He’d look at me, puzzled, tell me I was a little too philosophical for my own good, and then, “Keep running, big match next week.”  Hm.  I tried to quit once, even wrote up a brief essay describing my reasons for quitting.  Coach said he’d never seen anything quite like it.  I ended up not quitting.  The point, however, is that bowling makes sense.  It’s not physically demanding, but it’s fun.  I sit on swivel chairs and roll balls.  Roll balls sounds silly.

My entrance into bowling culture is a rite.  A motion towards something dependable.  You sit, you stand, you bowl.  The pins are crashing.  The nacho cheese is clumping.  It’s a set time every week for the boys.  Milton, Clide, and I were always together last year.  We liked wearing semi-tight pants and being raucous at parties.  But as our schedules have intensified, boy time has vanished.  I’m busy, they’re busy.  A set hang out time allows us to hang out.  Something to look forward to each week.  Some nachos, some bowling, it’s good.

Intense rivalries will probably develop in the coming weeks.  There’s a group of kids whose knees I’d already love to snap.  Updates on this soon.

-Wendell Martinez

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