2008 Woodie Awards
Chicken souls
John LaRue - The Daily Iowan
Issue date: 10/19/07 Section: Opinions
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The crunch of fresh apples from the orchard, the sweet smell of real hot chocolate being brewed by some adorable barista, and the sound of bones shattering as yet another motorist fails to yield to cyclists compose the melancholy collage of fall for me.
Rainy fall days, the kind where you can see soft clouds of breath rising from the mouths of lovers walking down the sidewalk with cups of java warming their mittened hands as fat drops of water plop around them, let the nostalgia and tenderness of cloudy days drift soothingly into routine. Suddenly, curling up in an armchair on a Friday afternoon, lighting a few candles, and stroking the head of the Grizzly bear hide that covers the tiled portion of your dorm room takes precedent over all social endeavors. This is a story for those melancholy dreamers who set their alarm clocks to the soothing bops of Miles Davis, floss daily, and sometimes shudder at the thought of their spirits lifting too high that it would break the thrilling lull of their daily October cry. I won't bore you with politics or controversial issues or a wildly interrupted entry from my journal. In the short narrative that follows I aspire to weave, in beautifully tangled passion, every theme targeted in the Chicken Soup series. It is a collegiate commentary: On Love, On Parenting, On Teaching and Learning, Overcoming Obstacles, A Matter of Perspective, A Matter of Attitude, On Death and Dying, On Aging, On Living Your Dream and, lastly, Eclectic Wisdom.
I present to you: Chicken Soup for the Depressed as Hell Fall Soul.
Martin hovered over the Java House urinal for the fifth time in the last seven hours. His pee had taken up the distinctly bold and aromatic flavor of the Mexican Altura he was so accustomed to excessively drinking this time of the year. He had three tests in two days and had just started laboriously trudging through the first 12 chapters of Plato's Republic when he felt a tug at his heart's strings. Martin was alone. Not just alone in spirit but genuinely alone in all physicality. His roommate had demanded a change of space when Martin's Halo habits failed to change even with the onset of school and early morning classes. He was a geek, a gamer, a lover of the digital divine, and there was nothing that could change that. Or was there?
Rainy fall days, the kind where you can see soft clouds of breath rising from the mouths of lovers walking down the sidewalk with cups of java warming their mittened hands as fat drops of water plop around them, let the nostalgia and tenderness of cloudy days drift soothingly into routine. Suddenly, curling up in an armchair on a Friday afternoon, lighting a few candles, and stroking the head of the Grizzly bear hide that covers the tiled portion of your dorm room takes precedent over all social endeavors. This is a story for those melancholy dreamers who set their alarm clocks to the soothing bops of Miles Davis, floss daily, and sometimes shudder at the thought of their spirits lifting too high that it would break the thrilling lull of their daily October cry. I won't bore you with politics or controversial issues or a wildly interrupted entry from my journal. In the short narrative that follows I aspire to weave, in beautifully tangled passion, every theme targeted in the Chicken Soup series. It is a collegiate commentary: On Love, On Parenting, On Teaching and Learning, Overcoming Obstacles, A Matter of Perspective, A Matter of Attitude, On Death and Dying, On Aging, On Living Your Dream and, lastly, Eclectic Wisdom.
I present to you: Chicken Soup for the Depressed as Hell Fall Soul.
Martin hovered over the Java House urinal for the fifth time in the last seven hours. His pee had taken up the distinctly bold and aromatic flavor of the Mexican Altura he was so accustomed to excessively drinking this time of the year. He had three tests in two days and had just started laboriously trudging through the first 12 chapters of Plato's Republic when he felt a tug at his heart's strings. Martin was alone. Not just alone in spirit but genuinely alone in all physicality. His roommate had demanded a change of space when Martin's Halo habits failed to change even with the onset of school and early morning classes. He was a geek, a gamer, a lover of the digital divine, and there was nothing that could change that. Or was there?
Viewing Comments 1 - 1 of 1
I don't get it
posted 10/19/07 @ 3:35 PM CST
what were the girl and her Dell doing in the mens' restroom ? i am not sure this is a true story
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