Northwestern University

I have just returned from my visit to Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois. Let me say now that I’m pretty much in love, but at the same time I’m really worried that I won’t be able to get in. The admission process is ridiculous. I know I’m smart and have done a lot of things that will look great on the app, but that doesn’t stop my invariable self doubt issues. Anyway, on to more exciting things…

The campus is gorgeous. I even found my favorite place there, potentially. Up on the east (?) side of campus, you can walk to the edge of the lake and see the Chicago skyline. There you can have your “Chicago appreciation moment,” as some grad student calls it. They even have a castle, which I would get to take classes in. How cool is that? A castle!

Aside from being commendably impressed with this castle business, I also was escorted about town by our very own TJ Cross. First stop was Pete Miller’s, which was my first good meal in a long time. Fifty gold stars to whoever prepared the food.

Next stop was the Northwestern Symphonic Wind Ensemble concert. They played a whole bunch of excellent and, expectedly, foreign things. The whole second part of the show was a Messiaen piece called Et expecto resurrectionem mortuorum. It was pretty much great. In the program there is a brief novel explaining everything about the piece. I, however, am not so inclined to type it all out. Just trust me that it was well thought out…impossible…artistic. After the show I got to hear a lot of rich kids with turtle necks or popped collars talk about how they “really enjoyed the Messiaen.” I laughed a little, knowing I could never be as cool as they think that they are.

I even got to go in the secret halls in the music building and look at the perpetually impressive storage rooms of percussion equipment. They had a lot of cool gong spankers, too.

Then TJ used his fancy name and lofty title to get us in to see the second act of “Was,” a musical that the theater department at Northwestern is putting on. The students are really talented, and I suppose they ought to be to get into a university that accepts like twelve people per year.

At the end of the play I got to meet Eric Whitacre. You know…that guy who writes a lot of music that we tend to play in concert band. He wrote October, which we played last year, and he also wrote Sleep, which we are playing this year. I have a tendency to think that all composers are dead white men. I guess this Whitacre guy is two out of three: white and a man, but two out of three ain’t bad. Then I realized that sometimes composers aren’t even white men. Look now to our friend TJ, who is a living Asian man. One out of three ain’t bad either, I suppose. By the way, if you wanted to know, Eric Whitacre really does look like a movie star.

After all this excitement I hopped the L and went to see Gwen. I had to scale a building to get to the roof of the Catholic house she currently lives in. It was great, besides the part where she ordered me an avocado something with bread, but I ate it anyway.

We also rescued my cousin from Loyola and took her to Medieval Times in Schaumburg. It was interesting, to say the least. I see it having sort of a cultish following; a cult that I will not be joining anytime soon. It was, nonetheless, entertaining, though it really made me realize how animalistic humans really are. I will spare you my thoughts, because this is probably not a time for a philosophical discussion prompted by theatrical production.

Anyway, my visit was great. Now the only thing left is to get accepted.

On to more important things…

“It’s not that we didn’t try. We did. We actually had the system by the throat for a whole minute. But the system won. The system doesn’t get tired, or get arrested, or have screaming children who need things. The system is patient. It held up houses and cars and boats and we said, “We don’t need that!” And the system said, “I’ll wait. And while I’m waiting I might even get bigger, just for the fun of it.” And damn it, when the drugs wore off and the love wasn’t free anymore, those houses and cars started to look good.” – Albert Brooks

This piece from Newsweek called “Times Are A-Changin’” is chronicling the boomer generation on their sixtieth birthday. This specific passage, I think, defines every generation. Every generation of young people has the desire to change the very order of society for the better, but eventually, as Brooks says, the drugs wear off, we get tired, or arrested, or busy with screaming children who need things. The best minds of our generation can’t make bail. As heroic as that sounds, it’s really terrible. But it is what it is, I guess. Whatever and ever, amen.

-Ashley

Your love is thick and it swallowed me whole
You’re so much braver than I give you credit for
That’s not lip service

You’ve already won me over
In spite of me
Don’t be alarmed if I fall head over feet
And don’t be surprised if I love you for all that you are
I couldn’t help it
It’s all your fault

You are the bearer of unconditional things
You held your breath
And the door for me
Thanks for your patience