Every so often we open a book in Special Collections only to discover a flower, a leaf, or some other makeshift bookmark that reminds us that these books have a history. They were special to someone before they were special to us.
Unfortunately, these beautiful reminders of the past are not good for the books, so when we do find pressed objects among the pages, we encapsulate them in a clear plastic called mylar. Not only does the mylar protect the paper from from the object, it also helps preserve the delicate item itself. Once encapsulated, the flower or leaf can return to the page where it was found and we can continue to enjoy them for years to come.
this is one of the greatest jokes this show has ever landed
Students who considered themselves socialists were not so much interested in the poor as they were desirous of leading
the poor, of being their guides and saviors. It was just this
paternalism toward the poor that the vision of solidarity I had
learned in religious settings was meant to challenge. From a
spiritual perspective, the poor were there to guide and lead the
rest of us by example if not by outright action and testimony.
As a student I read Marx, Gramsci, and a host of other male
thinkers on the subject of class. These works provided
theoretical paradigms but rarely offered tools for confronting
the complexity of class in daily life. […]
[W]hen I told friends and colleagues that I was resigning from my academic job to focus on writing, I was warned that I was making a dangerous mistake, that I could not possibly live on an income that was between twenty and thirty thousand dollars a year. When I pointed to the reality that families of four and more live on such an income, the response would be “that’s different”; the difference being, of course, one of class. The poor are expected to live with less and are socialized to accept less (badly made clothing, products, food, etc.), whereas the well-off are socialized to believe it is both a right and a necessity for us to have more, to have exactly what we want when we want it.
bell hooks, Where We Stand: Class Matters, chapter 4 (via snailfan)
“Students who considered themselves socialists were not so much interested in the poor as they were desirous of leading the poor”
I’ve been up for too long I didn’t realize what was wrong with this.
AU where Romeo and Juliet are a bickering writing duo and William Shakespeare is their debut play they’re trying to put on after college. Forsooth, hijinks ensue.
Hamlet is their emo friend who keeps complaining about his stepdad. Othello is their friend who got married too young and had their friend group’s first ugly divorce over supposed infidelity. Macbeth is their politician friend whose ambitious girlfriend pushed him to cheat at a student union election, despite the fact that nobody actually noticed or cared. William Shakespeare is a parody of writers who use their friends as material for amped-up melodramas, and they colloquially refer to their play as Mmm Whatcha Say because their protagonist is obsessed with killing off all his characters.
YAAAAAAASSSSS
Someone write this plz. (Not me I have too much to do.)
You need another English credit. You already have thousands of English credits. They fill up your room and chase you down the street. You are drowning. You need another English credit.
You have an essay due tomorrow. You always have an essay due tomorrow. Tomorrow never comes. You must keep working on the essay. It’s due tomorrow.
Everyone is getting undercuts. Under what? You are never sure what lies Beneath. But sometimes, you see the Void.
You need classes in different areas for a full education. You go to these areas. Your feet are blistered and bleeding. You must find all the areas.
There is a Party In The Woods. It is exactly like the last one. You fear you are stuck in a time loop, but by then it is too late. Someone sells you a plastic cup of PBR for five dollars.
You know everyone on campus. Their faces, their tattoos, and their souls. You start walking with your eyes closed: you do not want to see.
There are sports teams. They whisper restlessly around the edges of campus. If you look directly at them, they disappear. But once in a while, you can hear them scream. You do not know if it is celebratory or scared.
Straight boys feel alone. There are so few of them. There are straight boys everywhere you look. They feel so alone.
“This way is more environmentally sound,” they say. You can hear the environmental sound. It sounds like Nicki Minaj.
School is not The Real World. Objects crumble under your touch. Your professors are translucent. Your books are in an ancient tongue. This Is Not The Real World.
“Richmond, Ind., now furnishes a story of a woman’s strange infatuation for a woman. Charles Worrell and wife separated because of Mrs. Worrell’s unnatural love for her sister-in-law, Mrs. Marion Worrell, a widow. The women were heretofore highly esteemed in the community. Mrs. Charles Worrell is a woman of fine attainments, at one time a teacher in Eartham college. Charles Worrell remonstrated with his wife, and tried in every possible way to break off the unnatural alliance between the women, but without effect, and finally an amicable division of property was made and the husband and wife separated. The two women have gone to Lorain, Ohio, to live together. Both are handsome and about twenty-five years of age. They say they cannot live apart.”
this guy’s wife kept macking on his sister until he gave up and left them to it
amazing
Cool. Earlham College was (and is) a small Quaker college in Richmond, Indiana, so I’m confident “Eartham” is an error. Richmond isn’t a large town, so I’m sure everybody in town had an opinion.
Also, it might not be a coincidence that they moved to the next town over from Oberlin.
Kimchi and Justice 