tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17737697890546913922024-03-05T03:03:43.809-05:00Bread Loaf 2012: Dispatches from the MountainA Detailed Account of Summer Camp for English Nerds. Christian Patrick Clarke http://www.blogger.com/profile/12620713492733950481noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773769789054691392.post-47800572872848150472012-08-08T11:45:00.000-04:002012-08-10T06:54:58.100-04:00Post #18: The Final Dispatch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: small;">Hey Folks! It's Wednesday, August 8th and you know what that means. It's officially the last day of classes for the summer session of Bread Loaf. Last night there was a nifty slideshow held in the Barn and afterwards the last of the Loafers headed up to Gilmore for one more summer shindig. The Mavens elected to remain closer to home, hunkered down in the front lobby of Inn, far from the remote hilltop glory that is Gilmore, but even from that distance we could easily hear the occasional happy roar cascade down the mountain. And this morning, you could hardly get through breakfast because of the rampant hugging of friends and the saying of goodbyes and the wiping away of the tears. And now, if you hang around the Inn, you can hear the clang of car trunks slamming, and the hum of engines turning over, and the crunch of gravel spewing from under tires as they pull away. Heading Off the Mountain. Trading one life for another. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">And seeing how this the last entry of <i>Dispatches, </i>I really wanted to get it right, folks. I wanted to deliver a doozy, a real humdinger of Dispatch. So I sat and thought of all things I could write to put a bow on the end of a fine Bread Loaf summer. I wanted to somehow write about</span><span style="font-size: small;"> all things that made for a good summer but maybe not a great blog. </span><span style="font-size: small;">But then I didn't or couldn't figure out how to honor those things without it seeming contrived or trite. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">For instance, I wanted to tell you about what it was like to have breakfast every morning with good company, folks like Maven MacNair and David Huddle and Master Will; the kind of company where you can say a lot or say a little, but it's always comfortable and never forced. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I was going to tell you about how it wasn't so bad working because it never felt like toil, even during those long slow stretches behind the front desk when no one came by the window for what seemed like eternity. I was going to say those were some of the best days being a Maven because on those days you could shoot the bull with Maven Gene about the most overlooked Zeppelin album or how Jay-Z is the hip-hop Jay Gatsby; or you could get into a much-needed chat about relationships with Maven MacNair or have fun impersonating Nicholas Cage; or perhaps you could get Maven Peter started--if you were lucky--on the elusive nature of good Haiku; and, thankfully, on some days the Writing Doctor, Maven Edward, would barge into to the room at just the right moment to let you know exactly how you could cure your writing blues. Which usually boiled down to "stop whining, shut the hell up</span><span style="font-size: small;">, and keep writing." He's a good doctor. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I was going to tell you how surprising it felt to discover it's not too late to make damn good friends. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">And try as I might, I could never find the right words to paint you a picture of kicking back in the weathered Adirondack chairs after work watching the sun go down behind the mountains while Gene told me he never understood the lyric about purple mountain majesties until he came to Vermont. Neither could I get it out about how good it was having the occasional smoke with Maven MacNair while she pointed out the way sunlight played on something botanical nearby. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I was going to tell you about how much fun I had writing these Dispatches even if I never did learn who was reading them in Russia and Ecuador (there's still time, guys). I had so much fun that I can't imagine never doing this again. So maybe this isn't goodbye after all. Maybe it's more like, "See ya' later." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">I was going to say all these things but I didn't because how do you write those things down without being embarrassed? Without feeling like a Cliche Machine? Besides, I could hear Haiku Maven Peter say our best writing is found in the silences. I could hear the Blog Doctor chide me for trying to be "artistic." And I didn't want to risk the possibility of making Maven MacNair sad because she has enough of that in her life. So I didn't go in that direction. Scrapped my plans. Decided to not say those things. Instead, I figured why not </span><span style="font-size: small;">go back to the headwaters, back to the original Bread Loafer himself, good ol' Bobby Frost, and let him have the last word? Seemed like the right thing to do. So here it is: </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Nature's first green is gold<br />Her hardest hue to hold.<br />Her early leaf's a flower;<br />But only so an hour.<br />Then leaf subsides to leaf.<br />So Eden sank to grief,<br />So dawn goes down to day.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"></span><span style="font-size: small;">Nothing gold can stay.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">Thank you.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Christian Patrick Clarke</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Front Desk Novitiate, 2012</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Hic et Ubique</span><br />
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<tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: x-small;">You didn't think I'd let you get out of here without one more insult, did you? Here it is. A while back the Mavens were eating lunch behind the desk. No one is speaking. Then Edward lets out a grunt. "She digs me. <i>Hard</i>." We look over to see who's digging Edward hard and see he's reading a People magazine article about Katie Holmes. I laugh and ask Edward what he thinks about Tom Cruise. He says, without skipping a beat, "He--like <i>you--</i>is a complete fruitcake. And what she doesn't understand--unlike <i>me-</i>-is that it's not all cake in life; sometimes, slick, you got deal with the nuts and the fruit, too." And then he finished reading the article. </span></td></tr>
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</tbody></table>Christian Patrick Clarke http://www.blogger.com/profile/12620713492733950481noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773769789054691392.post-23163768834405191562012-08-06T12:36:00.000-04:002012-08-06T13:13:27.678-04:00Post #17: The Final Week<span id="goog_249222094"></span><span id="goog_249222095"></span><br />
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Hey folks, it's Monday, August 6th, which means we have officially begun the final, truncated week of the Bread Loaf School of English for the summer of 2012. (That's a mouthful. I need a nap now.) It's also the last week of <i>Dispatches from the Mountain. </i>Only one more entry remains after today's. Please stop cheering. But also permit me two indulgences. 1) This post is wicked long (that's what she...nevermind), and 2) I've included a brief, one-question survey at the end to help me clear up a long-standing mystery about <i>Who You Are. </i><br />
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But before we discuss the Final Week, I think I should tell you about this past weekend. It was a doozy, folks, a real humdinger filled with Hamlets, stormy weather, moonlight swims in mountain lakes, and a massive power outage on Sunday night. The power outage happened at a particularly inopportune moment for the Loafers, as many were in the midst of frantically writing their final papers. The outage left the power-deprived Nerds with nothing to do except wander helplessly into the front lobby of the lantern-lit Inn where they huddled together to form what Edward aptly termed a [Nerd] "refugee camp." There they played games long into the night while the Mavens looked on in bemusement. The Nerd Refugee Camp inspired Fellow Maven MacNair to proclaim, "Isn't this wonderful! I hope it lasts for the next four days!" I agreed. We turned back the clock. We experienced a childlike innocence for one lucky night. With beer and whiskey, of course. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fellow Mavens Peter and Victoria entering the Little Theater for Friday Night's <i>Hamlet: Don't Fear the Reaper. </i> </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> <i>Blurry Nerds</i>, a painting by Van Gogh. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Postmodern Prometheus: Maven Overlord Victoria springing into action, bringing artificial light unto the Nerds. </td></tr>
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<tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption">Last summer, I leapt off an outrcropping of rock into a pool of water called the Warren Falls. It was a moment facing true fear. This summer, the moment of fear was taking a moonlit swim in a mountain lake. Moonlight swim sounds harmless to you, but you are not in therapy. Pictured here: Half-naked Nerds on Rocks. Not pictured: my fear of water snakes, stirrings of love for Mother Nature, and longing for my Special Visitor, whose absence was deeply felt. Too much? </td></tr>
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On to the Final Week. The Final Week ends early, on Wednesday, but there are still a few bits of business that need to be attended to. There's the final Karoake night, of course, when Bread Loafers stream down off the Mountain in droves to lay siege to the local tavern, Two Brothers. That's tonight. Then there's the final Gilmore bash tomorrow evening, which promises to be the picture of class and restraint, save for the planned Drunken Nerd Mud Wrestling competition. And finally for the Final Week, there is the small matter of settling the Bread Loaf Bocce Ball tournament. Second only to March Madness in terms of popularity, the Bocce Ball Final Four wraps up over the next two days. And guess who's playing today for the right to compete in the championship game? That's right, Fellow Maven Gene and yours truly, otherwise known as the MacNair-Do-Wells. Your fearless Maven Duo are facing off against another team of Bocce Nerds right after dinner. It's on, folks, it's on. <br />
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<tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption">This is Oliver L. He's ten years old. He likes to read the <i>New Yorker. </i>As you can see, he's sitting in the wicker chair normally reserved for the Mavens. He was one of our opponents on the way to the Bocce Final Four. Don't worry: we stomped him. </td></tr>
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In conclusion, let's just say that the Final Week is different for every Bread Loafer from the first year students to the veteran professors to the kitchen staff. Some are wistful, some are tearful, some are grateful to be done. Nonetheless, two days from now, most of the Loafers will say goodbye to the Mountain and head back to their "regular" lives, wherever those may be, and as they drive away down Rt. 125 past the Ripton Country Store, you can bet they will ask themselves questions like, "Did that really happen?" and "What is that stain?" and "When can I come back?"<br />
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<tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption">For today's installment of Edward Insults Me: Recently, Maven Overlord Victoria invited the Mavens to enjoy a nice glass of wine on her back porch before attending <i>Hamlet. </i>It was a really pleasant affair, full of good cheer. Edward wasn't there but when he did show up he looked around the porch, saw me, and announced, "You're here? How did <i>you </i>get invited? This used to be a nice house. Used to be." </td></tr>
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Enjoy.<br />
Christian Patrick Clarke<br />
Front Desk Novitiate, 2012<br />
Hic et Ubique. <br />
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And now, being that it's the <i>Penultimate Entry</i> of <i>Dispatches from the Mountain</i> (Penulti-what? Penulti-who? Yes, I could have written the "second to last entry," but that's not what Nerds do.) I thought I would turn the tables and ask the readers from the overseas countries to stand and declare yourselves. Who are you? I'm bursting with excitement to know. You can do it publicly in the comments section or shoot me an email or leave a comment on Facebook. I have a fair idea of who the readers are in some of the countries, but I'm absolutely dying to know: Who are you in Russia and Ecuador and Spain and Germany? Do I know you? Have we met? Did I embarrass myself? I was probably drunk and/or sober. I'm sorry. So very sorry. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'll miss you. </td></tr>
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<br />Christian Patrick Clarke http://www.blogger.com/profile/12620713492733950481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773769789054691392.post-54001153214538472962012-08-03T12:20:00.000-04:002012-08-05T12:27:12.758-04:00Post #16: Five Minutes with Marcellus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4mksLxVXUIO-JhxcO_CZQdZjnfzQm5buqY5QKlW_9dk6Ef7Vfmb7K0nmFOLtf6IFRUwpiyYqt5xI_WCQxhAnZBMxzEh5T3-TEhvusX8sOBjP0lSU-f34HcGhHJcwyCI22lKktHsjfzJlv/s1600/th-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4mksLxVXUIO-JhxcO_CZQdZjnfzQm5buqY5QKlW_9dk6Ef7Vfmb7K0nmFOLtf6IFRUwpiyYqt5xI_WCQxhAnZBMxzEh5T3-TEhvusX8sOBjP0lSU-f34HcGhHJcwyCI22lKktHsjfzJlv/s1600/th-2.jpg" /></a>Hey Folks! It's Friday, August 3rd, and we're<br />
winding down on the Mountain. Next week is closing time, but a steady stream of Loafers have already turned in their departure information to the Front Desk.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sad Nerd Face. </td></tr>
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But alas! The summer term is not over yet, folks! Tonight I'm off to see <i>Hamlet: Live from Denmark State Prison. </i>Rumor is, Hamlet does an awesome 16th century cover of "Walk the Line." Tonight's show will be the third performance of <i>Hamlet, </i>and the consensus from the Bread Loafers is that show is <i>Simply Nerdtastic! Delightfully Nerdiful! Absolutely Nerdulous! </i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I laughed! I cried! I nerded all over myself twice!"</td></tr>
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On Wednesday we talked with the lead of the play, Stephen Thorne, but for today's post, I thought I'd take a different route. For today's <i>Esquire-</i>style interview, we have as a guest one of the student members of the cast. Student actors are essential to the plays. The professional actors typically number around a dozen, which is never enough to fill out all the roles in the average Shakespeare play. To round out the cast, the director auditions the minor character roles to Bread Loaf students and faculty. It is, without doubt, one of the coolest traditions of the play and a true act of community. As stated before, (but never stated enough) I was lucky enough to score a role in a couple of summer plays back in my pre-Maven student days. The experience was so kick ass that when I was fortunate enough years later to find myself co-directing the school plays for my high school, the Bronx Academy of Letters, we incorporated the communal spirit of Bread Loaf. Every play for the past three years has included students, faculty, staff, and administration. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shakespeare in the Bronx. Gangsta. <i> </i> </td></tr>
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On to the interview. Out guest is Matt Kasper. Mr. Kasper has several roles in <i>The</i> <i>Hamlet, </i>most notably the role of Marcellus, who I think is one the soldier guarding the ramparts of Elsinore. But he also might be a mysterious drug kingpin
from Los Angeles. I'll get my crack research team on that. When he isn't busy guarding Elsinore or being sexually assaulted by a gimp, Mr. Kasper teaches literature at St. Paul's of Baltimore. Hey, you know who else teaches literature at St. Paul's? Maven Overlord Edward Brown. You know who taught Matt back in the day? Both the Maven Overlord Edward Brown, AND the Maven Overlord's Overlord, Victoria Brown. Once again, because of my high journalistic skill level, I managed to record nearly 40% of everything Matt said during our conversation. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you imagine being the student of both Maven Overlords? The result is this guy. </td></tr>
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WHAT I'VE LEARNED (for five minutes)</div>
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with Matt Kasper (Marcellus) </div>
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<b>Hamlet [the play]: </b><span style="color: blue;">I'm almost overdosed on the greatest play. Taking the class, in the play, and preparing to teach it next year. and I still haven't determined who Hamlet is. I'm in a weird place with Hamlet. <span style="color: black;">[<i>The man?</i>]</span></span><br />
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<b>Acting: </b><span style="color: blue;">I'm excited about trying to re-engage with that. I was in <i>The Changeling</i> two or three summers ago and that was my first acting experience ever. This year I wanted a chance to have lines. I'm ready to take the next step: play a part in a play, any play. But it's hard. As you know, during the school year, it's hard to pursue fledgling interests. Now that I think about it, teaching is a form of acting. You're not yourself. I never thought about that connection too much before acting. </span><br />
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<b>Marriage: </b><span style="color: blue;">Uh, less than a month away.</span><br />
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<b>Fathers: </b><span style="color: blue;">Have one right now. Which is good. The idea of the Father Figure to me is overrated because I such a great father. I was talking to someone about Batman, they were frustrated about his need for father figures. I didn't see it that way. I saw him as self-contained. All he needs is Albert. I've never been interested in looking at things through the lens of a father figure. </span><br />
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<b>Mothers: </b>M<span style="color: blue;">other figures, hmm.</span><b style="color: blue;"> </b><span style="color: blue;">Maybe that's more attractive to consider. My soon to be wife does things that my mom use to do. <span style="color: black;">[</span><i><span style="color: black;">Laughs. A lot. Too much?</span></i><span style="color: black;">]</span> I mean, in the sense of keeping my life organized. She helps me understand the purpose. <span style="color: black;">[<i>Laughs more.</i>]</span></span><span style="color: blue;"> Is this gonna be on Dispatches from the Mountain? </span><span style="color: blue;">I'm glad I never ran for office. I'm like Joe Biden. </span><br />
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<b>Bread</b> <b>Loaf:<span style="color: blue;"> </span></b><span style="color: blue;">Always hungry for more. It's the appetite that's never satisfied. It's like Dim Sum. But at some point, you just have to get up, walk away from your table, get in your car and drive away. And I'm full. I'm going to remember this taste of this place as long it lingers on the tongue.</span><br />
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<b>Edward Brown: </b><span style="color: blue;">Edward is this all consuming force. I'm around him constantly. We work together. we hang out together outside of school. We're up here at summer. It's hard to gain perspective. He loves baseball. That's my most recent discovery. Rabid fan. He watches games constantly. He gets in trouble for it with Victoria. He has to make up reasons to go to the game. For his fiftieth birthday I wrote a play about him. </span><span style="color: blue;"></span><span style="color: blue;">It's all the different versions of him talking to each other: the jock, the teacher, the photographer. They don't get along. In the play he starts off asleep and all the versions decide whether to wake up his consciousness. Eventually he decides to start a school where all the versions can teach, but then one version wins the lottery and they open a cheesecake factory. Because Edward loves cheesecake. I should have sent that to you instead of talking. </span><br />
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And that's that. See you on Monday, for the final week of the Bread Loaf School of English. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And now for today's Re-Installment of Edward Insults Me: Recently while debating the merits of driving stick shift vs. automatic, I commented that I have problems driving stick. "Oh, you got problems slick!" he said. "I just hate it though when you limit them to <i>driving.</i>" </td></tr>
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Enjoy,<br />
Christian Patrick Clarke<br />
Front Desk Novitiate, 2012<br />
Hic et Ubique <br />
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<br />Christian Patrick Clarke http://www.blogger.com/profile/12620713492733950481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773769789054691392.post-24678105787477251892012-08-01T13:04:00.000-04:002012-08-02T13:53:11.500-04:00Post #15: Five Minutes With Hamlet<br />
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" 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Hey Folks! It's Wednesday, August 1st, which means today is the world premier of <i>Hamlet! The Musical!</i> Just kidding, it's actually the real play, <i>Hamlet: A Downer in Five Acts. </i>I thought for today's post it would be cool to do an interview with Stephen Thorne, the actor playing Hamlet.<i> </i>But first, let's have a little context.<br />
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We should begin by explaining the summer play is a big deal for us English Nerds. You see, for one week during the summer, Bread Loaf is transformed into a veritable hotbed of culture. Theater lovers from all over New England come in droves to pack it in at the Burgess Meredith Little Theater. (Mostly to see the summer productions, but also to gawk at English Nerds in their natural habitat, giggling when they spy a Nerd buried in a book running smack dab into a wall or pine tree.) <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQu2y-XH4ng_NxIpCUteQDMzA_t_xTrYUgFUlOq9NzhGeQqKz4pGnbZAwa3h9JgtNwUIeLeH_1z17c3RjJ4yW0NE5XhfjilZsHOtCtoA6h9FmPU2Z_2K8B1z6xDM1WWUiyU6sCIKaFlGRb/s1600/IMG_1537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQu2y-XH4ng_NxIpCUteQDMzA_t_xTrYUgFUlOq9NzhGeQqKz4pGnbZAwa3h9JgtNwUIeLeH_1z17c3RjJ4yW0NE5XhfjilZsHOtCtoA6h9FmPU2Z_2K8B1z6xDM1WWUiyU6sCIKaFlGRb/s320/IMG_1537.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixiS8m1B-KPt4DaI2pMVD1OPU-ftCWNXaWM0nFpkH0378vWCCl0IyJKdnjhoFbx4IIFxYyLtxiKILGtD2mYJRS8qQZ_ANicMM7w6yHkoLA6dPS4_3tVGpQ84J0l_7Mb12H5uJ7fbY0DJDB/s1600/imgres-32.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixiS8m1B-KPt4DaI2pMVD1OPU-ftCWNXaWM0nFpkH0378vWCCl0IyJKdnjhoFbx4IIFxYyLtxiKILGtD2mYJRS8qQZ_ANicMM7w6yHkoLA6dPS4_3tVGpQ84J0l_7Mb12H5uJ7fbY0DJDB/s200/imgres-32.jpeg" width="144" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Undercover Nerd. </td></tr>
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And yes, we are referring to <i>that </i>Burgess Meredith, the actor who played Micky, the guy who trained Rocky, who right before the best training montage in film history snarled, "<i>You's gonna piss lightnin' and crap thundah!"</i> Turns out Micky was a serious patron of the arts and funded the re-building of the Little Theater after it burned down several years ago. Who knew?<br />
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Back to the plays. The way it works is that a troupe of actors cobbled together from the Trinity Rep theater (located on the mean streets of Providence, Rhode Island), along with a few strays from New York City, gather on the Mountain to perform plays. And when they aren't dazzling English Nerds with their acting skills, they assist the Bread Loaf professors with dramatic performances of classic texts. No one is sure how many years actors have been an integral part of the Bread Loaf way, but we managed to locate an old photo album documenting past productions.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2vq5WYlaR2Xl43eHmBf5axyfzdj2CcTWNjIZYxWnS2r81pNiBDX5wAgVZoPhfvxYEayxWBs-V0dEvRY-mFVKTJSdUD3qbd73mhcFfhrjas6JnoSYzyllSKEsVItkSz6AfximfUJj8EB5/s1600/IMG_2908.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2vq5WYlaR2Xl43eHmBf5axyfzdj2CcTWNjIZYxWnS2r81pNiBDX5wAgVZoPhfvxYEayxWBs-V0dEvRY-mFVKTJSdUD3qbd73mhcFfhrjas6JnoSYzyllSKEsVItkSz6AfximfUJj8EB5/s320/IMG_2908.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1924. Ancestral Nerds. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbfvhZVCJjeif2cMzf6DX6P78yr_1AdynawTHb4uKDaZg5qrsml5vlvE3t7HKcHHDVpKjogY8t-OGV55HQ2Xb-0VjneoTf1YQEBMULzF7Lo3dNo4YF0drQ1LzkrkefGdfwb5iE59_0PPHB/s1600/IMG_2921.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbfvhZVCJjeif2cMzf6DX6P78yr_1AdynawTHb4uKDaZg5qrsml5vlvE3t7HKcHHDVpKjogY8t-OGV55HQ2Xb-0VjneoTf1YQEBMULzF7Lo3dNo4YF0drQ1LzkrkefGdfwb5iE59_0PPHB/s320/IMG_2921.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Same play, 57 years later. More Chicks + More Writhing= ManNerd Heaven. </td></tr>
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And now for Stephen Thorne. Stephen has been coming to Bread Loaf as an actor for thirteen years, playing the lead in several plays, the names of which I would write in this sentence if I were a real journalist. The point is, Stephen kicks ass, to the extent that acting in plays can be considered a form of ass kicking. When he's not an actor on the Mountain, he is a member of the Trinity Rep and a doting husband and father.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv8v3gRI6CoGEEYjZ-gXqnsmEmSw4CuQOTy5nWSPYh48ycBnuMqGAcyGr5Qp9Y-NURgSz7YugeypJOor1FuUcsJqawlMUZWvoSweNfFCB2Kl5EUafp2DM7nq7SDVcZ4we_V7K1lZ0SvIss/s1600/IMG_2931.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv8v3gRI6CoGEEYjZ-gXqnsmEmSw4CuQOTy5nWSPYh48ycBnuMqGAcyGr5Qp9Y-NURgSz7YugeypJOor1FuUcsJqawlMUZWvoSweNfFCB2Kl5EUafp2DM7nq7SDVcZ4we_V7K1lZ0SvIss/s320/IMG_2931.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">It's a bird, it's a plane, it's Super Nerd. Feel free to add your own Nerd jokes. And no, I didn't ask him to wear this t-shirt for the sake of few Nerd jokes. I wish. </td></tr>
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On to the interview. Being that <i>Esquire </i>is one of my favorite magazines, a natural choice for the Urban Daddy that I am, I decided to borrow from one of <i>Esquire's </i>best features called,"What I've Learned." Here's how it goes: celebrities are given a word to consider, expound, and riff on while a professional interviewer--in this case, me--writes down everything they say. Well almost everything. It was really hard to type as fast as Stephen Thorne talks but I'm fairly certain I got at least 43% of what he said. Don't sneer, folks. It's called "Journalistic license." Look it up. Amateurs.<br />
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WHAT I'VE LEARNED (in five minutes)</div>
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with Stephen Thorne (Hamlet) </div>
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<b>The Little Theater: </b><span style="color: blue;">I love Burgess Meredith. I love that space. I feel like the audience and the actors have such intimate direct contact with one another. </span><br />
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<b>Mothers: (</b><i>laughs</i>) <span style="color: blue;">Working as an actor, you work at night. Angela </span>[<i>Stephen's wife</i>] <span style="color: blue;">has been with the kids more this summer, but even when I'm at home more, mothers tend to be a center for kids. The first person you call out for is mother. I find that rather profound. </span><br />
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<b>Revenge: </b><span style="color: blue;">I spend a lot of time in my car thinking about the things I'd like to say or do to other people. I know that makes me sound mad, but other people do it too. It's a funny instinct. You find a way to negotiate it or get around it. </span></div>
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<b>Bread Loaf: </b><span style="color: blue;">A calm. </span><b> </b><br />
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<b>Beards:<span style="color: blue;"> </span></b><span style="color: blue;">I can't grow one. Mine is patchy. </span><br />
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<b>Madness: </b><span style="color: blue;">Someday they'll have a name for Hamlet's type of madness. When you disregard any rules of how to behave or communicate and just do what you want it makes life difficult for everyone else. </span>[<i>Editor's note: I took this comment as a personal attack.</i>]<br />
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<b>Front Desk Mavens: </b><span style="color: blue;">The pillar. Answer to and for all things. And yet I always have to look up the freakin' number. You'd think after 13 years I'd have it memorized. </span><br />
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And that's that.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In a departure from the norm, today we have Edward talking about Edward. Recently, Edward shared some insight about the difficulty of successfully biking up the Lincoln Gap, a legendary road which boasts a stretch of pavement said to be the steepest in America. Cycle enthusiasts speak reverentially of it. Edward says he's made it up once. I asked him how that made him feel, emotionally. "Emotionally? Listen: I go to bed a wreck and I wake up a wreck. Riding a bike ain't gonna change that." Word. </td></tr>
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Enjoy,<br />
Christian Patrick Clarke<br />
Front Desk Novitiate, 2012<br />
Hic et Ubique<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who's that? That's right, in 2004 I scored a small role in the summer play as the executioner in <i>Measure for Measure.</i><b style="font-style: italic;"> </b>Opposite me is Jacques Lezra, a frequent Bread Loaf instructor. Jacques had the role of the defiant prisoner, Barnadine. Coincidentally, Jacques was my literature professor during my senior year of college (2000). Alas, he did not remember me. (This is often the case with teachers. I know from experience. I barely remember the names of 8% of all the students I've taught.) He forgot, that is, until we found ourselves rehearsing for this very scene. In the middle of rehearsals he blurted out, "Oh, <i>Christian. </i>Yes, now I do remember!" And then I sent him off to be killed. </td></tr>
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<br />Christian Patrick Clarke http://www.blogger.com/profile/12620713492733950481noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773769789054691392.post-23080796350606968062012-07-30T13:20:00.002-04:002012-07-31T08:55:39.746-04:00Post #14: A Special Weekend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hey Folks! It's Monday, July 30th, and we've officially begun Week 6 of Bread Loaf, the last full week for all non-seniors. Week 6 is notable for two things: 1) It's the debut of the summer play, which is <i>Hamlet</i> and 2) It's the week after Suppressed Desires. In other words this is the week where everyone cleans up the mess, both the visible ones and the harder-to-scrub invisible ones.<br />
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So much happened over the weekend, it's difficult to decide where to begin. For one, as you know, I had a Special Visitor. Having a Special Visitor carries with it certain obligations. One might call these obligations, "labors of love." The history books are littered with menfolk going to great lengths to please their Special Visitors. Would the Pyramids of Giza have been built were not for the Pharaohs trying to impress their Special Visitors? Methinks not. I am no different, folks. For instance, when the Special Visitor mentioned--weeks ago mind you--that she liked men with beards I put away the clippers.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John Walker Lindh beards: catnip for ladies who love English Nerds. </td></tr>
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When the Special Visitor said she wanted to peruse a groovy gift shop while stopping for lunch in the small hippie mountain town of Bristol, Vermont, I obliged. What the heck, right? And when the groovy and well-toned shopkeeper mentioned showed us a flier for something called The Gathering of Elders, complete with multicultural disembodied heads against a background of <i>outer space, </i>the Special Visitor said, "Hey, that sounds cool, let's go visit!" So we visited. <br />
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And that's how I, along with my Special Visitor, found myself in the middle of something called an Arbor Circle, a Stonehenge-like structure made of trees, with dozens of hippies of all ages, sizes, and colors, dancing around a sacred Native American fire. Not sure how that happened, folks. Perhaps it's because I was "smudged." That's right, a prerequisite to enter the circle was being "smudged," which meant being fumigated by a man named Brian who wielded a bowl of incense that smelled highly unusual. The Special Visitor said it was Sage. I say it was Peyote. Regardless, I was smudged up beyond belief. I won't tell you too much more since it doesn't pertain to English Nerds or Bread Loaf, but I will say that we re-enacted, through interpretive dance, the Big Bang, the beginning of the solar system, and the collision of the four basic elements of earth, air, water, and fire. For the record, I was earth and the Special Visitor was water. And then we sang a Native American hymn. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Following two women whose names I imagine are something PineMother and SoaringEagle into the Arbor Circle. </td></tr>
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Luckily, once we returned from the astral plane, the Special Visitor and I made it back to campus on Saturday for the big dance.<br />
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To conclude today's post, I thought I'd share a few self-selected winners from the Suppressed Desires Dance.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most Nearly Unibrowed Nerd </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ckumr-XF_3P9WHhT277v2PUMNCcZhcCAHy6KhbwO-2X1_kXVIjjpXXlMPLNwko5uMEBvk5O5APcvfe8kqOSI2JTqtLyKXGFUsfpVRbHoZYOJB4oa4pCcawpSsaFY3G2WIO5KuYxIpLvw/s1600/IMG_2890.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ckumr-XF_3P9WHhT277v2PUMNCcZhcCAHy6KhbwO-2X1_kXVIjjpXXlMPLNwko5uMEBvk5O5APcvfe8kqOSI2JTqtLyKXGFUsfpVRbHoZYOJB4oa4pCcawpSsaFY3G2WIO5KuYxIpLvw/s320/IMG_2890.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most Clever Nerd. Get it? Suppressed Desires=Hidden Drive? </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8coKaif9iOSBod62WgUv4zdeJlibjCL7OIDURLJ1Stn1PMX8i-06W5wDFf_c3MuSCCgx9S8TUq5uMK1e2bpuwyBH4wj2ilYOrnYpqTmHVFxwraO0kihp2xpvgw-zU-I-IE-RfmHIO2qvt/s1600/IMG_2884.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8coKaif9iOSBod62WgUv4zdeJlibjCL7OIDURLJ1Stn1PMX8i-06W5wDFf_c3MuSCCgx9S8TUq5uMK1e2bpuwyBH4wj2ilYOrnYpqTmHVFxwraO0kihp2xpvgw-zU-I-IE-RfmHIO2qvt/s320/IMG_2884.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most Troubling Nerd: Matt, the director's assistant, as Oedipus Rex. This poor guy pours the beers for raging nerds at every single Barn dance but is not allowed a single drop himself. His ode to Oedipus Rex was well done, certainly, but when asked what his suppressed desire was Matt responded, cryptically, (problematically?), that it was the <i>Oedipus Complex itself</i>. What does that mean? </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most Best costume Nerd. Matty V., as Borat. He make nice impression character good. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most Scorned Nerd: Lindsay C., the co-headwaiter for Bread Loaf. Here Lindsay is dressed as Miss Effie. Lindsey, offended by the prevailing ignorance of her costume, indignantly informed people that Miss Effie is a character from <i>The Hunger Games. </i>A character we found out, who has about 6 seconds of screen time in the film. After Lindsay did not win the best costume of the night she showed her contempt for the contest by shedding her costume in favor of a bikini. That'll show 'em! </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most Obscure But Cheerful Nerd: This young lady came dressed as Scout Finch from a scene in <i>To Kill a Mockingbird </i>when Scout dressed as Ham for the school play. Or something like that. By this time in the evening it was difficult to pay attention to things like Nerds who dress up fictional characters dressed as food products. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This
the tub in the men's bathroom on the second floor of the Inn. Until
this weekend, this tub has been spotless, mostly because there isn't one
man I know who bathes in a tub. When we woke up on the morning after
Suppressed Desires, this is what we found, the evidence of someone gone
off the rails and into the woods. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3PNNW4ioSuhjiO_JJp7Fu972una_LZCu5JTnQ7SM31keZBgmASOtcJPNFUxYJG7Yn5wxkyz48b6GmX655fsxa8PheB-6eltcx-i2kjh7gg2w7TAjELYwDhfduCUynIvZLHqk1emHxXzVy/s1600/IMG_1590.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3PNNW4ioSuhjiO_JJp7Fu972una_LZCu5JTnQ7SM31keZBgmASOtcJPNFUxYJG7Yn5wxkyz48b6GmX655fsxa8PheB-6eltcx-i2kjh7gg2w7TAjELYwDhfduCUynIvZLHqk1emHxXzVy/s320/IMG_1590.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And for today's installment of Edward Insults Me: recently, Edward and I were talking about how fellow Maven Gene, a connoisseur of culture, will someday likely become a well-known and very influential taste-maker. Edward said, "We'll be able to say, '<i>Hey, remember when Gene liked us?</i>'" Then he thought for a second and continued. "Well, you won't be able to say that. You'll have to say, 'Hey, remember when Gene <i>worked with me.' </i>Sorry, slick." </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Enjoy.<br />
Christian Patrick Clarke<br />
Front Desk Novitiate, 2012<br />
Hic et Ubique <br />
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<br />Christian Patrick Clarke http://www.blogger.com/profile/12620713492733950481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773769789054691392.post-60524559145499152842012-07-27T12:06:00.003-04:002012-07-27T12:13:41.357-04:00Post #13: Suppressed Desires!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hey Folks!<br />
<br />
It's Friday, July 27, and that means of several things. First off it means that yours truly has a special visitor this weekend. Which is awesome, but let's just say that this special visitor has given me a strict time limit to produce today's post because this special visitor drove several hours and hundreds of miles to see me and this is not how this special visitor wants to spend a few days away from the city.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcxKe0x_Folq6Kxn7go30ypJpnPaJJ1tKThiP8q5UcykeXLzW88VrgqU2UFX4QAWBDlVA9NICE0vRX6WNsGxcMahaCmVqkheQky4_k7cyTROJG2aWLejkUWXaPNypJsoXrQ9IYi3Fyfhao/s1600/imgres-27.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcxKe0x_Folq6Kxn7go30ypJpnPaJJ1tKThiP8q5UcykeXLzW88VrgqU2UFX4QAWBDlVA9NICE0vRX6WNsGxcMahaCmVqkheQky4_k7cyTROJG2aWLejkUWXaPNypJsoXrQ9IYi3Fyfhao/s1600/imgres-27.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A <i>special </i>visitor, huh? Who is it? oh, let me guess, is it...<i>Satan? </i></td></tr>
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Today is also the last day of Hell Week. Which means tomorrow night is the yearly summer bacchanal known as the Suppressed Desires Dance, a tradition dating back at least 2,000 years, around the birth of the founder of Bread Loaf, Mr. Miyagi. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIq13rVapiVsw0CvOm6s-GluZUpI0aZy-tHp684JGQVQhx2y5Xl96cBVykcffZWuvwZ9ihhx38vCS9WUr4LBweyz0dZmxNXfpex2ec7VlSU-EpZvqI5aZN0oe6p3SiRtRsx82U1jelfSTs/s1600/imgres-29.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIq13rVapiVsw0CvOm6s-GluZUpI0aZy-tHp684JGQVQhx2y5Xl96cBVykcffZWuvwZ9ihhx38vCS9WUr4LBweyz0dZmxNXfpex2ec7VlSU-EpZvqI5aZN0oe6p3SiRtRsx82U1jelfSTs/s1600/imgres-29.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The First Suppressed Desires Dance, circa 67 AM (Anno Miyagio). </td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">The unofficial, unstated rules for this particular masquerade are that one comes dressed as one's suppressed desire.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> This is no mere costume party. A costume party is where normal men and women dress up as firemen and french maids to behave in ways they usually shun as naughty or reckless. A Masquerade is where stuffy aristocrats with funny accents wear tuxedos and gowns and hold up masks--</span><i style="background-color: white;">masques--</i><span style="background-color: white;">to disguise their </span><span style="background-color: white;">hideous faces so they can have sex once a year. </span><span style="background-color: white;">A Suppressed Desires Dance is when English Nerds decorate a huge yellow barn and compete with each other over who can come up with the most wildly clever costumes in the history of mankind. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsKgoa2QLN2VJMetfUW-JsD7B5-GefRDIPk1HGfzzOmjMEjA1DgQuLVMSMxm-bmFgKtsalMKto4EWUVtfO-YgKZSjb5D9COKZTifmlHweiLMj8TrMpb39rMu7in_EnSTrGRR9OeuHJfEq/s1600/imgres-31.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsKgoa2QLN2VJMetfUW-JsD7B5-GefRDIPk1HGfzzOmjMEjA1DgQuLVMSMxm-bmFgKtsalMKto4EWUVtfO-YgKZSjb5D9COKZTifmlHweiLMj8TrMpb39rMu7in_EnSTrGRR9OeuHJfEq/s1600/imgres-31.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Royal Nerd. </td></tr>
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Now, in years past, there are have been numerous examples of stunning costumes, too many to list in one mere blog post (also, I'm running out of the time allotted to me by my special visitor.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhminfQRcYuMEkKAy51LL1GMt7QYeAUI2nTjqu_KT-bscw_2ICz8AwsImhjX1sdwb8rgaiT962RlrBg33UNNQdx6POvlHKiHpL_EJ_3K4QRmg9b2Vp8ekzCQu_tnbu843s_bh0RhM3VYq7B/s1600/2012-07-27+11.59.25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhminfQRcYuMEkKAy51LL1GMt7QYeAUI2nTjqu_KT-bscw_2ICz8AwsImhjX1sdwb8rgaiT962RlrBg33UNNQdx6POvlHKiHpL_EJ_3K4QRmg9b2Vp8ekzCQu_tnbu843s_bh0RhM3VYq7B/s200/2012-07-27+11.59.25.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm almost finished, I swear!</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Typically the English Nerds will select costume ideas fall under a few broad categories. Many people go for the clever play-on-words costume, like Renee L. who was dressed in a Freudian Slip, or Melissa R. who came as a "One Night Stand," complete with body-hugging table and lampshade. Probably the coolest literary pun costume was worn by </span><span style="background-color: white;">Christian G., who not only decorated the barn one summer (theme: brothel. Talk about literary!), but also arrived as The God of Boxus (Bacchus), which featured a Franzia wine-dispensing breast box.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"> Finally,</span><span style="background-color: white;"> there's the category of Dang-That's-Just-Freakin-Brilliant. One year Jim S. came dressed as a fully operational Photo Booth, complete with a working Polaroid camera. Loafers could step "inside" Jim and have their picture taken. (I'd show you the pictures taken that night but most of them came out blurry and the ones that came out well are not appropriate for a family friendly blog.) But the grandest costume of all, the one that tied in humor, creativity, and a genuine Suppressed Desire belongs to Andy P. One summer Andy and his housemates had so much fun hanging out on the porch of the Annex house that the then-director of Bread Loaf intervened. The director wrote Andy and his mates a polite but stern letter regarding their Annex porch festivities. Andy's response was to transform himself into his beloved Annex porch for Suppressed Desires. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGu3nkazNg-j8ue0FGBVmPTWyVImUPqfLx9WNZjvKG_fgPH9mHFHSwd_MIdlUzHSFoQqRsuPOOHj-cGm23gL8L4OkOzTW7YzApqgD08KOqvTcleFgrYll7RaxARIPQvGq2y5zMkLREF7rO/s1600/Annex+Letter_2003+(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGu3nkazNg-j8ue0FGBVmPTWyVImUPqfLx9WNZjvKG_fgPH9mHFHSwd_MIdlUzHSFoQqRsuPOOHj-cGm23gL8L4OkOzTW7YzApqgD08KOqvTcleFgrYll7RaxARIPQvGq2y5zMkLREF7rO/s320/Annex+Letter_2003+(1).jpeg" width="247" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Letter. </td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijGJs-jb7N1bjzzVGNXGqVj0Eq89AG2Ba6PMc00ZfXVnBiO9tYE4Vn8Av4-2lb_NqYRn2BrayU_0EVC_6Y3Q2_elGxB3GM8d9XZgOo1KbDbnOsNLOkFNRL8mMZashhIxhmdtdrQTSiaR2H/s1600/Annex+Porch+2003_2+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijGJs-jb7N1bjzzVGNXGqVj0Eq89AG2Ba6PMc00ZfXVnBiO9tYE4Vn8Av4-2lb_NqYRn2BrayU_0EVC_6Y3Q2_elGxB3GM8d9XZgOo1KbDbnOsNLOkFNRL8mMZashhIxhmdtdrQTSiaR2H/s400/Annex+Porch+2003_2+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The Buddha once said: You can take the man off the porch,<br />
but you can't take the porch off the man. </td></tr>
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As for the Front Desk Mavens, attending the Suppressed Desires Dance isn't so simple. Maven Gene has yet to reveal his costume. Maven Overlords Edward, Victoria, Peter, and MacNair usually attend the dance for the sheer fun of seeing the costumes rather than dressing up themselves. As for me, well, I'm constitutionally allergic to costume parties for a simple reason. One Saturday morning in 1986 in the small town of Sherman, Illinois (pop. 1400) where I grew up, my mother, The Original Maven, heard me impersonating the twisted laugh of Pee Wee Herman. Realizing that the 9 year-old version of me resembled Pee Wee flipped a switch in Ma Clarke's brain and she instantly become a small-town Hollywood Mom. She entered me in that year's best costume contest at our local neighborhood Halloween block party. Tragically, I won. For there on, for four straight Halloweens, from 1987-1990, I dressed as Pee Wee Herman in order to defend my title. And I always had to do the laugh and say, "Hey, Cherry," in the voice. Luckily, all that changed in July, 1991 when Pee Wee got caught touching his pee pee in public. I have shunned costumed parties ever since.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6HCJixxBWI1lLAEE-wQYHl2Ikyc8MjsPVgQ-9K9E4Pbv_38ngxLFi3RQm5YcaLe61cEdcozS6dCtLdH1b13IRvrS2X44gsTkR74z62kfNJT5sdL3FaPdW5uFJaWT4F226bYCCiOSLxq3w/s1600/imgres-26.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6HCJixxBWI1lLAEE-wQYHl2Ikyc8MjsPVgQ-9K9E4Pbv_38ngxLFi3RQm5YcaLe61cEdcozS6dCtLdH1b13IRvrS2X44gsTkR74z62kfNJT5sdL3FaPdW5uFJaWT4F226bYCCiOSLxq3w/s1600/imgres-26.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, mom, not again! I'm <i>34 years old. </i></td></tr>
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And so, tomorrow evening, the English Nerds will finally have their due. They will get out of their heads for one evening and into their Masques and cut loose. I will be there to enjoy the evening's festooned festivities from a comfortable distance. But I will have my camera ready...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3PNNW4ioSuhjiO_JJp7Fu972una_LZCu5JTnQ7SM31keZBgmASOtcJPNFUxYJG7Yn5wxkyz48b6GmX655fsxa8PheB-6eltcx-i2kjh7gg2w7TAjELYwDhfduCUynIvZLHqk1emHxXzVy/s1600/IMG_1590.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3PNNW4ioSuhjiO_JJp7Fu972una_LZCu5JTnQ7SM31keZBgmASOtcJPNFUxYJG7Yn5wxkyz48b6GmX655fsxa8PheB-6eltcx-i2kjh7gg2w7TAjELYwDhfduCUynIvZLHqk1emHxXzVy/s320/IMG_1590.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And now for today's installment of Edward Insults Me: On Wednesday night, the special visitor joined one of the teams for trivia night. The next day at work one the special visitors' teammates, named Liz, approached the Front Desk. Liz let me know it was really nice meeting my special visitor. "She's really smart," she said, adding, "She pretty much got most of our correct answers." Edward, overheading this, chimed in. "Look, let's get real, here, Liz. If she's dating Christian Clarke, she just ain't that smart."<br />
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Enjoy. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Christian Patrick Clarke</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Front Desk Novitiate, 2012</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Hic et Ubique </div>
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</div>Christian Patrick Clarke http://www.blogger.com/profile/12620713492733950481noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773769789054691392.post-63450730390545379992012-07-25T11:24:00.000-04:002012-07-25T11:54:49.372-04:00Post #12: The Mid-Point Malaise<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hey Folks! <br />
<br />
It's Wednesday, July 25th, which means we have hit the half-way mark of Hell Week, otherwise known as the Midpoint Malaise. The Midpoint Malaise is that painful stretch of time when Loafers are drowning in essays, finishing essays, or turning in essays. Often the Loafers are beset by other concerns that compound their essay-writing woes: they are tired of the food, or fighting off sickness, or missing their off-Mountain lives. And while a fair number of Bread Loafers carry on, availing themselves of Fun(!), the signs of the Midpoint Malaise are everywhere.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigO4zy9dmizdfotQ3rJNUVQqB5mZA_nLLjea5AhAX0UZ9YCI8jEHEGMWxVcAydyGOKOY72d2kzNmcfbhUw7q2VrOBAxlTE9qoEstyP5KmS32-JoLvGIWKCrO8RV8D7mTK7E0ztqGInIIdF/s1600/images-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigO4zy9dmizdfotQ3rJNUVQqB5mZA_nLLjea5AhAX0UZ9YCI8jEHEGMWxVcAydyGOKOY72d2kzNmcfbhUw7q2VrOBAxlTE9qoEstyP5KmS32-JoLvGIWKCrO8RV8D7mTK7E0ztqGInIIdF/s1600/images-2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paper? What paper? I scoff at thee. </td></tr>
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Sign #1 of the Midpoint Malaise: ominous, gloomy, weather. The nights are cold and rainy, the days are the epitome of unpredictability--torrential downpour one moment, blindingly sunny the next. Sometimes both phenomenon occurring simultaneously, which is a real goocher. The point is, for the Bread Loafer, they never know when their sunshine might be vanquished, and with it, their joy. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitRk18iKkbguW8H0XfPrRmHSabV0zqQ_pa30lhNSRs0TRiViibngKs7nK_8fikA9FqKGlAIe84C1sDRGbtj3sM05cNVsbY_WmzGCBj2PXKRY8IJ24EABmNAdFdffRyZXY2pNrCZvI9aHY4/s1600/images-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitRk18iKkbguW8H0XfPrRmHSabV0zqQ_pa30lhNSRs0TRiViibngKs7nK_8fikA9FqKGlAIe84C1sDRGbtj3sM05cNVsbY_WmzGCBj2PXKRY8IJ24EABmNAdFdffRyZXY2pNrCZvI9aHY4/s1600/images-3.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Real Goocher. </td></tr>
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Now, the rest of America may not make much of the gods' meteorological hijinks, but the English Nerd is different, folks. They are trained to see the weather as a symbol of their inner lives. They see their Midpoint Malaise reflected in the grey heavens above and the soggy landscape below. <i>That's me, </i>they murmur, standing on the Inn porch, overlooking the southern meadow, gazing upon the falling rain, as a single tear glides down their cheek. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqSDIptfgOOasx6lUZo4Wf8fUZ5p32h6lnhiDP3fZ-Du73xslYqhuArg9uuiTAnZzTe2twHQd_G-12E4eoInd22I-muYXUpLp8I3tMRUzMaWUi48x3UhDS17jeY79W-LYXyD_qoH7Gb628/s1600/girl_gazing_into_the_rain_by_chaseroflight-d4y8td4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqSDIptfgOOasx6lUZo4Wf8fUZ5p32h6lnhiDP3fZ-Du73xslYqhuArg9uuiTAnZzTe2twHQd_G-12E4eoInd22I-muYXUpLp8I3tMRUzMaWUi48x3UhDS17jeY79W-LYXyD_qoH7Gb628/s320/girl_gazing_into_the_rain_by_chaseroflight-d4y8td4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No one understands what it's like to care about penis imagery in Proust. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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As for the Front Desk Mavens, we are busy playing our part in the term-paper economy of Hell Week, the academic business cycle of essays. First, students seek out MacNair, looking for comfort after Edward has told them to burn their essays in the nearest fireplace. Somehow, they push forward and finish the essay. Soon, they approach the Front Desk, looking hopeful, hand us their essays to turn into their professors, and walk away. Edward looks at the essay titles, reads a few lines, shakes his head, chuckles, walks four feet to other side of the office, and puts them in professors' mailboxes, from which they are often retrieved in a matter of hours. Next day or so, professors show up to the Front Desk, looking grim, return the essays, and walk away. Edward takes them, checks the grades, shakes his head, chuckles, walks four feet to the other side of the office, and puts them in the students' mailboxes. Shortly after, we listen for the inevitable gnashing of teeth and rending of garments. Then MacNair comforts them. Cycle complete. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-S-OlR8aU4jEUP9tNgZ9EsN_YaYFIZ9Ld3ydDj-1P-u91Qe4WCbxPFxkL8ypB_b4Z5vdoYYHHbHf4FKCxEFot3cJvcS4tmqfsinT2zdr-wEbUSYBBWKKjUAHkb6AyBpeC0pnIv2Y7iVPb/s1600/IMG_2753.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-S-OlR8aU4jEUP9tNgZ9EsN_YaYFIZ9Ld3ydDj-1P-u91Qe4WCbxPFxkL8ypB_b4Z5vdoYYHHbHf4FKCxEFot3cJvcS4tmqfsinT2zdr-wEbUSYBBWKKjUAHkb6AyBpeC0pnIv2Y7iVPb/s320/IMG_2753.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maven Overlord Edward refuses to accept an essay from one Bread Loafer that interprets <i>Paradise Lost </i>as an allegory for being dumped by Clair McCaskill back in the 11th grade. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio8vEP1Y_VhZFhOywXK-YmKLq6hpIJIm3RAbL9o0mE_UbNW-Ks5fg0VH9_eMJG9JK_JUX7y3FNAa3C2D81L5AOoWlr2X_Z9bFTSqQ1kJMLkUGiqGE10tE0wVc91mrJ_GESyW4o8tv9zy5f/s1600/IMG_2696.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio8vEP1Y_VhZFhOywXK-YmKLq6hpIJIm3RAbL9o0mE_UbNW-Ks5fg0VH9_eMJG9JK_JUX7y3FNAa3C2D81L5AOoWlr2X_Z9bFTSqQ1kJMLkUGiqGE10tE0wVc91mrJ_GESyW4o8tv9zy5f/s320/IMG_2696.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To
comfort you, Maven MacNair will knit you a beautiful wool sweater. It might take her 22 years to complete, like this one did, (seriously, no joke, it did), but as you can see, it's well worth it. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmYCqtqwFz777Mz8JEvUy1QM9rcBw3LFJympk5g8_-HqUi6cQjnrL-LePtnIQGFqhJX2IN2V9ipJP2WrbPItpBbmg_StmmPago8BR68T-7PQCKhPXIKchIbgPTXQ9K2s-VZsfWlIPFaCoc/s1600/images-1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmYCqtqwFz777Mz8JEvUy1QM9rcBw3LFJympk5g8_-HqUi6cQjnrL-LePtnIQGFqhJX2IN2V9ipJP2WrbPItpBbmg_StmmPago8BR68T-7PQCKhPXIKchIbgPTXQ9K2s-VZsfWlIPFaCoc/s1600/images-1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sometimes, in the event of receiving anything less than an A-, it's necessary to bring in a higher authority. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<br />
But as we round the corner on Hell Week, there is hope, oh yes, indeed, there is. For you see, folks, bubbling below the surface of the Midpoint Malaise are the fevered dreams of the Bread Loafer, dreams of the carnal delights they hope await them Saturday night at the Suppressed Desires Dance. The Loafers minds are like stainless steel Cuisinarts of Desire, as gaudy images of cleverly costumed Nerds dancing in a Nerd frenzy percolate at a low boil, goading them on, prodding them forward, urging them towards the finish line, the mountain top, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Yes, yes, yes <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrKLFkDocj9t4B342210aPXVOwyAo7XbY8BW1GGUuyfAdlnvgOAJyFEEcCBeEpI-JdrKnNPBUkpJXXJ04fjNn6sTqV2k6d0JelbPvPF9zgJVMMbsjPKt-a6WdWSKEo8I7dg1TQRpFvYE4V/s1600/128.-coffee-percolator-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrKLFkDocj9t4B342210aPXVOwyAo7XbY8BW1GGUuyfAdlnvgOAJyFEEcCBeEpI-JdrKnNPBUkpJXXJ04fjNn6sTqV2k6d0JelbPvPF9zgJVMMbsjPKt-a6WdWSKEo8I7dg1TQRpFvYE4V/s1600/128.-coffee-percolator-1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The vehicle of desire, circa 1963. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3PNNW4ioSuhjiO_JJp7Fu972una_LZCu5JTnQ7SM31keZBgmASOtcJPNFUxYJG7Yn5wxkyz48b6GmX655fsxa8PheB-6eltcx-i2kjh7gg2w7TAjELYwDhfduCUynIvZLHqk1emHxXzVy/s1600/IMG_1590.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3PNNW4ioSuhjiO_JJp7Fu972una_LZCu5JTnQ7SM31keZBgmASOtcJPNFUxYJG7Yn5wxkyz48b6GmX655fsxa8PheB-6eltcx-i2kjh7gg2w7TAjELYwDhfduCUynIvZLHqk1emHxXzVy/s200/IMG_1590.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<br />
Enjoy.<br />
Christian Patrick Clarke<br />
Front Desk Novititate, 2012<br />
Hic et Ubique<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEietksgNnZ5niSjzpd33sryfYSibkK83N2MlrK4sfjG8HC3Rl7Jp6wH_E02RWclHPPppk0GkYs7ShloBwnyk9viwkc41hcPjqykSU3eEQH2QwdbjwZdOr3tPSSAp_z6rUpO6gLin66NnYtj/s1600/IMG_2770.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEietksgNnZ5niSjzpd33sryfYSibkK83N2MlrK4sfjG8HC3Rl7Jp6wH_E02RWclHPPppk0GkYs7ShloBwnyk9viwkc41hcPjqykSU3eEQH2QwdbjwZdOr3tPSSAp_z6rUpO6gLin66NnYtj/s320/IMG_2770.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And now for today's installment of Edward Insults Me: during a recent conversation, I complained about not having a car to drive off the Mountain and back. Edward replied, not ungenerously, "Listen, <i>slick</i>, I'll give you a ride back up the Mountain." My face brightened as he continued. "I prefer not to, but I will, because I know that if I don't someone will. Probably the cops." </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<br />Christian Patrick Clarke http://www.blogger.com/profile/12620713492733950481noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773769789054691392.post-75556491829978054342012-07-23T12:55:00.001-04:002012-07-23T13:08:49.381-04:00Post #11: Hell Week<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hey Folks!<br />
<br />
It's Monday, July 22, and you know what that means: we have officially launched Week 5 of Bread Loaf, often referred to by experts (me) as "Hell Week." Week 5 is termed Hell Week for several reasons, but chief among them is the allusion to the last week of the Navy Seals' basic training when aspiring soldiers are pushed to the limit of human endurance. Often the soldiers are forced to hike hundreds of miles in harsh terrain, on little or no sleep, while lugging cumbersome battle gear, knowing full well that failure to complete the course will eliminate any chance of becoming a Seal.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjXR7a9WKUMGqQQI6hBUTyPf2ohshU-MgpkpBT5Ilg0Wi5-wSn6iC_FW_j37pCQeyFtdZLN-eKqetGkoG3wWI_cQHQSWUve7FsF32w5oqFFYjrGmN5xW0nqb56PbXjEWjYK8b8hmxyLguN/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjXR7a9WKUMGqQQI6hBUTyPf2ohshU-MgpkpBT5Ilg0Wi5-wSn6iC_FW_j37pCQeyFtdZLN-eKqetGkoG3wWI_cQHQSWUve7FsF32w5oqFFYjrGmN5xW0nqb56PbXjEWjYK8b8hmxyLguN/s200/images.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you boys let go of this log, which may or may not be a phallic symbol, the terrorists will win, damn it. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
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For Bread Loafers, the tests of Hell Week are equally grueling, the punishment equally severe. Hell Week is a veritable existential nightmare filled with sleepless nights and long hours spent in the library plumbing the depths of Milton, Shakespeare, and Chaucer, hoping against hope to say something original. In 10 pages or more. Often in the wee hours of the night one will hear maniacal laughter bellowing from the bowels of the Davison Library. That laughter is the surest and saddest sign that the English Nerd has thoroughly cracked. Usually from staring at a blank computer screen for one too many hours. Hell Week is not for the faint of heart, folks. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCyM_iehfJLdt6jB6g4yo8ddOCW8RzlyTi5Rig3XtNZp2DEqGazh-rmSA_t1RBUgq4mEV16SdXfe5kH0RSWbFCcc7jcW4sSy3Xbu_ROh_tHefFL0vqZwuU6wIp8hufscCmngff8r9WpTfp/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCyM_iehfJLdt6jB6g4yo8ddOCW8RzlyTi5Rig3XtNZp2DEqGazh-rmSA_t1RBUgq4mEV16SdXfe5kH0RSWbFCcc7jcW4sSy3Xbu_ROh_tHefFL0vqZwuU6wIp8hufscCmngff8r9WpTfp/s200/images.jpeg" width="128" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Say something new about <i>Hamlet. </i>I dare you." </td></tr>
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And should the English Nerd fail, the punishment is harsh and terrible. The consequence for the soldier who cannot complete Hell Week is merely the crushing disappointment of not being accepted into the ranks of the Navy Seals. The punishment for the English Nerd who fails is something beyond all evil, beyond all malignancy: a grade of B-. I shudder to write those words, folks. Somewhere a fairy elf just lost her wings.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoA3fGdOIvSxPLdR4ACSmuPwR3Lz_U_jQth2_heUOu2kq2QnXft3ZAjGrPbsepiGEnMRfuEbZnjKanyIS0sgvRwwm58QNTiPT2frXownCbSrLW061dJFt1UzJh1yaAh-XQScIBHDGF5uIo/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoA3fGdOIvSxPLdR4ACSmuPwR3Lz_U_jQth2_heUOu2kq2QnXft3ZAjGrPbsepiGEnMRfuEbZnjKanyIS0sgvRwwm58QNTiPT2frXownCbSrLW061dJFt1UzJh1yaAh-XQScIBHDGF5uIo/s1600/images.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We're not sure this English Nerd survived his grade. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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It is at this point that the role of the Front Desk Maven begins to shift. During Hell Week the Maven becomes sounding board, tutor and counselor. Bread Loafers desperate to find their way out of their own intellectual abyss will humbly petition the Mavens to listen to excerpts of their writing. Maven Overlord Edward Brown's "advice" will often be to "start over." In response, the English Nerd will begin what trauma experts call "crying." Finally, the Mavens are on hand to remind English Nerds in the throes of essay-writing lunacy to remember basic things in life like the location of the cafeteria. And pants.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv9cldvSmW0eZ6HAKfYSBc8_x1qKSAMICf1d0SeJX_NxLpktS7egU__he07utv07TFM7Tupy8nJQHakDT5rwHc-QV1g3pqiAecCQOTd3QElpL_1QBD7fl2dIwFlCxWS3Mhq5fVL8x369T0/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv9cldvSmW0eZ6HAKfYSBc8_x1qKSAMICf1d0SeJX_NxLpktS7egU__he07utv07TFM7Tupy8nJQHakDT5rwHc-QV1g3pqiAecCQOTd3QElpL_1QBD7fl2dIwFlCxWS3Mhq5fVL8x369T0/s1600/images.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maybe Edward is right; maybe my writing <i>would </i>benefit from total incineration. </td></tr>
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Interestingly enough, at the conclusion of Hell Week, on Saturday night, just when the typical Bread Loafer is at wits end, thoroughly exhausted, and on the point of sheer spiritual collapse, it's time for the Suppressed Desires Dance. I won't say too much about this revered and hallowed annual event, but remember that Zion Rave scene from the second Matrix movie where there thousands of semi-clad bodies are writhing ecstatically to the pulsating rhythms of the music? It's sort of like that, just subtract underground freedom fighters and insert sexually pent-up Nerds.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFvF8npfro7yn6aKhkRRyWN-vywEfvgqTOCVjnJFSriNZ4g2D4L5OJqT4g34Ors9gVwXoRK6f9vUexQff3IKo2sTiPz_OJHkFDBnrh4FvIMgOWFdOClzyfus-m2s7azAuu_CGEdr-3wVXt/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFvF8npfro7yn6aKhkRRyWN-vywEfvgqTOCVjnJFSriNZ4g2D4L5OJqT4g34Ors9gVwXoRK6f9vUexQff3IKo2sTiPz_OJHkFDBnrh4FvIMgOWFdOClzyfus-m2s7azAuu_CGEdr-3wVXt/s1600/images.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Her: I loved what you said about temporality in Swan's Way. Him: Hold me. </td></tr>
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And so, folks, let Hell Week begin.<br />
And may the Loafers rise to the occasion. <br />
Semper Fi, English Nerds, Semper Fi. <br />
<br />
<br />
Enjoy.<br />
Christian Patrick Clark<br />
Front Desk Novitiate, 2012<br />
Hic et Ubique<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And now for today's installment of Edward Insults Me: recently, during a conversation with fellow Mavens I expressed disappointment that I would not be working during the upcoming Writer's Conference, when dozens of world class novelists and poets will be filling up the Inn. I even offered to work for free. Edward smirked and said, "What are are you going to do, stand around and act creepy?" He then walked away before turning around and adding, "By the way, there wouldn't be much acting involved with that."<br />
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<br />Christian Patrick Clarke http://www.blogger.com/profile/12620713492733950481noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773769789054691392.post-29454011896388852722012-07-20T13:21:00.000-04:002012-07-20T13:39:39.079-04:00Post #10: The English Nerd Blues: or, a Frost in Summer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hey Folks! It's Friday, July 20th, which means we're coming to the end of the Week Four Shift.<br />
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At the end of the Week Four Shift another phenomenon tends to occur: the English Nerd blues. <span style="background-color: white;">As difficult it is to believe, life on the Mountain is not immune to the summertime blues.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> English Nerds get lonely too. They miss their friends and family. They miss their sweethearts, too. You think that j</span><span style="background-color: white;">ust because someone likes reading books and writing about them and then sitting in a meadow to watch the sun drift leisurely behind a stunning mountain-kissed landscaped means they don't have feelings? <i>Pishaw. </i> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">The English Nerd Blues are serious business, mister. You see it all the time on campus. Overworked men and women dressed in rags, the concept of personal hygiene long forgotten, shuffling around in a daze after dinner, hunched under the weight of an overstuffed backpack mumbling to themselves with sarcastic joy, "Gotta read my Chaucer, </span><i style="background-color: white;">Oh boy!</i><span style="background-color: white;"> Gotta Chaucer read my Chaucer, </span><i style="background-color: white;">yay! Can't wait.</i><span style="background-color: white;">" </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, there's a three-hour lecture that goes until 10 pm? On Proust? <i>Awesome. </i></td></tr>
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Truth be told there's only one cure for the English Nerd Blues: a nice long walk down west Rt. 125. Or as I like to call it, "The Road Sparsely Travelled." That's an allusion, folks. English Nerds eat that stuff for breakfast up here. They're like Allusion Ninjas. Heck, one spotted it before I wrote it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuBFLf6v20uxwfspC861wqinjlFcEV3Fg6ZD4q2dqB5425wUuy_M3adoY6We8vcpAjngLrURnSpo8IP5Do2AeZFdizns8O-1EOJmImhPSP0aCvBS_W5pNZI8tj76ZckfQ7IpHJ8u034-Gb/s1600/IMG_1778.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuBFLf6v20uxwfspC861wqinjlFcEV3Fg6ZD4q2dqB5425wUuy_M3adoY6We8vcpAjngLrURnSpo8IP5Do2AeZFdizns8O-1EOJmImhPSP0aCvBS_W5pNZI8tj76ZckfQ7IpHJ8u034-Gb/s320/IMG_1778.jpg" width="238" /></a><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">Our destination is Homer Noble Farm. "What's Homer Noble farm?" you ask. Homer Noble is the name of the kindly farmer who gave Robert Frost total use of his backwoods cabin, free of charge, to use as his personal one-man writer colony. </span><span style="background-color: white;">In return, Robert Frost religiously slept with Homer Noble's wife. </span><i style="background-color: white;">Quid pro quo, Clarice. </i><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">The important thing is not to dwell on Robert Frost's moral failings. The point is that walking to his den of sin in the woods is a great way for overworked English Nerds to let off steam before they take some poor library hostage. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Give me the Chaucer, and nobody gets hurt.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">As you foot it down Rt. 125 be mindful of your surroundings. There are many wonderful things to see along the way to the Frost Cabin. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For instance: This tiny cabin, which is not the Frost Cabin, is nestled just off the shoulder of Rt. 125, not far from the Inn. Local legend says this is where the famous Ripton Troll is supposed to reside. Or as he's known to Bread Loafers: Edward Brown. Rim shot, please. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moose are everywhere along Rt. 125. Moose are <i>crepuscular,</i> which means they only emerge at dusk or dawn. Or it might mean they suffer from terrible acne. I can't remember. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzlcQOb6oJepHWTYb1-Stt4dMO4LcDogWy_IiIrXvpFhleCB8TqqZiPC4uKYr6YsjOD-xK4KY5H9mTvmQicvxGF76uBNmEznCaNmF-O9EH5upaz_q5YLk39mu9CRD0CcMAq1nVfQN1Vf6b/s1600/IMG_1809.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzlcQOb6oJepHWTYb1-Stt4dMO4LcDogWy_IiIrXvpFhleCB8TqqZiPC4uKYr6YsjOD-xK4KY5H9mTvmQicvxGF76uBNmEznCaNmF-O9EH5upaz_q5YLk39mu9CRD0CcMAq1nVfQN1Vf6b/s400/IMG_1809.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Locals say it's rare that anyone or anything survives on a head-on collision with a moose. The location of this cemetery opposite of the Moose Crossing sign doesn't bode well either. At least the fallen Moose served their country with dignity and honor. </td></tr>
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After a mile or so of walking westward down Rt. 125, you will come to the road that leads to the Robert Frost Cabin. For all you literature lovers out there, know that the path is suitably unpaved, so when you walk you feel as if you are taking the road less travelled.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you stand in the middle of this road and say out loud in a poetic manner: "Whose woods these are I know..." the disembodied voice of Robert Frost will whisper in your ear, "<i>mine, bitch."</i> </td></tr>
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The Farmhouse where Homer Noble lived, and the path that behind the house that leads up to the cabin.<br />
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Be prepared! <br />
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The path to the cabin isn't long but bring bug spray. Don't forget. Use it. The bugs are vicious. I don't like to sound preachy but in 1983, Bread Loafer Carl Weathershack tried to walk the 50 feet to the cabin without using bug spray. Tragically, he never made it. The mosquitoes picked him clean. The bones were left as a warning.<br />
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And the cabin itself! This is where Robert Frost schemed his next conquest of Mrs. Noble and then wrote poems about being good neighbors.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEjFjiPs02hd_EtGtJn3Ppc58CZZYzkk6HNo7uiK9tp6a9CNPM11Ngpa5v_vIgUD7uhm7q3A_0ahByS99nWqYCdAbA-bjYrcADLXNuQAQb0Y7-b36g4kJGuJhuMpJWLoAxREs9wMMtHFlb/s1600/IMG_1865.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEjFjiPs02hd_EtGtJn3Ppc58CZZYzkk6HNo7uiK9tp6a9CNPM11Ngpa5v_vIgUD7uhm7q3A_0ahByS99nWqYCdAbA-bjYrcADLXNuQAQb0Y7-b36g4kJGuJhuMpJWLoAxREs9wMMtHFlb/s320/IMG_1865.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The actual Frost Cabin.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13pt; text-align: left;">As you can plainly see, the cabin is locked because 68% of all people who visit are English Nerds who turn psychotic whenever in the presence of Robert Frost paraphernalia. Luckily, as a Front Desk Maven, and as someone who holds a sterling reputation for responsible, level-headed behavior, I was allowed special access to the cabin. I'm happy to report folks, that, eventually after the proper authorities were consulted, </span><i style="font-size: 13pt; text-align: left;">everything turned out juuust fine. </i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The parlor. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Library. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Stove. Boiling Water. For those <i>Frosty </i>nights. On a roll, today. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px;">The Foreman Grill.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Literary history: where Frost did some of his best work. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px;"><span style="font-size: 13.513513565063477px;">And this is the man who told me about Robert Frost's adulterous ways. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 13.513513565063477px;">In his words, "When Homer Noble went to plow his fields, Robert Frost when to plow his wife." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 13.513513565063477px;">He is a literature professor with a beard and glasses which means two a) you have to believe everything he says because b) he's an Alpha Kung Fu Nerd Master. He just chopped your nuts off with his brain. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 17.77777862548828px;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">And that's the walk to the Frost Cabin. So the next time you find yourself on a Mountain in Vermont reading one too many Victorian novels, or having one too many late nights, or seeing too many familiar faces eating the same food day in and day out, don't fret. Don't let the English Nerd blues get you down. Take a deep breath and head down the road sparsely traveled. It'll do you some good. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 17.77777862548828px;">Enjoy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 17.77777862548828px;">Christian Patrick Clarke</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 17.77777862548828px;">Hic et Ubique </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And for today's installment of Edward Insults Me: Recently, Edward was discussing a poem about death by Ted Kooser. I remarked that I'd prefer to die in my sleep. Before I could finish my thought, Edward interjected, "Okay." Okay what, I asked. "Okay, I'll do it tonight for you, it's not hard." </td></tr>
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<br />Christian Patrick Clarke http://www.blogger.com/profile/12620713492733950481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773769789054691392.post-28925957251488232652012-07-18T11:48:00.003-04:002012-07-18T12:45:11.250-04:00Post #9: Summer Reading/Had Me a Blast<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hey Folks! It's Wednesday, July 18th, and we're halfway through the first week of the second half of Bread Loaf. </div>
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I thought for today's post we'd feature photos of Summer Reading. The following photographs feature the summer readings selection of yours truly as well as other Front Desk Mavens. </div>
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Once, not too long ago, I considered myself someone who likes to read books, i.e. an English Nerd, but I have to confess that I do not read books nearly as much as I'd like, (unless SportsCenter counts as reading.) This summer, however, I vowed to amend my wayward reading habits. To that end, I headed over to the Bread Loaf Bookstore and loaded up on a summer's worth of reading. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;">The goods. Don't get caught on the wrong side of the book trade. </span></td></tr>
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I decided that my primary--but not exclusive--focus would be on books written by Bread Loaf faculty and staff. Because a) it's nerdilicious that so many Bread Loaf faculty are highly esteemed writers and b) I was too cool for school back in my Pre-Maven days to buy their books. Since then I've had a number of life experiences that have given me a dose of humility. Like getting fat and dumb and losing my hair. I want to read these books before I forget how, like Charlie in...in....in....what was that book again? </div>
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So, here's a look at Summer Reading.</div>
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"He closed his eyes, surrendering himself to her, body and mind, conscious of nothing in the world but the dark pressure of her softly parting lips." Joyce? Or how I incorrectly pictured Senior Prom? </div>
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"Lots of writers begin life as confused, manipulative, or self-destructive children, don't they?" Sam Swope? Or what Ms. Gaither, my first gade teacher said to my parents at the end of the year?<br />
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"In 2 years/I saved $90,/sent off to a Roanoke/pawn shop". David Huddle's poetry? Or an accurate description of my financial struggles in New York City?<br />
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"There were also hints of body odor, fast food, coffe, and alcohol sick flatulence: fermented fruit, camp-ground outhouse." A vivid description of Rusty's red Chevelle from chapter 4 of Greg Bottoms' book? Or how Brenda the Bread Loaf housekeeper describes my room?<br />
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"When I tried it on, it made me feel like it must have been waiting for years for me to rescue it from oblivion. 'I never realized you had such pretty legs...' From the last chapter <i>Nothing Can Make Me Do This</i>? Or me getting dressed for Senior Prom? <i> </i><br />
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"Never act like they're imperfections. They're <i>who you are. </i>They let anyone who's lucky to enough to see them know that you've been subjected to certain explorations." Ann Beattie? Or how my doctor humored me after examining my bald spots when I was 19 years-old?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9zklkFaVW5cD8kFDio_747EXOByturKVd71kXOhMerzEsjZhoqsQ0s0Ki633RFEPohNCjEsCuho6edaut6HSs9FjGjoGsAo6FOQUWtGRiWNUMTvWL8tcblrheNjMv3zQG2xWn6pQzEt8M/s1600/IMG_2613.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9zklkFaVW5cD8kFDio_747EXOByturKVd71kXOhMerzEsjZhoqsQ0s0Ki633RFEPohNCjEsCuho6edaut6HSs9FjGjoGsAo6FOQUWtGRiWNUMTvWL8tcblrheNjMv3zQG2xWn6pQzEt8M/s320/IMG_2613.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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The New England Review of literature? </div>
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Or the Bread Loaf Yearbook? </div>
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"these women gathered.../to talk their usual talk,/their conversation spiked with the names/ of avenues in France." Lucille Clifton? Or the <b><u>men's only</u></b> bathroom in the Inn?<br />
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"Oatmeal aisle/even here/too many choices". A haiku by Front Desk Maven Peter Newton? Or what repeatedly ran through my brain three seconds before a meltdown in the Ripton Country Store?<br />
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And now other Mavens:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxIbI4fwdEiQv4EwNAAsZI6UPf4BfrGULmtEo-aphfVY7aJSKfw2vHQahmpkXEh1Q3sCAE2SDG0g-9mPAdLjrpIPbNzP7C1oB_6ojMliwiTvFgEOEfogdYqnO-dIYqYXhf7xqFebOjzrXD/s1600/IMG_2559.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxIbI4fwdEiQv4EwNAAsZI6UPf4BfrGULmtEo-aphfVY7aJSKfw2vHQahmpkXEh1Q3sCAE2SDG0g-9mPAdLjrpIPbNzP7C1oB_6ojMliwiTvFgEOEfogdYqnO-dIYqYXhf7xqFebOjzrXD/s200/IMG_2559.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.513513565063477px; text-align: center;">Here we have Front Desk Maven Gene. <br />
Gene is sporting the trendy "hand beard," all the rage with hipsters. <br />
Maven Gene is displaying one of the dozens of books he reads per month.<br />
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How does Gene manage to read a book a week? <i>On average? </i>Easy: steroids. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ma'am, please calm down. Ma'am. <i>Ma'am. </i>Drop the box, and step away from the road. </td></tr>
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(Special shout-out to Maven MacNair for being Post #9's expert photographer.) </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.513513565063477px;">Yes, the book Maven Overlord Edward is reading is called "Obselete." He claims the book describes me.<br />
And now for today's Installment of Edward Insults Me: Recently, a Bread Loafer approached the front desk window to ask if there were any athletic trainers on hand. For some reason my mind mixed up "trainer" with "supporter," as in athletic supporters, as in jockstraps. So I replied, bewildered by his odd request,"You mean like jockstraps?" All the fellow mavens busted up laughing. The young man in front of window was not amused (we didn't know it, but another Loafer was injured playing soccer. It was kind of serious). Edward jumped in at this point and loudly explained my confusion. "Hey, we're sorry, but the lobotomy wasn't as successful as we hoped."<br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">Enjoy your summer reading, folks. You can bet the English Nerds are. </span></div>
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Christian Patrick Clarke</div>
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Front Desk Novitiate, 2012 </div>
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Hic et Ubique </div>
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<br /></div>Christian Patrick Clarke http://www.blogger.com/profile/12620713492733950481noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773769789054691392.post-41091603456559651932012-07-16T12:11:00.000-04:002012-07-16T13:42:13.735-04:00Post #8: The WFS (Week Four Shift)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hey folks! It's Monday, July 16th, and as of 9:00 am today, we've officially started the second half of Bread Loaf. It's time to discuss the Week Four Shift. With three weeks remaining in the session, one can detect a palpable focus gripping the campus. Students and teachers alike have acclimated to the idiosyncratic rhythm of the typical Bread Loaf work week, which is marked by the dynamic balance between relaxation, fellowship, and intense study. It is in this fourth week that the English Nerds truly come into their own and embrace their Nerdery in a way that---dare I say it?---makes them kind of cool. Even <i>fearsome.</i> One can't help but admire the way <i>Nerdus Habilis</i> will hunker down with 4-inch thick texts and devour them, tearing through passage after densely- written passage with savage intellectual fury. In sum, the festive atmosphere of the first half of Bread Loaf is replaced with the whizzing thrum of locked-in minds. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whatever you do,<br />
<i>do not come between Nerds and their text.</i><br />
<i> </i>You <i>will </i>pay.</td></tr>
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Front Desk Mavens are not immune to the effects of the Week Four Shift. Each of us is engaged in our own creative pursuits, from reading and writing, to knitting. Suddenly we find our lives awash in a flood of half-read books, manuscripts, trivia questions, spools of yarn, and recording equipment.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px;">Maven MacNair will soon inform her friend of her plans <br />
for an all-white, one-woman, upper-middle class knitting sweatshop. </td></tr>
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As for me, the Week Four Shift could not have arrived sooner. I came to Bread Loaf a man on fire. For starters, I wanted to record at least a dozen conversations with some of the many amazing teachers up here at Bread Loaf in service of my podcast, <a href="http://minilessons.org/">Minilessons</a>. I had other goals as well, less concrete ones aimed at being a better person. I was going to be a man of restraint and composure, right the wrongs of the previous...30 years. My plan was to eat less, move my legs faster on purpose, and do something creative. But somewhere along the way I fell by the wayside. For instance, I did not realize Ripton Country store sold bags of potato chips.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"A man of restraint and composure." </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dick, owner of the Ripton country store and shameless potato chip pusher. What a...nevermind. </td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Thankfully, my priorities have shifted. My interests are trending inward. I'm honed in on the tasks at hand. Like the other Loafers, this Maven is getting down to work, going about the business of Mavening, Christian style. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px;">This is what Bread Loaf currently means:<br />
empty coffee cups, books, and microphones. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px; text-align: center;">This is David Wandera. <br />
He is Kenyan. He is a PhD student at Ohio State.<br />
He taught English Literature in Kenya for many years.<br />
He has been coming to Bread Loaf for 9 summers.<br />
Somehow, this totally amazing guy let me interview him. </td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">What it comes down to is this: Bread Loaf is already a place where people come to be a better version of themselves. The Week Four Shift is a way of recommitting to those goals, a mid-session tune-up, if you will. It's a second chance at a second chance to fulfill all those wild New Year's Resolutions we abandon by January 5th, the ones where we fantasize what our lives would be like if we exercised more, ate less, and read good books. How awesome would could we be, we wonder, if we could finish that novel we started years ago or if treated our fellow man with more kindness? And then we find ourselves tired out by the mere act of imagining such a life and go to the nearest McDonald's and take a nap on the sidewalk. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre-Bread Loaf, Pre-Fourth Week Shift, Post-Trip to McDonald's. </td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: left;">But the Week Four Shift is when we wake up. </span><br />
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Christian Patrick Clarke</div>
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Front Desk Novitiate, 2012</div>
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Hic et Ubique</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And now for today's installment of Edward Insults Me: Recently, at a school-wide picnic, Edward introduced me to a visitor, a Bread Loaf graduate, as Christian Clarke, the front desk "trainee." The visitor remarked, "Oh. Three weeks into the summer and still a trainee?" Edward responded heartily, "Let's just say that if Christian was here for ten years he'd still be a 'trainee.' Okay?" </td></tr>
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<br />Christian Patrick Clarke http://www.blogger.com/profile/12620713492733950481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773769789054691392.post-46535431769210217542012-07-13T12:24:00.001-04:002012-08-13T12:04:55.421-04:00Post #7: A Glimpse of Gilmore: or, The Living Poets Society<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hey Folks! It's Friday, July 13th, and you know what that means: last night was Gilmore Thursday. (Actually, most of you wouldn't know. Why wouldn't I know that?)<br />
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Now, there are many of ways of thinking about Bread Loaf: Adult Camp for Nerds; Wicca for Literature Teachers; Rehab for Christian. Depending on the day (or night) each of those descriptions are apt. However, there is one night when <i>all </i>those descriptions seem to roll into one, (save the Rehab), when Bread Loaf-osity reaches its zenith, when one feels as if one has stepped out of reality and into a movie. The night is Thursday. The event is called "Gilmore." The movie--or <i>film</i>, if you prefer, and if you do, you're not only a nerd but a raging dork--is <i>Dead Poets Society. </i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bright Young Scholars</td></tr>
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"Gilmore Thursday" is a complex phenomenon. It not only refers to an event but to a place. Gilmore, you see, is a huge student house where typically young single men are stashed. It is the one of the most remote of the Bread Loaf student houses, located on a bumpy dirt road nearly a mile up from the Barn. The thinking was that a bunch of raging young single men would naturally want to engage in the serious study of literature so they kept them away from the drunken masses. (Or maybe I have that notion backwards). Gilmore is so remote that years ago some guy--a deranged local--killed someone--another deranged local--and dumped the body in the woods not far from the house. And for years, this is where Bread Loafers chose to gather on Thursday nights to listen to campfire stories and then drink themselves into oblivion. All in the name of literature!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Not surprisingly, this the man who started Gilmore. Here he is reflecting on the path of destruction left in his wake. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Many years later, Gilmore Thursdays still exist, but they have evolved. Slightly. There is still the pre-Gilmore ritual in which Loafers exercise restraint in the consumption of alcohol. This restraint typically lasts 2 hours and results in Frisbees being flung at each others' faces. That's Gilmore Part I. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre-Gilmore Ritual: imbibe spirits and then try to maintain this pose for six minutes without falling. </td></tr>
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Gilmore Part II <span style="background-color: white;">is the Ingathering of English Nerds at John's Pond.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> This </span><span style="background-color: white;">begins well after sunset and highlighted by the long walk to John's Pond located a football field's length behind the barn. Artificial torches about calf-high light the path to John's Pond. If you stood back you would see a solemn procession of Loafers making there way to the pond, and by "solemn," I mean, "<i>hammered</i>."</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fellow Front Desk Maven and Poet, Peter Newton, beer in hand, near the bonfire at John's Pond. <br />
This is how a master of the haiku hones his craft. </td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">At John's Pond, there is beer, tiki torches, and a respectable bonfire, (sorry, due to legal issues I must henceforth refer to any fires as "campfires.") The fire is where the Loafers gather around like Nerd Moths to the Flame to hear the readings. This is where Part III takes place. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reverence.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">Part III is the reading of </span><i style="background-color: white;">Ellen: The Whisperings of an Old Pine. </i><span style="background-color: white;">It was written and self-published by Joseph Battell, the 19th century logging baron. Mr. Battell used his wealth to build the victorian homes that comprise the Bread Loaf campus. To honor his legacy, current Bread Loafers read excerpts from his book, which is pretty much awful times infinity, and as far as anyone can tell, concerns a thinly disguised romantic love affair between a man and pine tree. Named Ellen. Seriously. I wish I was joking. </span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px; text-align: center;">The Pre-Reading Ritual: Reading Excerpts from <i>Ellen </i><i><br /></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Love hurts.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px; text-align: center;">Mr. Battell: landowner, tree humper.</td></tr>
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Part IV is the Faculty Reading. The Faculty reading is often a light-hearted occasion wherein a faculty member reads anything they want by any author they want, even themselves. They are encouraged to be "free" with their reading, which, as Dr. Kirkland, this week's reader commented, usually means, "raunchy." And was it ever. I'd recap Dr. Kirkland's poems but this is a family-friendly blog. Let's just say that only 5% of heat at the readings was from the campfire. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">This man read poems about sex to English nerds. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Do you think he enjoyed the reading? </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In addition to being a literature scholar, a poet, he also finished his 1st year of law school. While teaching at NYU. Oh yeah, he also played football for Michigan St. How do you feel about your manhood, now? </td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">Part V of Gilmore is simple. After the reading at the pond, the Bread Loafers help themselves to complimentary beverages, which are served from something called a "keg." (everything is so mysterious up here). Once those beverages run out--in approximately 7 minutes--the Loafers beat a hasty retreat up the road to the Gilmore house where there are more complimentary beverages served from "kegs" and the party continues. Or just starts for that matter. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After the reading, the Bread Loafers make their way calmly to the party at Gilmore. </td></tr>
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And let us not forget Part VI of Gilmore: the morning after.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The way Bread Loafers often feel Friday morning. </td></tr>
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And that, folks, is what Gilmore Thursdays is about. There are many interpretations of Gilmore Thursday. <span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">For many, the Gilmore Thursday represents all that is awesome about Bread Loaf. For others it represents something possibly threatening to the sanctity of literary pursuits. For me, they are among the most indispensable elements of the Mountain Experience. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQdfMYAJwUCOyS6ZY8DIVmmtVVUEAd7NjUYXzxcfPncB-9bA7xPCtH4krUw3jIEi9jGcUltOyMUyrcOkDooj02SqTrphf926e61stuOocmF7npIYSqcFxZxr4kIf_wInFhKzfhI6qXwTm_/s1600/IMG_1590.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQdfMYAJwUCOyS6ZY8DIVmmtVVUEAd7NjUYXzxcfPncB-9bA7xPCtH4krUw3jIEi9jGcUltOyMUyrcOkDooj02SqTrphf926e61stuOocmF7npIYSqcFxZxr4kIf_wInFhKzfhI6qXwTm_/s200/IMG_1590.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Edward says I need to work on how I end my blog posts. He says I should listen to him because he's the "Blog Doctor." He's probably right. </td></tr>
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Enjoy.<br />
Christian Patrick Clarke<br />
Front Desk Novitiate, 2012<br />
Hic et Ubique<br />
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PS: See Photos of Wednesday night's Barn Trivia!<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizFufpThzPlpI8P4Zm1GOsYnpGlyoxzsp-YbMHWp-aToBZVpHeKDslTBDtnHsagmc3MnOOkEFRr8OU9n3rdQT65pTq4yub2xJX4g79zRkDxnx64oQzPYw_z9KDHB4_Wbnq77E2AUSQvmJW/s1600/IMG_2362.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizFufpThzPlpI8P4Zm1GOsYnpGlyoxzsp-YbMHWp-aToBZVpHeKDslTBDtnHsagmc3MnOOkEFRr8OU9n3rdQT65pTq4yub2xJX4g79zRkDxnx64oQzPYw_z9KDHB4_Wbnq77E2AUSQvmJW/s320/IMG_2362.JPG" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px;">An example of Maven Gene's Trivia Questions:<br />
"<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;">If a train leaving Moscow is carrying a group of literature students who are reading the Canterbury Tales to each other, and they have just finished reciting The Miller's Tale when their train strikes Anna Karenina, how many Tales will they have left to read while they wait for the tracks to be cleared?"</span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLwU6QJoVZckaigfxrhWtnC5etAK9WUS-39Immggm-bu4nG8PpaOatLT2WdiiT08dPf250lBdtgwZU_YMvWJdwe4jR2S0K5O999y9-dKnVzBBLA9oF9TV29W9EEXDvJkIJR5HAm66xgxmE/s1600/search-5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLwU6QJoVZckaigfxrhWtnC5etAK9WUS-39Immggm-bu4nG8PpaOatLT2WdiiT08dPf250lBdtgwZU_YMvWJdwe4jR2S0K5O999y9-dKnVzBBLA9oF9TV29W9EEXDvJkIJR5HAm66xgxmE/s1600/search-5.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px;">Typical Response to one of Gene's Trivia questions.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdkfP-Qgz4s1o_lveZpnb8uxNxz9Ga1r6eiV4Tf2MRLHZ-gh4xyUeX_AtvQJfUsBn9P1tVEScKf1R-lZtwItbSX3pewXlNZdRZWVv0LI4-UQDR2SmcauZ2_NH9Eqj4XETCJjS1YhtEihKm/s1600/IMG_2364.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdkfP-Qgz4s1o_lveZpnb8uxNxz9Ga1r6eiV4Tf2MRLHZ-gh4xyUeX_AtvQJfUsBn9P1tVEScKf1R-lZtwItbSX3pewXlNZdRZWVv0LI4-UQDR2SmcauZ2_NH9Eqj4XETCJjS1YhtEihKm/s320/IMG_2364.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px;">One faculty member commented on Trivia Night: "It was like a surreal version of game night at an old folks home." Yeah, I'll buy that.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXc6uYMDsn_QDTHQ8wkl8uiCtpzlv2-lh5phUacs4atr3U0OL0rSSZRE8Uz9u8tpbMqApf1dzpk9g58pdelZzLXyxxvE1BgddRVIdm99Nyhg51jZWj1Hl3r5_lRJsX-DaWFso-FU5lAuAk/s1600/IMG_2374.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXc6uYMDsn_QDTHQ8wkl8uiCtpzlv2-lh5phUacs4atr3U0OL0rSSZRE8Uz9u8tpbMqApf1dzpk9g58pdelZzLXyxxvE1BgddRVIdm99Nyhg51jZWj1Hl3r5_lRJsX-DaWFso-FU5lAuAk/s320/IMG_2374.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px;">"Talk to Daddy!" Edward Brown's typical response to any contestant who questioned the fairness of an answer. Unfortunately, for the contestant, "Talk to Daddy!" Was code for: "Shut the hell up!" </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px;">Every time you hug a tree a billionaire republican develops gout.</td></tr>
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Christian Patrick Clarke http://www.blogger.com/profile/12620713492733950481noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773769789054691392.post-90878851362265139222012-07-11T12:28:00.003-04:002012-07-16T13:43:13.355-04:00Post #6: Bread (Loaf) and Circuses!<div style="text-align: left;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHD9P0X4XZoFIPstdSU9SywCzsiyohrbfcC67tgJjaNeRpNvBBxyDpYtyZl0hYXTqkf1fwHZvWV88UmyO9V4Dqydt6rg3L6ORpRDi0lfYljuywJSglK0IEPHfLjBUlTmQORpn6Sq3BXfOg/s1600/imgres-12.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHD9P0X4XZoFIPstdSU9SywCzsiyohrbfcC67tgJjaNeRpNvBBxyDpYtyZl0hYXTqkf1fwHZvWV88UmyO9V4Dqydt6rg3L6ORpRDi0lfYljuywJSglK0IEPHfLjBUlTmQORpn6Sq3BXfOg/s200/imgres-12.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Hey Folks! </div>
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It's Wednesday, July 11th, and while I've been told there is a sweltering heat wave sweeping the rest of nation, the weather has been beautiful up here on the Mountain. </div>
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And mercifully so! The Bread Loaf School of English is entering the intellectual equivalent of the Tour de France's "Climbing Stages," when the reading loads pile up and the first round of papers are due. <span style="background-color: white;">In other words, it's a critical time for Bread Loafers. The stress levels begin to rise and when stress rises it can create problems. </span><span style="background-color: white;">To relieve the stress, Bread Loafers have been known to concoct a series of diversions. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reading Proust is hard.<br />
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Back in my pre-Front Desk Maven days of yore, my proudest accomplishment wasn't taking part in the summer plays or doing well in my courses. No siree Bob, my prized honor was that I helped invent two of the most highly regarded stress-relieving games in the history of Bread Loaf: Frisbee Face and Retardo. Frisbee face is a lot like Othello: it takes a moment to learn but a lifetime to master. I'll try my best to explain the rules. To begin, you need two people. (Any two people would do, but we have found that people who are deranged work best. For instance, people who enjoy earning their Masters of Literature in the summertime.) The next part of the game is where it gets good: the two people stand approximately 10 feet apart and take turns throwing a Frisbee at each other's face. Whoever flinches loses a point. Or a 1000 points. How many points isn't the point anyway; the object the game is to ease the pain of trying to read <i>Ulysses. </i></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because nothing says, "I'm an intellectual," like taking a Frisbee to the face. <i> </i></td></tr>
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As for the rules of Retardo, let's just say that some things should kept secret. I will divulge the following: a) there was an official Whiffle ball and bat involved and b) haikus have been composed in homage to Retardo. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Please Do Not Attempt to Imagine The Rules of Retardo </td></tr>
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But that was years ago. Things have changed considerably. It's a gentler time, no doubt. Gone are the days of Retardo and Frisbee Face. Gone are the days of such games as Wake Up and Binge Drink Until You Puke. These days, a vistor could t<span style="background-color: white;">ake a stroll around campus and espy Loafers engaged in a range of family-friendly Loafing. For instance, there's the annual Bread Loaf Bocce Ball tournament, where pairs </span><span style="background-color: white;">compete against one another for bragging rights. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7nrYAt6q8DphlADdhz0zphS-GjKkGxsbTgjRsrpGMZO5XF6S4oGRqNxegUYZuASywx9nNidEWje9MoIpMYLvDdGfq_SiIaLgFTHwZluux2vQv_Vpu_E7zRVgIuIGtK1Z-zKsWdPLXYtns/s1600/imgres-9.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7nrYAt6q8DphlADdhz0zphS-GjKkGxsbTgjRsrpGMZO5XF6S4oGRqNxegUYZuASywx9nNidEWje9MoIpMYLvDdGfq_SiIaLgFTHwZluux2vQv_Vpu_E7zRVgIuIGtK1Z-zKsWdPLXYtns/s200/imgres-9.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.513513565063477px; text-align: center;">The McNe'er-Do-Wells warming up<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maven MacNair longs for the days of Frisbee Face.</td></tr>
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As for the Front Desk Mavens, we consider it our duty in these times of intellectual overdrive to help relieve the stress load of the Bread Loaf student body (or as Edward calls them, "The Proletariat.") To that end, I'm happy to report that the director of Bread Loaf has selected Front Desk Mavens Gene and me to organize Barn Trivia Night, where teams of Bread Loafers compete against one another for fabulous prizes. According to the director, this is a Bread Loaf first. Shockingly, in a place as Nerd-tastic as Bread Loaf there hasn't been anyone willing to run a trivia night. Which means that Gene and I are officially Operating Thetan Level 1 Nerds. Also, according to the director, if all goes well, we can expect to turn Trivia Night into a weekly event. In conclusion, we are very excited. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS4MB_eBWCVdhQzbE7E93Rlb7WykuJ8AG2mvHOGa1ctK09WAxUcdEGo0fhcjDil-0wjML1Bw875z9ImUtJyJaAwnZaZBuZAj8cVlszoEp8uEHOc1WWFZ4inyjQtVENWp3Pz_ZsgB51DTYI/s1600/0927_revenge-of-the-nerds_485x340.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS4MB_eBWCVdhQzbE7E93Rlb7WykuJ8AG2mvHOGa1ctK09WAxUcdEGo0fhcjDil-0wjML1Bw875z9ImUtJyJaAwnZaZBuZAj8cVlszoEp8uEHOc1WWFZ4inyjQtVENWp3Pz_ZsgB51DTYI/s200/0927_revenge-of-the-nerds_485x340.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> One of several teams already formed on campus. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOd58xqyqf-yNcRwGrKV9DKTqSs5jvFEJU0gMCd1R1bLt9sT2OtuVLjzlU8MbtR26_KmpOZeTZoJKWW2isMWGLF6SnbnBp_K_9PoZc4z8_Tb09Y0rx37PphSAXIbIjX5sjpDQ0CORGbr7Z/s1600/IMG_2351.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOd58xqyqf-yNcRwGrKV9DKTqSs5jvFEJU0gMCd1R1bLt9sT2OtuVLjzlU8MbtR26_KmpOZeTZoJKWW2isMWGLF6SnbnBp_K_9PoZc4z8_Tb09Y0rx37PphSAXIbIjX5sjpDQ0CORGbr7Z/s200/IMG_2351.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Due to a limited budget, our "Fabulous Prizes" is actually the front desk Lost and Found box. </td></tr>
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That's all, folks. Enjoy.<br />
Christian Patrick Clarke<br />
Front Desk Novitiate, 2012<br />
Hic et Ubique<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.513513565063477px; text-align: center;">And now for today's installment of Edward Insults Christian: In a recent conversation (10 minutes ago) Edward was speaking about a local Loafer who sings exceptionally well at Karaoke. Edward told this Loafer as such. He said that this Loafer should be highly flattered because he only says nice things about people when he means it. Then he paused and looked at me and sneered, "Well, there are some exceptions. Sometimes you have to lie to fragile people." <br />
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</tbody></table>Christian Patrick Clarke http://www.blogger.com/profile/12620713492733950481noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773769789054691392.post-47105169630442122872012-07-09T10:00:00.000-04:002012-07-16T13:43:57.561-04:00Post #5 Return to Bread Loaf Mountain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hey folks,<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Dance Known as the <br />
"White Man Overbite"</td></tr>
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It's Monday morning, July 9th, and I'm back on the Mountain after a weekend in the City, where I witnessed what can only be described as "a wedding between two people" in a "church," in "Queens." After the "ceremony," we supposedly attended a "reception," where I allegedly "danced," perhaps going so far as to do the "Watusi," and the "Mashed Potato." Maybe even the "Twist." People also accused me of using too many "air quotes." <br />
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But I've come back to Bread Loaf to discover a campus in full swing, humming to the rhythms of summer: the fields are full of students are reading, the Barn is buzzing with teaching, and the porches are full of big-time imbibing. And the Front Desk Mavens are Mavening. So, for today's post, I thought I'd offer some pictorial representation of Bread Loaf in full bloom.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiAIHodpnxpCoflnKAMd22ZX6StL8AYGbeYs11ZgSuVP1zox4aH_zyfVLXqDgyUBrGfDzdTKd3E2m1kezX_anDMvPKALGNwnPHpDxUs_s3v5MViHY4FZ8HAmMFUF-Ncoy2i490G5X1eJOr/s1600/IMG_2141.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiAIHodpnxpCoflnKAMd22ZX6StL8AYGbeYs11ZgSuVP1zox4aH_zyfVLXqDgyUBrGfDzdTKd3E2m1kezX_anDMvPKALGNwnPHpDxUs_s3v5MViHY4FZ8HAmMFUF-Ncoy2i490G5X1eJOr/s320/IMG_2141.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There is nothing I like more in nature than bumpers. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUhLGuiWfzJneVX3GJ30OhxQELI_qEgDF9d4e0JZki9-NSOmV3zmX54ZkKVBn_BbLX-10MQfcSW5VBUpF97JFrJe4YsDpL1KsNxdAZsuAf_gUyfPnp2inxhvZd4aT7YPNlpFdMRWXCfJBh/s1600/IMG_2065.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUhLGuiWfzJneVX3GJ30OhxQELI_qEgDF9d4e0JZki9-NSOmV3zmX54ZkKVBn_BbLX-10MQfcSW5VBUpF97JFrJe4YsDpL1KsNxdAZsuAf_gUyfPnp2inxhvZd4aT7YPNlpFdMRWXCfJBh/s320/IMG_2065.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This young man is engaged in "literature."</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieaAMzrQiwtt7-4xBBvpGJSHYqiWhBWGWxMEjQtgiw-mD70x-gVsK0KFpsWZ5qYhtjeGGXdluzeNtXBB6lqtaSoUg38qhsztPBIlT1H-GigGsipcKhj2x78jMJgWA8sFsc_lhM7RPFx57M/s1600/IMG_1745.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieaAMzrQiwtt7-4xBBvpGJSHYqiWhBWGWxMEjQtgiw-mD70x-gVsK0KFpsWZ5qYhtjeGGXdluzeNtXBB6lqtaSoUg38qhsztPBIlT1H-GigGsipcKhj2x78jMJgWA8sFsc_lhM7RPFx57M/s320/IMG_1745.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px;"><br />
"86% of 'literature' is sex, death, and Jesus."-- Albert Einstein<br />
"It's all about me."-- Jesus.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCzHiyKyjpD6q0shhB3qteQKEXAwYZuO_BJT00EQQu7JtLrfKZs9GreHtl1T67O_xEuQKkA-hQ340W5p7XUynDFDw0Z8LU2mu-wFsz1EVVCrdiAXbLrFuFuAQQTkAPgttIv9mrLQms7QJM/s1600/IMG_1772.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCzHiyKyjpD6q0shhB3qteQKEXAwYZuO_BJT00EQQu7JtLrfKZs9GreHtl1T67O_xEuQKkA-hQ340W5p7XUynDFDw0Z8LU2mu-wFsz1EVVCrdiAXbLrFuFuAQQTkAPgttIv9mrLQms7QJM/s320/IMG_1772.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px;">People often say to me, "Man, Bread Loafers really have a great life up there." And they do. What's the secret? Once a week, usually on Mondays after dinner, Bread Loafers sacrifice a virgin, usually an Engineering student from M.I.T. Nerd on Nerd sacrifice.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsBog5qI-V89i-q4srzEkf4jCPK0xEAX9avq83xRx3Db5wFQ5ke6VNjWKV8QfidAgpb9tNdrI-SeaGyZ3SfO99YuSpmptv5Tl-cajzVGF54lw3aWRwo34jYFXqrO3V0m9hcHxLapzd4O2H/s1600/IMG_2086.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsBog5qI-V89i-q4srzEkf4jCPK0xEAX9avq83xRx3Db5wFQ5ke6VNjWKV8QfidAgpb9tNdrI-SeaGyZ3SfO99YuSpmptv5Tl-cajzVGF54lw3aWRwo34jYFXqrO3V0m9hcHxLapzd4O2H/s320/IMG_2086.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px;">The secret to surviving at Bread Loaf: chopping off your arm.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwzGNbLl4g0MfBrVNW707DEZJ_6aOW0in0Wc2ml13bQxl25yq_d5qT8deAmaqLdRhQgVET_5SgLg6Mdu-iKQgBmACBi8yRTCB5ie9-zcP7GuHDon8J8_QhvDcC74z6M0rWsZGiYLQiohc_/s1600/IMG_2181.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwzGNbLl4g0MfBrVNW707DEZJ_6aOW0in0Wc2ml13bQxl25yq_d5qT8deAmaqLdRhQgVET_5SgLg6Mdu-iKQgBmACBi8yRTCB5ie9-zcP7GuHDon8J8_QhvDcC74z6M0rWsZGiYLQiohc_/s320/IMG_2181.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The glow of the Litte Theatre at dusk, with rehearsals for <i>Hamlet</i> in full swing. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwjRKeQZeIy-pjWL1Skl762JTrCXFfE2PZHiyMZdBkHsIps3S5h6C8dJnCOmFU3fNSZnhfelZQpp-atxvnI26bRK4a93raIPnVtVRLQKCkasqWEW0l6q_Im2BH5mqWv-JDG-ffGze-DRN4/s1600/IMG_2192.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwjRKeQZeIy-pjWL1Skl762JTrCXFfE2PZHiyMZdBkHsIps3S5h6C8dJnCOmFU3fNSZnhfelZQpp-atxvnI26bRK4a93raIPnVtVRLQKCkasqWEW0l6q_Im2BH5mqWv-JDG-ffGze-DRN4/s320/IMG_2192.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The poor quality of this shot--which is of the director of <i>Hamlet</i>--can be explained by several factors. a) the players forbid the photographing of rehearsal and b) there were 47 mosquitoes my scalp for an all-you-can-eat-buffet. $6.99 </td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiZVyRHanEf22ZH4XTbo5e8732ebUhQmbRM52Zq_gVBIZ_VVx0rm7tXBXLrrOzUNIfhz36ND6MOw0QrLXVYXtS6HAebYcxGcgWzkGUEj2E8zE8icSwCL3QuRUa0a52qtwn1_GMxzE5gBcr/s1600/IMG_1683.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiZVyRHanEf22ZH4XTbo5e8732ebUhQmbRM52Zq_gVBIZ_VVx0rm7tXBXLrrOzUNIfhz36ND6MOw0QrLXVYXtS6HAebYcxGcgWzkGUEj2E8zE8icSwCL3QuRUa0a52qtwn1_GMxzE5gBcr/s320/IMG_1683.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px;">Another fine example Front Desk Mavening: we photograph the skin rashes of frightened little girls and send the photos to their frightened mothers. <br />
Wow. That is a totally accurate description but it sounds really creepy when you read it out loud. In an empty library.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrA1f_yeU0tKYNv6Zfq-RxODBSPQmOiFvhpJtPp4F9gDePTmAGh7j6geuaJYm9IyuaHubgaq5Sjp13MmH9moecucEqTj6_UhWPZFeU8safEK9qLCIJDuGyy6O7C77BPy6CzpxVk-Cw1vTJ/s1600/IMG_2110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrA1f_yeU0tKYNv6Zfq-RxODBSPQmOiFvhpJtPp4F9gDePTmAGh7j6geuaJYm9IyuaHubgaq5Sjp13MmH9moecucEqTj6_UhWPZFeU8safEK9qLCIJDuGyy6O7C77BPy6CzpxVk-Cw1vTJ/s320/IMG_2110.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px;">MacNair, realizing she found the elusive blue corner piece.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpxz53lQWUFwWbUckf0Z4P73WEEkn-Vlkn_11iV01HKBmMpBWji42PEiLlTQWvrwqT3Pmq7FvTpiZLgLTEHJi0S_PVOPwCxEBB24vDUYJ_IgvleP57n6UollcRCmvlQb3xQsMyGr7COFO9/s1600/IMG_2137.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpxz53lQWUFwWbUckf0Z4P73WEEkn-Vlkn_11iV01HKBmMpBWji42PEiLlTQWvrwqT3Pmq7FvTpiZLgLTEHJi0S_PVOPwCxEBB24vDUYJ_IgvleP57n6UollcRCmvlQb3xQsMyGr7COFO9/s320/IMG_2137.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The West Lawn reception, where students and faculty mingle, and world famous scholars do their best impression of Cornholio.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWZGekSfIuS8f7WRG116dQuSHDZ9iJw2o3LV8XMps03XuboWzmdywcIf72x1LdkHdyNb8mSpbow-LMAYl4mxntb4pEvSjyjAEg8-9XHOSkRKs8_gm8O846TlLQ9qoRW6HiSwkKl_VX_ksh/s1600/IMG_1819.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWZGekSfIuS8f7WRG116dQuSHDZ9iJw2o3LV8XMps03XuboWzmdywcIf72x1LdkHdyNb8mSpbow-LMAYl4mxntb4pEvSjyjAEg8-9XHOSkRKs8_gm8O846TlLQ9qoRW6HiSwkKl_VX_ksh/s320/IMG_1819.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">English Nerd running furiously from the English Nerds. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">English Nerd Letting off Steam. By playing a Word game. </td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhROs5lYbNtZYdu-uV2DSeH6nNZY_aplmlMqJVLT3qFFnBrQm8q0LBs31iNItT9ZBiP9CGPtmqK2ECr3ingyxUdi7VBJeccYqoY0JgqX7cd4AR9I8ZiJgIV06KVwYHBkH9WPfM5cDiQ4EYt/s1600/IMG_2213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhROs5lYbNtZYdu-uV2DSeH6nNZY_aplmlMqJVLT3qFFnBrQm8q0LBs31iNItT9ZBiP9CGPtmqK2ECr3ingyxUdi7VBJeccYqoY0JgqX7cd4AR9I8ZiJgIV06KVwYHBkH9WPfM5cDiQ4EYt/s320/IMG_2213.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.333333015441895px;">During my last summer as a student, 2006, a fellow Loafer coined the term, "Summer of Yes." This was a cool way of describing an attitude of personal discovery. By 2012, I've discovered pretty much all I need to discover about me. For instance, I've discovered that I'm about 30 pounds over weight, my Triglycerides are high, and I'm not really as rich as I thought a public school teacher would be. Therefore, my plan was to make this summer,The Summer of No. As in saying "NO" to: eating too much, eating off campus, and drinking too much. That lasted nearly 8.5 days. This is me, eating too much, in Rosie's diner, the morning after drinking too much. Let's hear three cheers for Will Power!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPujEYeWVG5P4yRT8iinQ0q8cjVr9GcgR7WXhvvDGOrRGO75Ja44uW7sAU2-IDSbxo7QOBZF80Mxu9W2p88TMhESo90JSXGhWRjYgNwrLws7BVzpr17xkpNg5JYmYlQcjuzAwie5NSTYO3/s1600/search-4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPujEYeWVG5P4yRT8iinQ0q8cjVr9GcgR7WXhvvDGOrRGO75Ja44uW7sAU2-IDSbxo7QOBZF80Mxu9W2p88TMhESo90JSXGhWRjYgNwrLws7BVzpr17xkpNg5JYmYlQcjuzAwie5NSTYO3/s1600/search-4.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Will Power: Born March 1st, 1981. Driving for Penske since 2008; Letting me down every weekend since 1996.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everything you need to know about Edward Brown's Mavenhood is right here before your eyes. Backgammon with Junior Maven Gene and Orioles baseball streaming live. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px;">This is me, on my first day of driving the Bread Loaf delivery van into town, trying to look as cool as I can. This is also me right before I realize I've lost the set of keys that start the delivery van. This is also me right before Edward says to me in (mock?) disgust, "If you had one more brain cell you'd have <i>one.</i>" </td></tr>
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That's all for now for folks!</div>
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Christian Patrick Clarke</div>
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Front Desk Novitiate, 2012</div>
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Hic et Ubique </div>
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<br />Christian Patrick Clarke http://www.blogger.com/profile/12620713492733950481noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773769789054691392.post-43597883634699238372012-07-06T15:45:00.000-04:002012-07-17T09:54:53.062-04:00Post #4: An Excursion to Silver Lake<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bread Loaf Xian</td></tr>
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Hey, Folks, it's Friday, July 6th, and I'm not on the Mountain! Egads. What will happen to me? Will I immediately revert back to the pre-mountain version of myself?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Off-The-Mountain Xian</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peace? Or the number of brain cells remaining? </td></tr>
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If I'm not on the Mountain, where am I, you ask? Burlington,VT home of the seminal band Phish and Coat Factories. Burlington is a special town, a place where the folks are gentle and caring. A place where the locals love their organic veggies, good music, and natural beauty; it's also a place where they despise barbershops, deodorant, and washing machines. My kind of town.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibZkgyEst23wlSpenBCsBz4IhR4kUfhSLVy4SeCBccn1RyMV6gdw1eG4Jltgt5zHq_pGOiru-ttcPpBANhy9KB7y4z0-KM1srINE8ULTQ0XuE3efBGzmRKa163pSDCv9KtdxdSxkSjjNDF/s1600/IMG_2218.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibZkgyEst23wlSpenBCsBz4IhR4kUfhSLVy4SeCBccn1RyMV6gdw1eG4Jltgt5zHq_pGOiru-ttcPpBANhy9KB7y4z0-KM1srINE8ULTQ0XuE3efBGzmRKa163pSDCv9KtdxdSxkSjjNDF/s200/IMG_2218.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view along Rt. 7</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Specifically, I'm in a coffee shop, Uncommon Grounds, sitting with fellow Front Desk Maven, Gene, whose name means Noble Birth in some language, probably Swahili. Gene is living up to his name by graciously agreeing to drive me to the airport. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">"Why?" you ask. Because I'm heading back to NYC--Queens to be exact--to attend a close friend's wedding. This particular friend--known as Jimi Worm--is the first male friend of my inner circle to get married. My father's generation had several words for this occasion: </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk8a1Ch5KJq9dR0kfJ4IYJ5mY0XWhmPBMSau6ETdpl-ysJpHl9Q8pbuttJEiKXJMna864KWV0mmqsN9KKtpNkmrb8NXhhu9nahtByrQ6klIbQjfyHnG2p6IOeGsrF2C4Dfww7lzW-G8kq_/s1600/search-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk8a1Ch5KJq9dR0kfJ4IYJ5mY0XWhmPBMSau6ETdpl-ysJpHl9Q8pbuttJEiKXJMna864KWV0mmqsN9KKtpNkmrb8NXhhu9nahtByrQ6klIbQjfyHnG2p6IOeGsrF2C4Dfww7lzW-G8kq_/s1600/search-2.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jimi has just been told what the terms of marriage are. </td></tr>
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"The Draft," being just one of them.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">So I thought for today, since I'm heading back to the city, I'd share some pictures from another excursion, a hike </span><span style="background-color: white;">to Silver Lake, a few miles from Bread Loaf. The trip was led by the newly appointed "Excursion Coordinator," our very own MacNair. </span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: center;">MacNair was quite worried before the hike that no one would show up. To cheer her up, Fellow Maven Gene and I decided to name our bocce ball team after her. Our name: </span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: center;">"The MacNe'er-Do-Wells." </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our leader was so ecstatic about the large turnout that she tried to fly to Silver lake. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Victoria Brown, wife of Edward Brown. They are the ruling legends of the Front Desk Mavens. The Captain and Tenille of the Front Desk. I'm not sure if Victoria is Captain or Tenille. Actually, based on Edward's penchant for insanity, I'd say she's both.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three people, most likely meth dealers, appreciating nature. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZ_j7Y0U_4bneHSF_hgs5ukRUjMsIQq-qzY6SyUna2MNGXheveNiVul91i06_JbWM1_0c0wOISNcBZe2cr7QGCLMLHLRzToQtTI5GfKy4p_AsU6XWmv_sOuyOD2s31tAMU1rRQURpF4Qh/s1600/IMG_1669.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZ_j7Y0U_4bneHSF_hgs5ukRUjMsIQq-qzY6SyUna2MNGXheveNiVul91i06_JbWM1_0c0wOISNcBZe2cr7QGCLMLHLRzToQtTI5GfKy4p_AsU6XWmv_sOuyOD2s31tAMU1rRQURpF4Qh/s320/IMG_1669.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some Grade A nature.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixd_9mVVStOE87cA2RBU_ntky97autY313vFCcwBfWJVQkTfdA-Qlr_s-qFYObACmS9lrn8LfSjjKRIJCJrIsh4OnPSGtaL8VxOvWfScRrIG92-toxm-k0086fpb0UfvB_U_GeduR_sn-7/s1600/IMG_1621.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixd_9mVVStOE87cA2RBU_ntky97autY313vFCcwBfWJVQkTfdA-Qlr_s-qFYObACmS9lrn8LfSjjKRIJCJrIsh4OnPSGtaL8VxOvWfScRrIG92-toxm-k0086fpb0UfvB_U_GeduR_sn-7/s200/IMG_1621.jpg" width="148" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My new nickname up here in Vermont is "Nickel Slots." My fellow Maven, Gene, donned me Nickel Slots because of a disparaging remark made by Maven Overlord, Ed Brown, about my choice of head wear. Ed Brown says my hat--a pretty sweet vintage fishing hat purchased in the Rocky Mountains---is something only a 90 year old man who gambles in Atlantic City would wear. Hence, "Nickel Slots."<br />
It could have been worse. It could have been "Nickel Back."</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBjLW6sNKH4jfcaJ3ekKJaeo2omR5qB_q4wWjCgzbSF9qM4KFWlqLpGT4o55lewbDE7CNR2BGJXthlrndbr1Bo7EdzAhDFevzqgo5KE6c-HNUFVBDdPGQWxjLDjT0fSGaZOqc9cRcDIvMP/s1600/IMG_1624.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBjLW6sNKH4jfcaJ3ekKJaeo2omR5qB_q4wWjCgzbSF9qM4KFWlqLpGT4o55lewbDE7CNR2BGJXthlrndbr1Bo7EdzAhDFevzqgo5KE6c-HNUFVBDdPGQWxjLDjT0fSGaZOqc9cRcDIvMP/s320/IMG_1624.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Victoria and fellow Loafer, Charlie. Victoria is trying to calm me down. I probably saw something terrifying like a chipmunk. I'm very scared of "Nature."</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq1DU8x5DbDBQHDnLUl68qVPgl1F2qKXl2mDT_vrzQgjSmceaC3ZzTEZJUxxoD3zsy4tHx-oKTXIWG_Dc83XFU7EakCzY09DrFapeft4pKa9aG6FrS9BTlWSAtaTDYJgwBFtxuPiM4O1Vg/s1600/Girl_Crying_by_lolzatu.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq1DU8x5DbDBQHDnLUl68qVPgl1F2qKXl2mDT_vrzQgjSmceaC3ZzTEZJUxxoD3zsy4tHx-oKTXIWG_Dc83XFU7EakCzY09DrFapeft4pKa9aG6FrS9BTlWSAtaTDYJgwBFtxuPiM4O1Vg/s320/Girl_Crying_by_lolzatu.jpeg" width="227" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">In fact, this is how I feel on the inside whenever I'm out walking in "nature." </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVYPXsI6yU9iOWN-aEBrcU0TisOOkdJ5-PpkaQwJo8truvxgsjnDBrAx9kP2h0DnR9bii2HOZp_FLPOD12X1-OcS5djjwqfaR3UjY-8dfpjPr7J6BdDA_G3pUk16meVp8vs6tWBWisLv8S/s1600/IMG_1627.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVYPXsI6yU9iOWN-aEBrcU0TisOOkdJ5-PpkaQwJo8truvxgsjnDBrAx9kP2h0DnR9bii2HOZp_FLPOD12X1-OcS5djjwqfaR3UjY-8dfpjPr7J6BdDA_G3pUk16meVp8vs6tWBWisLv8S/s400/IMG_1627.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My group was one of the last to make it to the mythical Silver Lake. When we did we discovered something truly remarkable: a Nerd Cult gathered for a Nerd Baptism. This has never been documented before today. </td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjEn6CXdOGY9PTaJrevgPh9z9OfZVAanTLhl24sv81rkA3qlQgKoPVTLWiqAWE1sFmOTF9dwXUfRl8u9SDtPpv-7n9FTF_ytLYLn7T0tQbVFY9EQzy2AJqLibE3DuFJzHl_7SRKYh-oXpU/s1600/IMG_1630.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjEn6CXdOGY9PTaJrevgPh9z9OfZVAanTLhl24sv81rkA3qlQgKoPVTLWiqAWE1sFmOTF9dwXUfRl8u9SDtPpv-7n9FTF_ytLYLn7T0tQbVFY9EQzy2AJqLibE3DuFJzHl_7SRKYh-oXpU/s320/IMG_1630.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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In the years before the Ritual Nerd Baptism (RNB) this Bread Loafer was a degenerate known for one thing and one thing only: reading the USA Today. <i>For the articles.</i> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjACCcK2fZachnzDZgUHYo4QraXZ_CHFx-XShwM4GI0yasKY9I9gBeQ5-QB28IXPfF-PEl8Oqvm5b2h35ZssTMwvTa98yVzNtN3R5lsWaKqaOwTLQkmhbeXK1H1SI-rurDpeeCIfLUsVYL6/s1600/IMG_1642.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjACCcK2fZachnzDZgUHYo4QraXZ_CHFx-XShwM4GI0yasKY9I9gBeQ5-QB28IXPfF-PEl8Oqvm5b2h35ZssTMwvTa98yVzNtN3R5lsWaKqaOwTLQkmhbeXK1H1SI-rurDpeeCIfLUsVYL6/s320/IMG_1642.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlie, emerging the water, no longer a fan of Led Zepplin or the NFL, instead preferring Keats and Shelley. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm2S0j7QAMYtOGT_r5WL8F7wPSJobBBcZKRECsZhGE-gMqMIl__gbSiPXE0rEF23OiybWssnetnkFwhIF5PMCMQM7DMG1KBE7j-pRLP2cBZ-qLJMhsRyzLUFEYvKUKihgnbQO7K2N9bC3s/s1600/IMG_1643.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm2S0j7QAMYtOGT_r5WL8F7wPSJobBBcZKRECsZhGE-gMqMIl__gbSiPXE0rEF23OiybWssnetnkFwhIF5PMCMQM7DMG1KBE7j-pRLP2cBZ-qLJMhsRyzLUFEYvKUKihgnbQO7K2N9bC3s/s400/IMG_1643.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chantel, English Lit teacher from Haiti. Nerdery on a Global Scale. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9PrXMHvyBbPbIalyScX0GmPVNa_p0mIxiS2hZ52r5lyiLD0PwfjKvwirIhqy7SGbl0J9ZFsI5ctg577X4N68CoTB0SeVItras8j2DNxLen8Cd4vonykSl3GMt6giayLwBn5j4ZhkiQT1L/s1600/IMG_1647.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9PrXMHvyBbPbIalyScX0GmPVNa_p0mIxiS2hZ52r5lyiLD0PwfjKvwirIhqy7SGbl0J9ZFsI5ctg577X4N68CoTB0SeVItras8j2DNxLen8Cd4vonykSl3GMt6giayLwBn5j4ZhkiQT1L/s320/IMG_1647.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting ready to join the Cult for the Ritual Dunking. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLDNcxzIooUKgMkfRr3LQuQSc39l1NoyQqUm32fIM4Cju-1jXyDNCM1la9YnlztDcJCSnqHkzHS_yekI46w42n8xyULkP7X6lMil_4FNJlJvqHrX85JE-QzKcdig0F5MSvQaJ7AyFgR5aN/s1600/imgres-6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLDNcxzIooUKgMkfRr3LQuQSc39l1NoyQqUm32fIM4Cju-1jXyDNCM1la9YnlztDcJCSnqHkzHS_yekI46w42n8xyULkP7X6lMil_4FNJlJvqHrX85JE-QzKcdig0F5MSvQaJ7AyFgR5aN/s320/imgres-6.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can't see from the picture but this what my chest looked like before I entered the water. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2M38xd8pnLGtqK-xaBTyf_DszmirydIVLKcN5Bmb06kWUqwXalR4whSOGTA0jC_9h7v2Y0csCn1zHMbQ1XNBJJ8xFu_IS8TiCtCVfogwYcRssKE1Y7b28nwAsqJRoddIT-t7ef2ekAJSs/s1600/IMG_1653.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2M38xd8pnLGtqK-xaBTyf_DszmirydIVLKcN5Bmb06kWUqwXalR4whSOGTA0jC_9h7v2Y0csCn1zHMbQ1XNBJJ8xFu_IS8TiCtCVfogwYcRssKE1Y7b28nwAsqJRoddIT-t7ef2ekAJSs/s320/IMG_1653.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And this is what I looked like afterwards. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi76XeD4il9380FyBUfI6JIKBsSP7BgKrclAQvP1gzyLWh-UmaUZhzMQSsSEn8k9ALfQhhB1Rnop3_f7Sc0RU31xMtq5mtHaHoVnKEVOc4c1VaVzzRBSc_CloMgQ7GPtDh6q11yk6OfEYt2/s1600/IMG_1654.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi76XeD4il9380FyBUfI6JIKBsSP7BgKrclAQvP1gzyLWh-UmaUZhzMQSsSEn8k9ALfQhhB1Rnop3_f7Sc0RU31xMtq5mtHaHoVnKEVOc4c1VaVzzRBSc_CloMgQ7GPtDh6q11yk6OfEYt2/s400/IMG_1654.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Victoria: a pose with bows. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmN5yRNPR9N91CI31xSbAeMHUzMVIAPFjuUEh4q1ovz6IqVIbBTyJ1Wvr9CpQuGIoeWbgR4BBw382pBLPBf7gn5df3U-IYbI-micNi7uS2sXCFtk-_yTfe0NaeoAw3ZRLH9YoKKLcUVppX/s1600/IMG_1660.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmN5yRNPR9N91CI31xSbAeMHUzMVIAPFjuUEh4q1ovz6IqVIbBTyJ1Wvr9CpQuGIoeWbgR4BBw382pBLPBf7gn5df3U-IYbI-micNi7uS2sXCFtk-_yTfe0NaeoAw3ZRLH9YoKKLcUVppX/s320/IMG_1660.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Ritual Baptism is over, so now the English Nerds are frantically trying to compose nature poetry about what they "experienced." </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOuhwjKeppLOL6TGmLS_-_F67dNF39ie_tGofqmk_D2J_-8GSqQRUtpBjDFjKvN5P3Jq1NiPC8Ox7GCsq-XEThrDdBKbBQ-webfTsXKGTGo03af8euRWQxyoXRtdJjh1CC2S6yWex2tc2x/s1600/IMG_1662.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOuhwjKeppLOL6TGmLS_-_F67dNF39ie_tGofqmk_D2J_-8GSqQRUtpBjDFjKvN5P3Jq1NiPC8Ox7GCsq-XEThrDdBKbBQ-webfTsXKGTGo03af8euRWQxyoXRtdJjh1CC2S6yWex2tc2x/s320/IMG_1662.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The high stakes pressure to compose immediate post-swim poetry induced vomiting in some of our Nerd Pack. I can assure you, however, that is was literary vomit. </td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLsQ7kJ9q7HmgCup5b18AkQzKfFU_laop3zJMEj_MN8Z12oO9j_CgfVbmYGL0tgoANxVIhxyuo0mV22jgGhKljLg8JxyFu2EL29vFdeqTLyOWsfvuoxGSO2K-78XP-33y8_Ywdwdg2PYJI/s1600/IMG_1671.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLsQ7kJ9q7HmgCup5b18AkQzKfFU_laop3zJMEj_MN8Z12oO9j_CgfVbmYGL0tgoANxVIhxyuo0mV22jgGhKljLg8JxyFu2EL29vFdeqTLyOWsfvuoxGSO2K-78XP-33y8_Ywdwdg2PYJI/s320/IMG_1671.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Dammit, Spock! The Nerds are escaping! The Nerds are escaping! </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE8Zy7DgvH5I_84l8A5Sunqr1YpRaOouTNSX9JbN8A6mAmhvys1rh9ULd5n0osf3ne6XdoIVWTmRBgwiF1ybJS_mmN6lBy-zkhEap62-4IDPWy4Nxg5T9zAd_B37Q8zoNWQWYzKanh9XIk/s1600/IMG_1675.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE8Zy7DgvH5I_84l8A5Sunqr1YpRaOouTNSX9JbN8A6mAmhvys1rh9ULd5n0osf3ne6XdoIVWTmRBgwiF1ybJS_mmN6lBy-zkhEap62-4IDPWy4Nxg5T9zAd_B37Q8zoNWQWYzKanh9XIk/s320/IMG_1675.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where did we hide the body? </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXcTfOEyuRVJyIIvuWhOTZobPbaMviIc_JqJmA7gzQ2uAr-T82Axw_FIyjdm1SlChTIPFhy7njE1YeBJplRrMYyZ2oRxb25wU5rgUTstRoJ-F_o0yKrZwITeHNHMMF9rguLkZfwR5GoVM9/s1600/IMG_1680.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXcTfOEyuRVJyIIvuWhOTZobPbaMviIc_JqJmA7gzQ2uAr-T82Axw_FIyjdm1SlChTIPFhy7njE1YeBJplRrMYyZ2oRxb25wU5rgUTstRoJ-F_o0yKrZwITeHNHMMF9rguLkZfwR5GoVM9/s320/IMG_1680.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back at the Inn, Edward Brown sits, mouth agape, as we regale him with tales of Silver Lake. Why is he so shocked? "I can't believe someone as idiotic as you somehow managed to not drown." </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4IQk5XnrDpKLECPzAx00EAk_FfmzSta0Wpo4IArINALu_59TDaIHa8PZzhzm4VDu70TVcOwXfIyxBbiBv2e6_05d-17zAnF_I1JyuFzY2GELNaDcRK7qSDqrrVmw1N5SxAO6WnjXKlPAj/s1600/IMG_1590.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4IQk5XnrDpKLECPzAx00EAk_FfmzSta0Wpo4IArINALu_59TDaIHa8PZzhzm4VDu70TVcOwXfIyxBbiBv2e6_05d-17zAnF_I1JyuFzY2GELNaDcRK7qSDqrrVmw1N5SxAO6WnjXKlPAj/s200/IMG_1590.jpg" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Excursion complete. Now it's off to New York City.<br />
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Enjoy. </div>
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Christian Patrick Clarke</div>
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Front Desk Novitiate, 2012</div>
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Hic et Ubique<br />
<br /></div>Christian Patrick Clarke http://www.blogger.com/profile/12620713492733950481noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773769789054691392.post-54636867026310199822012-07-04T09:36:00.000-04:002012-07-17T09:55:06.111-04:00Post #3: America Day, American Maven<br />
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Hey Folks! Today is the 4th of July! Happy freaking 4th of July!<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgksjdZCtPuVUPaVt7jyLTpRVXM4Al2ALZ08ixBMfnsOiddcKBwE5aDIhEXnnXyk0P6QIHveB8IcoFwWj7AAj-GHgtdAJFeI9GqP3M-LkVCY5eXUMcGOIr7AHAoTKnC2BPyS9xPzTRaO5Tl/s1600/imgres-7.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgksjdZCtPuVUPaVt7jyLTpRVXM4Al2ALZ08ixBMfnsOiddcKBwE5aDIhEXnnXyk0P6QIHveB8IcoFwWj7AAj-GHgtdAJFeI9GqP3M-LkVCY5eXUMcGOIr7AHAoTKnC2BPyS9xPzTRaO5Tl/s1600/imgres-7.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.5135px;">Kids: don't steal cigarettes from the Indians. </td></tr>
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Bread Loaf, as you might imagine, with its legion of teachers hailing from traditional Blue States like Massachusetts and Manhattan, isn't exactly a bastion of the traditional Rah-Rah-Let's-Go-America-We're-Number 1-(for now) cheerleading. In fact, here's a picture of the campus American Flag.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQE557ibfxqWFCCrRUixMLHmcYfEcHs54lWtMjRJRh-mSA2R_SrsH0bU9O9PURzRXhB70veMbOTu45m-B-W9ZD4k_6bWs6FJdvOIemksE2DeKXZw7d2jlN9UDrQ7wtw3td6slZuaY-r0Qx/s1600/IMG_2124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQE557ibfxqWFCCrRUixMLHmcYfEcHs54lWtMjRJRh-mSA2R_SrsH0bU9O9PURzRXhB70veMbOTu45m-B-W9ZD4k_6bWs6FJdvOIemksE2DeKXZw7d2jlN9UDrQ7wtw3td6slZuaY-r0Qx/s320/IMG_2124.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.5135px;">Jingoism at its worst. </td></tr>
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And since I'm a registered member of the leftist political party, Anarchists for Angola, you can bet that I'm in no way intellectually sympathetic to Red State politics. However, I was raised in a Midwestern family that was proudly pro-Reagan, back when it wasn't weird to be pro-Reagan. I'm not saying we were patriotic, but this is a picture of my dad.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1UDez7Hk-sct0h2-TJx663ZovzxAHAoB5UJO7hhV0BHmahvdeoseNX7SsEEr-2IEjStKGRaiigD15HanpXZMqmfxh2OKikiTBtUb71-SMgg0EK3G-7AHpRBnbnfdHcEv35B3bgG6BINEY/s1600/imgres-8.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1UDez7Hk-sct0h2-TJx663ZovzxAHAoB5UJO7hhV0BHmahvdeoseNX7SsEEr-2IEjStKGRaiigD15HanpXZMqmfxh2OKikiTBtUb71-SMgg0EK3G-7AHpRBnbnfdHcEv35B3bgG6BINEY/s400/imgres-8.jpeg" width="271" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pops. Right before dinnertime at the Clarke household. </td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">So there is a part of me that is EMOTIONALLY sympathetic. Hell, I admit it: I love America. It's the 9th greatest city in the world. On the other hand, celebrating the 4th of July around these parts is little more subdued. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">Here are some pictures of typical Bread Loafers celebrating the 4th: </span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibUdsQIdSBkgKL7BOQ_-oYBFEZ-PT5yq3DWYfRdDw-oUu_kCrY21str9YwpUyZXa_kOj5dUzNhu1Iu_-A5ZsdKWkBwI9mGP1W1fdzuhqBkuLlQ7FK_uxUMK3CeRcaoGwhqHRXMST3EcYwA/s1600/IMG_2120.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibUdsQIdSBkgKL7BOQ_-oYBFEZ-PT5yq3DWYfRdDw-oUu_kCrY21str9YwpUyZXa_kOj5dUzNhu1Iu_-A5ZsdKWkBwI9mGP1W1fdzuhqBkuLlQ7FK_uxUMK3CeRcaoGwhqHRXMST3EcYwA/s400/IMG_2120.jpg" width="296" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.5135px;">Gandhi once said: "If we don't understand post-modern literary theory, the terrorists will win." </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVluocwKwnvFNgzAeNfU_Xw6i50Vi3xYyOwmszLDwFspGywbJTkG-ER9L9f_DV0gk8PyXXTIR0N9zEvNlDufL6l25ommcbp0bP0415sgcxh6M0B4Gk6d29ExPHgs-ynzgc6wfG_Ou-8mEg/s1600/IMG_2066.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVluocwKwnvFNgzAeNfU_Xw6i50Vi3xYyOwmszLDwFspGywbJTkG-ER9L9f_DV0gk8PyXXTIR0N9zEvNlDufL6l25ommcbp0bP0415sgcxh6M0B4Gk6d29ExPHgs-ynzgc6wfG_Ou-8mEg/s320/IMG_2066.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Edward Brown. Front Desk Maven Overlord, House Photographer, and obsessed fan of Baltimore area sports teams. Probably loves America, but I wouldn't know since he refuses to speak to me, except in riddles because I'm a front desk rookie. <br />
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Here's an example of one of his riddles: "I read your blog, ok? There's something seriously wrong with you, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it. You're how old? Thirty four? Thirty four years of treatment and no diagnosis? That's just sad."<br />
See? Inscrutable. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5eOzczB-GlUjv-B4AkZ7bhb2QUk17NNfU48-upxN-KVsfzb9bEuG5_3PXSVNxrfO5qtbv_fUlgmxEm6KtAOJ41aMCVyhn00CSNjVG62ybKt8B_FHJZS42kN_UIbNlhpk6JmYDEvnxVDSr/s1600/IMG_2070.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5eOzczB-GlUjv-B4AkZ7bhb2QUk17NNfU48-upxN-KVsfzb9bEuG5_3PXSVNxrfO5qtbv_fUlgmxEm6KtAOJ41aMCVyhn00CSNjVG62ybKt8B_FHJZS42kN_UIbNlhpk6JmYDEvnxVDSr/s400/IMG_2070.jpg" width="296" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what I'm talking about: if they loved America like they say they do, why not hold classes <i>indoors, </i>where the peasants trying ruin this country can't see them, and they can't see the peasants trying to survive.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWDabg0Kn9z-6qM1GJN8ucYN58u2R-EaZjmK-KB-bCegMthy_2_-dgvJDBQHGqEi31B8jjqe5agUnnbnrGTAia1E4A1IMbds3fx1QRBCeAsJGf1LD8fDyq3OQ-D_JUY61fF_rk-DRVUJyB/s1600/IMG_2080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWDabg0Kn9z-6qM1GJN8ucYN58u2R-EaZjmK-KB-bCegMthy_2_-dgvJDBQHGqEi31B8jjqe5agUnnbnrGTAia1E4A1IMbds3fx1QRBCeAsJGf1LD8fDyq3OQ-D_JUY61fF_rk-DRVUJyB/s400/IMG_2080.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hmmm. Empty Barn on the 4th? Barns are a classic symbol of America's rural past, therefore the empty barn represents? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller? The answer is: Obama. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXanKBK1IsEGqAXk-C0m8cGxHaUwlmt38AKdyfvpoYcYnJQmXFJZFW0geKr_TcUABvbU2AgMPHF9KvTKft2MCc6AOOSZf-rBg8ahsrGNjzoDwz_yyqhlQBEd3tBcvqajdX_syV77JJVD1Z/s1600/IMG_2077.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXanKBK1IsEGqAXk-C0m8cGxHaUwlmt38AKdyfvpoYcYnJQmXFJZFW0geKr_TcUABvbU2AgMPHF9KvTKft2MCc6AOOSZf-rBg8ahsrGNjzoDwz_yyqhlQBEd3tBcvqajdX_syV77JJVD1Z/s400/IMG_2077.jpg" width="296" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I bet it's hard to read the Communist Manifesto in this light. </td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjImojKhLS3m3bCrj6cHGRS3RS9ebIpCsGrBoJPgFPs3WZLWEqYf-szWKlThCgYyhtMOM2r6P-oRkL-8m3FE2_AZ0ePmv98ttrmUKMbb-0depBpLYkz_F5010qPcwt5JZyn0BeVixzIncWQ/s1600/IMG_2074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjImojKhLS3m3bCrj6cHGRS3RS9ebIpCsGrBoJPgFPs3WZLWEqYf-szWKlThCgYyhtMOM2r6P-oRkL-8m3FE2_AZ0ePmv98ttrmUKMbb-0depBpLYkz_F5010qPcwt5JZyn0BeVixzIncWQ/s400/IMG_2074.jpg" width="296" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.5135px;">Typical holdover from Occupy Wall Street, obviously trying to start Occupy the Barn.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl2oq3HhMGkiPP7bOZ4UqbRjf-anpQhiUakwznIck7HByH9BdQlZnLE8leZPoaQ1OPZWKVU8hzv2j-vRkR2_bA2PFQq1hC4k3fa4EoOWGeQNWBFgGR4XWiC05zcObWtH-H7TqCg_7O0hgT/s1600/IMG_2084.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl2oq3HhMGkiPP7bOZ4UqbRjf-anpQhiUakwznIck7HByH9BdQlZnLE8leZPoaQ1OPZWKVU8hzv2j-vRkR2_bA2PFQq1hC4k3fa4EoOWGeQNWBFgGR4XWiC05zcObWtH-H7TqCg_7O0hgT/s400/IMG_2084.jpg" width="296" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is heartbreaking. The administration found out this guy supports Mitt Romney so they administered the Bread Loaf punishment, a rich mixture of greek mythology and C.I.A. rendition: He's been chained to this tree for 3 straight days without food or water, with a sign around his neck that says, "Romney is the Bain of My Existence." </td></tr>
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That's all for now, folks! Once again, have a happy 4th of July. And remember what Founding Father Thomas Jefferson said about freedom:<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">"Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose,</span><br />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">And nothin' left was all she left to me,</span></div>
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<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">Feelin' good was easy, Lord, when Bobby sang the blues,</span><br />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">And buddy, that was good enough for me.</span><br />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">Good enough for me and Bobby McGee."</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhclX5ClMU_q_n3mfrnyU82hbIiU6k7KrYMBTRkWLNteyE08C7X0cs6ggqEqfxyFHBmUZDCptvGbZGlkLSM2Lc6RZNlIsQsUYjdF3ewXFmecEqsxGnnaic7qsUn2Y0wVC-JuRS2zqX9BEML/s1600/IMG_1589.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhclX5ClMU_q_n3mfrnyU82hbIiU6k7KrYMBTRkWLNteyE08C7X0cs6ggqEqfxyFHBmUZDCptvGbZGlkLSM2Lc6RZNlIsQsUYjdF3ewXFmecEqsxGnnaic7qsUn2Y0wVC-JuRS2zqX9BEML/s400/IMG_1589.jpg" width="297" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #555544; font-family: tahoma,'Trebuchet MS',lucida,helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px; line-height: 17.7778px; text-align: left;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Enjoy. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #555544; font-family: tahoma,'Trebuchet MS',lucida,helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px; line-height: 17.7778px; text-align: left;">Christian Patrick Clarke, </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #555544; font-family: tahoma,'Trebuchet MS',lucida,helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px; line-height: 17.7778px; text-align: left;">Front Desk Maven Novitiate, 2012 </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #555544; font-family: tahoma,'Trebuchet MS',lucida,helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px; line-height: 17.7778px; text-align: left;">Hic et Ubique</span></div>
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<br /></div>Christian Patrick Clarke http://www.blogger.com/profile/12620713492733950481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773769789054691392.post-84744953177814075112012-07-02T10:16:00.003-04:002012-07-17T09:55:23.257-04:00Post #2: A Tour of Bread Loaf<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg25sJzjMhJAy4Eu17-oAGU4kjWosVUXOhuE4fiN9lfrwVbesR-IR450M09N7FOt95nSnpP_TIJFqnpSwtX0gHKCt9AVkaMlRspG1Wmz_eiChyvsR6H-e3iuEUVezcViUFZwgu_fkoJJgXe/s1600/IMG_1589.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg25sJzjMhJAy4Eu17-oAGU4kjWosVUXOhuE4fiN9lfrwVbesR-IR450M09N7FOt95nSnpP_TIJFqnpSwtX0gHKCt9AVkaMlRspG1Wmz_eiChyvsR6H-e3iuEUVezcViUFZwgu_fkoJJgXe/s320/IMG_1589.jpg" title="The Tour Begins" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Let's start the tour. This is me, standing in front of the Inn, gazing into the middle distance, contemplating the sublime.<br />
(Or maybe I'm constipated. <span style="background-color: white;">Hard to tell.)</span><br />
Note the sign: "Not a public inn." However, 100 years ago, it was. I think. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2q37LobpGnr2DZS-w4QweawScLx__uofkM9k6F26Er6m9n-0jZGxg6pYFLD5r_HwP0XBJyxeSQ0lZdJ9qOSy-0Z56mYzlPUEQLsXknuCp40olIHW3UAe44KDqpGtOpPTnGwSsO2Q9mUqi/s1600/IMG_1499.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2q37LobpGnr2DZS-w4QweawScLx__uofkM9k6F26Er6m9n-0jZGxg6pYFLD5r_HwP0XBJyxeSQ0lZdJ9qOSy-0Z56mYzlPUEQLsXknuCp40olIHW3UAe44KDqpGtOpPTnGwSsO2Q9mUqi/s320/IMG_1499.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view of southern meadow from porch of the Inn. The concrete slab in front of the naked flag pole has become my fifth favorite place on campus. The other night Gene and MacNair--my fellow Front Desk Mavens--joined me as we lay on our backs and gazed up at night sky and tried to identify famous constellations. Then we closed our eyes and lay still and I tried not to do anything gross. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG026SEgNYYhi8NvweSBYDG-2upKilA36iTj-vnwJa8RoLsJTLzhulCyYb4YeGJSY3Q-mpzOTRNm5Ds8fnY_D3CxAE2b9-80bS-BR2hj_IgUiQWrBWCR4hY6Pr-cRe08SEiXtUWFHT_qB0/s1600/IMG_1508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG026SEgNYYhi8NvweSBYDG-2upKilA36iTj-vnwJa8RoLsJTLzhulCyYb4YeGJSY3Q-mpzOTRNm5Ds8fnY_D3CxAE2b9-80bS-BR2hj_IgUiQWrBWCR4hY6Pr-cRe08SEiXtUWFHT_qB0/s400/IMG_1508.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three fine examples of Bread Loaf student housing. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqSYHS11foOlhVu9tozm6lKqvpMVZiSUEGoBlc_CgvgrnfSahMj6muVPiCwFa7_pm94GH09hA2F8r2XZuCdEdAq9ftumb4VU7SO_o0MyW8xOPNrndZatel0bPkCHmr2H6kql6C0b9JYqfd/s1600/IMG_1509.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqSYHS11foOlhVu9tozm6lKqvpMVZiSUEGoBlc_CgvgrnfSahMj6muVPiCwFa7_pm94GH09hA2F8r2XZuCdEdAq9ftumb4VU7SO_o0MyW8xOPNrndZatel0bPkCHmr2H6kql6C0b9JYqfd/s400/IMG_1509.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A wider perspective. The road you see is route 125. At night, you can lie down lengthwise along the median and experience total oneness with the universe, which is how I describe being fined $150 by Vermont state troopers. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaQrRKhgAjTKEsCi-01SVgl_33Z6NZI04UK_vrMIpn2kw2mA3048KPdSDZb8Hj6_x0Yp8lSispAVhbDbPvsmX88krLgTcRIeRSRSz0PdeslJclbL52LzdOsvASJ4ka0JDxniVw18y2AymF/s1600/IMG_1510.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaQrRKhgAjTKEsCi-01SVgl_33Z6NZI04UK_vrMIpn2kw2mA3048KPdSDZb8Hj6_x0Yp8lSispAVhbDbPvsmX88krLgTcRIeRSRSz0PdeslJclbL52LzdOsvASJ4ka0JDxniVw18y2AymF/s400/IMG_1510.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bridgman, where the Magnificent MacNair calls home for the summer. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Imf20gj62wvopHHjVwnLnOuk9A2cZvmtFJoe4psFUU_ngf_RhbE5C3BnLgPY1zg6weB-5Mhf1Z6cIFZyxm2bEN6SDGbbU3QO49_zPDhSLKiEMkQdM0xbJ0ITMtYBEbRr0f1sFXyHHYea/s1600/IMG_1511.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Imf20gj62wvopHHjVwnLnOuk9A2cZvmtFJoe4psFUU_ngf_RhbE5C3BnLgPY1zg6weB-5Mhf1Z6cIFZyxm2bEN6SDGbbU3QO49_zPDhSLKiEMkQdM0xbJ0ITMtYBEbRr0f1sFXyHHYea/s400/IMG_1511.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cherry, another example of student housing. Please note the examples of students in front of student housing. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNAzGNf0SOBM_7IATM6yB1MWHDb_jmp1dCYlbFI7u84XFYw3CaEG5ZEcB5_fOl1lthLkEBAqKs_BRqtgSy2jM9ESaHQKSQryyMRqEjqpCkVEsQAapjZat10C-1dz1HteSYnCCVZPgNXLXt/s1600/IMG_1513.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNAzGNf0SOBM_7IATM6yB1MWHDb_jmp1dCYlbFI7u84XFYw3CaEG5ZEcB5_fOl1lthLkEBAqKs_BRqtgSy2jM9ESaHQKSQryyMRqEjqpCkVEsQAapjZat10C-1dz1HteSYnCCVZPgNXLXt/s400/IMG_1513.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Treman, where faculty call home. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHKSc-slP3BqW5O2lNu5DsidjXkbpT4WjIqZOU1kNoZYs9IA2v1bIvAY_8RXT2e896hhUiXZLHkYGrw6H7m9kycTdcAtPmtOvLSPm-YY2qGEtUqVx3G4X6mBUJhBuvNoynLwUjXZ3tcA1R/s1600/IMG_1515.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHKSc-slP3BqW5O2lNu5DsidjXkbpT4WjIqZOU1kNoZYs9IA2v1bIvAY_8RXT2e896hhUiXZLHkYGrw6H7m9kycTdcAtPmtOvLSPm-YY2qGEtUqVx3G4X6mBUJhBuvNoynLwUjXZ3tcA1R/s400/IMG_1515.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birch. Known as the "Quiet Dorm," not to be confused with the "Quiet Storm," the fictional R&B radio program hosted by the non-fictional Tim Meadows, not to be confused with Don Cheadle. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUy-W6kvfX0cvd0qdQqCkCeKS0ipRMbGNal2FFmaCzWApNqegnmmaATsou4T0944I5TDM6HUdjUkOQv_fYF5iZxx9U6QqtAjiOX-is-2qJNhJQJLxz1nuoHmizDOCUaf585kqVUnnvt7ID/s1600/IMG_1516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUy-W6kvfX0cvd0qdQqCkCeKS0ipRMbGNal2FFmaCzWApNqegnmmaATsou4T0944I5TDM6HUdjUkOQv_fYF5iZxx9U6QqtAjiOX-is-2qJNhJQJLxz1nuoHmizDOCUaf585kqVUnnvt7ID/s400/IMG_1516.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maple. The Grandest Dame of All. Many of the stage actors who come up from Providence and New York call this home for the summer.<br />
The porch alone took 10,000 Egyptian slaves to build. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1iwUz7wAZq3nfdYZ8i3vqN6_sotFYiiMYLk7WbRBplDXC6MVhDpA_4xdgpxB0bdLReUBT5XQy97K4M6wLE4de5aOhGKtSiRUA42nLblTSOmv5kIpsdrq8YR5g-c3IS8UdnerXOqiv3sl/s1600/IMG_1517.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1iwUz7wAZq3nfdYZ8i3vqN6_sotFYiiMYLk7WbRBplDXC6MVhDpA_4xdgpxB0bdLReUBT5XQy97K4M6wLE4de5aOhGKtSiRUA42nLblTSOmv5kIpsdrq8YR5g-c3IS8UdnerXOqiv3sl/s400/IMG_1517.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Again, Maple, in full majesty. It's like looking at porches on steroids. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0KJQvXgjJ9Mh3bIkjLvO3uQ3FEQ2HrQUCALUos2z01pIOdbZPyT-4b0UDwYuX5s6EV5LXwNCPXiiGhzpiLMbyYghhE7EvO71bRh9rNjbcCAH9YCXGjukkQWCv5N9-RAfRptb95jYT1MgI/s1600/IMG_1520.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0KJQvXgjJ9Mh3bIkjLvO3uQ3FEQ2HrQUCALUos2z01pIOdbZPyT-4b0UDwYuX5s6EV5LXwNCPXiiGhzpiLMbyYghhE7EvO71bRh9rNjbcCAH9YCXGjukkQWCv5N9-RAfRptb95jYT1MgI/s400/IMG_1520.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tamarack, on the Eastern Lawn, off from the other student housing. It was once affectionately known as "Menopause Manor," because it primarily housed the older women of campus.<br />
Now it's housing for women of all ages and is affectionately known as the brothel. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Eastern Lawn. The northern mountain in the background is the actual Bread Loaf Mountain. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Laundromat. I'm going over there in fifteen minutes to wash the one pair of pants I brought for the whole summer. Last night there was a fierce debate in the Inn about the cost of doing laundry in New York City. Some woman claimed to be from New York and claimed that she could do an entire load of laundry for $2.25. Edward didn't believe her and asked me how much a typical load of laundry cost in New York. I responded that I only do laundry the way the good lord intended it: dropping it off 3 blocks from my apartment to be washed and folded by 1st generation immigrants from China. All for $1 a pound. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-E5Aj45cGxQkykaTh6ioKUAA94Jxs0tsm1lg17_OEE7CTOb01_77p_q5wsR1iP5Nz9AKcWgrxyJihpLbcc20ud3-ow8akb0lK5rPoc3C1MfdkwCcY8Y0Q2-pRDgHgAiEj8M_9LpT2sE6K/s1600/IMG_1529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-E5Aj45cGxQkykaTh6ioKUAA94Jxs0tsm1lg17_OEE7CTOb01_77p_q5wsR1iP5Nz9AKcWgrxyJihpLbcc20ud3-ow8akb0lK5rPoc3C1MfdkwCcY8Y0Q2-pRDgHgAiEj8M_9LpT2sE6K/s400/IMG_1529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For many years this phone booth has been one of the most important places on campus. Why? Because cell phones do not work on the mountain. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSntH9Y_hiz9NN2Jy4m7GsBJAcB2viUXWNFgdC1u3cBJULqcmvHUNvmdHS8Q4NSufKRrtjyToVihNvnFOortIa6DN81w0xJIPDdrCZFXIQhm6fIf1U5CNz_mPnFnTcPLojn2RqWWWNPh0N/s1600/IMG_1523.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSntH9Y_hiz9NN2Jy4m7GsBJAcB2viUXWNFgdC1u3cBJULqcmvHUNvmdHS8Q4NSufKRrtjyToVihNvnFOortIa6DN81w0xJIPDdrCZFXIQhm6fIf1U5CNz_mPnFnTcPLojn2RqWWWNPh0N/s320/IMG_1523.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Barn, a partial view. This is the centralized location of Bread Loaf learning. The cortex of campus. Inside that open door is the main common space of campus, the Bread Loaf equivalent of the Scandinavian Mead Halls of yore. That is where the Saturday evening dances are held. As incentive to stay on campus, students are served free beer. You read that right. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The western wing of the Barn, where many of the classrooms are housed. Note the three Bread Loafers entering the building. They are most likely thieves or sex traffickers. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jesus shoes, on gravel, the surface of choice for Bread Loaf walkways. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Inn, a rear view. Inside the Inn is the mess hall. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Mess Hall. Where faculty and students eat together. The ties that bind are bound here. I was a waiter here for three summers as way to defer the cost of living. Waiters are the most important people on campus because they immediately constitute a known social group which can then form the nucleus of important academic activities like drinking beer from plastic cups. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This the Little Theater, from the West lawn. The Little Theater is a special place on campus. Every summer professional actors produce a play, usually Shakespeare or something canonical like A Streetcar Named Desire. This summer the play is Hamlet. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First rehearsal for Hamlet. The actors doing their table read. What's great about the summer productions is that all the minor roles go to Bread Loaf students and faculty. In two of my summers I was lucky enough to be in Measure for Measure and Romeo & Juliet, as one of the generic family henchmen. Did I bite my thumb, sir? I did bite my thumb, sir. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Angie, the assistant costumer for Hamlet, hard at work trying to figure out what she did with the head. Little known fact about the Little Theater: it was restored with funds donated by Burgess Meredith, the actor who played Mick in the Rocky movies. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most teachers getting their masters at Bread Loaf are not only private school teachers but products of private school themselves. There is lots of tennis played in private schools, ergo it is one the ways to oppress the proletariat. Hence, the clay court behind the Little Theater.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Davison Library. Where the Bread Loafers engage in quiet contemplation of the infinite. Or, as I call it: Nerds Gone Wild.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Feet, on clay. Note the madras shorts. Note the unapologetic way I'm standing.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;">a<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi80Wsx97fwaQ_W5vrm6EdplP17UnUcNa0u2RN1kZ7snZlLxHmZmxKOtDuf9qGWDogPAu9nhn32mMsHEYkCR8VcLen8CR0GjIo6y5cShBUYXWU0HfZP7kXFjVoBVfSG7QltAN8EM7Lmr7x3/s1600/IMG_1587.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi80Wsx97fwaQ_W5vrm6EdplP17UnUcNa0u2RN1kZ7snZlLxHmZmxKOtDuf9qGWDogPAu9nhn32mMsHEYkCR8VcLen8CR0GjIo6y5cShBUYXWU0HfZP7kXFjVoBVfSG7QltAN8EM7Lmr7x3/s400/IMG_1587.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And we're back at the Inn. That's the end of the tour, folks!<br />
(But is it the end of the constipation? ) </td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #555544; font-family: tahoma,'Trebuchet MS',lucida,helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px; line-height: 17.7778px; text-align: left;">Enjoy. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #555544; font-family: tahoma,'Trebuchet MS',lucida,helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px; line-height: 17.7778px; text-align: left;">Christian Patrick Clarke, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #555544; font-family: tahoma,'Trebuchet MS',lucida,helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px; line-height: 17.7778px; text-align: left;">Front Desk Maven Novitiate, 2012 </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #555544; font-family: tahoma,'Trebuchet MS',lucida,helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px; line-height: 17.7778px; text-align: left;">Hic et Ubique</span><br />
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<br />Christian Patrick Clarke http://www.blogger.com/profile/12620713492733950481noreply@blogger.com0Ripton, VT, USA43.9816667 -73.015555643.8907557 -73.1734841 44.0725777 -72.8576271tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1773769789054691392.post-9577868339646720952012-06-30T11:39:00.001-04:002012-07-17T09:55:35.517-04:00Post #1: Front Desk Mavenhood<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's summertime, folks, which means the trees are green, the sky is blue, and the clothes are skimpy. It's also that time of year when the Bread Loaf School of English is in session. Bread Loaf means so much to me, that it's hard to put into words without resorting to trite language. Bread Loaf: a magical place where I come to get in touch with my inner Upper Middle Class Hippie. Bread Loaf: where I'm not mocked for wearing my Madras shorts, even though I should be. Bread Loaf: where it's okay to admit you were an English Major. On purpose.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">English Major </td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; text-align: center;">Many of you know I attended Bread Loaf for three consecutive summers, from 2004-2006. Every summer I would return to my friends and families telling of a strange little school populated by a couple hundred English teachers going to classes in a barn and living in canary yellow houses. I came back with tales of respectable teachers frolicking in the woods drunk on the delights of friendship, as well as the delights of copious amounts of alcohol. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Week 1 Typical Bread Loafer </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Week 2 Typical Bread Loafer </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Week 3 Typical Bread Loafer </td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Alas, I'm no longer a student but I have returned to Bread Loaf for the summer of 2012, this time as a member of the famed Front Desk. We like to refer to ourselves as the "Front Desk Mavens. "</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglLUOgZf6oVKAurOUGO8L28WoCbyXj1oQGEuU7mygeqSw2M5lrHg38i8J1ajD7YlCFh6Zs-6ZgQJPfsd_ULj6InN3Kp2OxEkqN3Z0bzvgezxYjEXMVjvzhGRx85MbAUBK7yQ5dppLlIS4j/s1600/IMG_1581.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglLUOgZf6oVKAurOUGO8L28WoCbyXj1oQGEuU7mygeqSw2M5lrHg38i8J1ajD7YlCFh6Zs-6ZgQJPfsd_ULj6InN3Kp2OxEkqN3Z0bzvgezxYjEXMVjvzhGRx85MbAUBK7yQ5dppLlIS4j/s200/IMG_1581.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maven Side of the Front Desk</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRPo7ra7onYJls5ZGpp_Su-jU09IwK-6aHZal2fA-Xfp_U1cG1BTASzldI75StQjjlLXlI_8uMSj1wzpff8Pu-55mDbJJXPJDgcgbvpZJaWihaL2RQwS4E4zXlUAyiafwzikwc_QlM71Xs/s1600/IMG_1585.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRPo7ra7onYJls5ZGpp_Su-jU09IwK-6aHZal2fA-Xfp_U1cG1BTASzldI75StQjjlLXlI_8uMSj1wzpff8Pu-55mDbJJXPJDgcgbvpZJaWihaL2RQwS4E4zXlUAyiafwzikwc_QlM71Xs/s200/IMG_1585.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Student Side of the Front Desk</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">I must say: being a Front Desk Maven is pretty darn cool, but with darn coolness comes darn responsibility. Front Desk Mavens, for instance, are expected to play a number of vital roles at Bread Loaf: concierge, postal worker, courier, chauffeur, ambulance driver, nurse, and psychiatrist. It's quite a load, physically and mentally. In fact, I'll just go ahead and mention that I'm not even sure there is 100% legality, with regards to those last three roles mentioned. </span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxccfoAg_5jQx_oSl5gojK5MlseJVtTaru9vFBBQ4JvQU_S6eqFSWnrgBSK_kiR0FHdnR9sOxs_JtkwoNqDo7rBWgMEeIZOP6iQIoRrQXp1JC_sQAuFuujOOxsEPE8XYV6LZWJeowtxdJZ/s1600/IMG_1573.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxccfoAg_5jQx_oSl5gojK5MlseJVtTaru9vFBBQ4JvQU_S6eqFSWnrgBSK_kiR0FHdnR9sOxs_JtkwoNqDo7rBWgMEeIZOP6iQIoRrQXp1JC_sQAuFuujOOxsEPE8XYV6LZWJeowtxdJZ/s200/IMG_1573.jpg" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gene, Fellow Maven </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLFsv2vmsxjpALURcr79hCSVqh5e8Xmqo8acX2ZTriiQHUlmS_cPH0g77c1gT2_n8BhSnrO3CvfqlwZuZiZrxTyL1DA-2c1FKXT3HS6urM_VrLMgHg8Flv9UDB056-XVvXv_k9Y5_4yc50/s1600/pills.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLFsv2vmsxjpALURcr79hCSVqh5e8Xmqo8acX2ZTriiQHUlmS_cPH0g77c1gT2_n8BhSnrO3CvfqlwZuZiZrxTyL1DA-2c1FKXT3HS6urM_VrLMgHg8Flv9UDB056-XVvXv_k9Y5_4yc50/s200/pills.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It'll All Be Better Soon.</td></tr>
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<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">The job, however, is not nearly as stressful as it may appear. For long stretches "work" consists mainly of listening to the long-time veterans of the Front Desk tell stories about the good ol' days, especially stories about the infamous </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bread_Loaf_Writers_Conference" style="background-color: white;">Bread Loaf Writers' Conference.</a><span style="background-color: white;"> (I</span><span style="background-color: white;">f you salivate over names like "Toni Morrison" and "Tim O'Brien," and "John Irving," click on the link.) </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNTycdSEGXYmDiVutpLqU5cAEEynw9jz8mRe9Nnt8fjDr4Bm86RVJ1-ajMBrr3DVW82gaIknPYaH6WXBXzqQgwQ85WafyTqfhny9RR7lC5Sf9oNG1hmhNF0tCk93p7RBCZGuSyb_2B2mXC/s1600/imgres-5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNTycdSEGXYmDiVutpLqU5cAEEynw9jz8mRe9Nnt8fjDr4Bm86RVJ1-ajMBrr3DVW82gaIknPYaH6WXBXzqQgwQ85WafyTqfhny9RR7lC5Sf9oNG1hmhNF0tCk93p7RBCZGuSyb_2B2mXC/s1600/imgres-5.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ms. Morrison, before the Writers' Conference</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Basically, though, the School of English finishes up in early August and the students leave, and then for two weeks the campus is overrun with a clutch (a gaggle?) of super famous poets and novelists who engage in literary activities like workshopping their manuscripts and getting trashed and screwing in the bushes. The Front Desk Mavens work both the School of English AND the Writers' Conference so they get to be privy to all the scandalous behavior and juicy gossip. To hear all the stories is pretty awesome if you're an English Major Literature Nerd and/or literary fame whore like myself.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQeA1NwLzHXS0Iu6JWyCWq6oNI2dK5XWAaCcJfbkZmqBfPwoiPsq-tUwv8CqoJI7d2mVZsa3VOA0vIfR8SYVi2erow0CaX9NI1nkAJ_oqfKzlgqnuwRDuhwnr2ZjfOVAJUnJ2Nz9jrEuoq/s1600/imgres-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQeA1NwLzHXS0Iu6JWyCWq6oNI2dK5XWAaCcJfbkZmqBfPwoiPsq-tUwv8CqoJI7d2mVZsa3VOA0vIfR8SYVi2erow0CaX9NI1nkAJ_oqfKzlgqnuwRDuhwnr2ZjfOVAJUnJ2Nz9jrEuoq/s200/imgres-2.jpeg" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ms. Morrison, after the Writers' Conference </td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">My point is, there's downtime. Lots of it. So I decided to rectify something. You see, in all those years I was a student I never once brought back a single photograph. Mostly because I never took a single photograph. Mostly because I never owned a camera. In years that I've been gone from the mountain, I've matured. By "matured," I mean I spent money I didn't have on expensive Apple products like the iPhone and the Macbook Pro. So now I can take pictures, put them into my computer and send them to friends and family.
Which I have done. I have taken the pictures. I have uploaded them to my computer. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">And, for the rest of the summer, (or until I get bored) I will share them with you. Please see future posts. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">Enjoy. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Christian Patrick Clarke, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Front Desk Maven Novitiate, 2012 </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Hic et Ubique</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhn8U2Y2TOitUu30i9Ne2yA0JyQsiY4zcch0dIa3i3zNmzhIZQ8aPXZjFI27TwToIAVdvcvIRdZrZbKiQ_Ne00cMNRyHLrQ_tsuFHhxIzMZIdGulI9MNLQkIs4s4TXyndiTX6Gallj_WLK/s1600/IMG_1590.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhn8U2Y2TOitUu30i9Ne2yA0JyQsiY4zcch0dIa3i3zNmzhIZQ8aPXZjFI27TwToIAVdvcvIRdZrZbKiQ_Ne00cMNRyHLrQ_tsuFHhxIzMZIdGulI9MNLQkIs4s4TXyndiTX6Gallj_WLK/s320/IMG_1590.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Christian Patrick Clarke http://www.blogger.com/profile/12620713492733950481noreply@blogger.com3