Creative Criticism Final Assignment (Title in Progress)

I wake up and an hour later, I get up. I cook myself some eggs and sit at the table and read the newspaper. Bombs. Death. Inflation. Things that don’t matter to me anymore. I have nothing else better to do, so I read the newspaper. It’s the start of a new week, a Sunday, but I don’t go to church anymore. No reason to, I only keep the [[rosary]] my wife (text-colour:black)[Linda] had on the wall in remembrance of her. Jesus means nothing to me now. God means nothing to me now. And of course, “Church” is one of the crosswords today. Something religious always is. I have to gander that the editor of the section is a Christian or Catholic of sorts. Nevertheless, I finish the 100-word crossword and go outside. The air is warm. I hate warm air; it hurts my joints. So does cold air. Maybe I just don’t like air. I should get to the park as quickly as possible. Which path should I go on… [[Left]] [[Forward]] [[Right]]

Much of the [[apartment complexes]] in this area were built in the 1900s, when this city was a mining town, and so, many were being rebuilt. However, the process was ongoing and wouldn’t be finished for another 20 years. The place was dusty and noisy, streets were constantly being closed off, even streetlights wouldn’t turn on at night. Those who lived here seemed to have a happy disposition despite that. The rent here was much cheaper due to the constant disruption and how cheaply many of the buildings were made. Poorer families lived here, and even if their roof could come crashing down, it’s better than sleeping of the streets. God knows we already have so many [[homeless]] around the area, it wouldn’t be fair to have more on the streets. The way to park is still ways a way, I should get moving. [[Forward ]]

A woman walked past me with a pink stroller, her child sleeping in the seat. She must be exercising. I can’t understand it. Live with the body you were born with! She and her child strolled on, and a man on his bike cycled past. It was one of those newer ones from Japan, with the strange design. I used to cycle, but that was when my wife was still alive. She liked it far more than I did. (text-colour:black)[Linda] and I were never on the same page when it came to excercise. Maybe it’s because her job as an archaeologist required good health, especially out in the field. Nevertheless, because this route is the most direct towards the park, many people came up and down this path to and from the park. I guess it’s also why the city made it the least interesting to look at and go towards. I can appreciate that, even if I dislike much of what the city does. The park is close by. [[Forward ]]

I walk through the apartment buildings, passing several residents of the city sweeping the sidewalk. I nodded, acknowledging them with “Good Mornings” as they passed. The leaves that fell in Autumn and the seeds that dropped in the Spring were pissing me off though. It always gave residents something to do outside. The government purposely planted these trees to make sure that their residents never did anything else important with their time! They could have planted fruit trees or trees that never lost their leaves and dropped so many seeds. But they wanted to keep their residents occupied, for they could plan revolution with the time spent cleaning outside! I stopped and caught up with a friend of mine, [[Mark Wachowski]], who sitting on the stairs outside his apartment complex. He is an older man, and a former (text-colour:black)[fisherman]. We discussed some of the birds we’d spotted and told a few jokes, but I soon moved on. I far preferred the green, metal benches to the grey, concrete stairs of the apartment complexes any day. The park shouldn’t be far now. [[Right ]]

The rosary is dark yet multicolored. (text-colour:black)[Linda] loved to travel, and she dragged me with her. Each bead is from a church we went to in our travels. There are 24 beads. One was from Spain, another from (text-colour:black)[Japan], one from Indonesia, and about two from Germany. In Germany, we got lost several times. She only meant to get one, but I think I got us lost. She was trying to get us back on the path, but the countryside can get scary if you don't know where you're going. Eventually, we came across a little parish and they helped us catch a cab back to the city. She asked for a bead and they gave her one. It was one the priest there carved himself. I don't remember what the wood was called, but it was native to the area. at least it looks like wood. [[A start]]

The mural encompassed the entirety of the 4-story tall office building. The artist, Ian Tory Wilson III, came from the graffiti scene. He was a famous tagger in New York City, one of 5 children. I read that one of the few reasons him and his graffiti was legitimized was due to a professor in some art school in the area noticed him tagging and offered him a spot there. He(text-colour:black)[ got lucky but took his chance and became a good student. He graduated and moved himself and his family to LA where they reside now. He tends to work for cities, and this one hired him to make one]. The building not only got a makeover, but the company that let their wall be painted obtained a good grant from the city for it. The mural is young, around (text-colour:black)[4] years old. I met Wilson a few times while he was painting his mural. A good man, he is. He has too many tattoos though, but he is married, so his wife mustn’t mind. The city’s bridge is held up by swirling waves of shadowy figures, some holding trumpets, guitars, and clarinets. Buildings and famous people, like Alan Yurich, the (text-colour:black)[politician] who helped build the bridge, and Phillis (text-colour:black)[Ulin, a trumpeter] from the city, erupt from behind the bridge and bright blues, reds, and yellows erupt from behind them in the background. The notes coming out from a trumpet, D-E-F-G-E-C-D, were my suggestion. I doubt he got the joke though. [[Forward ]]

When I came here years ago, I was surprised at how large the bird watching scene was. There are annual competitions to see who can spot the most amount of birds in one day, with the competition relying heavily on perception, position, and luck. (text-colour:black)[Linda] used to go all the time, and she loved it. The birds were always a strange collection of Canadian, Western, Midwestern, Eastern, even Mexican and Central American birds. I don’t really understand the way scientists and avian experts explained it, but (text-colour:black)[something about the warmth of the area during the spring and location of the city makes it a perfect spot for those birds]. While my wife never won, she got close to it, reaching fourth place one time, missing the top three by only (text-colour:black)[one] bird. The competition and club that hosts it, the Nebraskan Bird Club, is advertised so heavily I swear I see posters and billboards for it more than brands like Coca-Cola or Disney. [[Forward ]]

The quickest way forward was through an alleyway. Alleys are too constricting. But it is the fastest way to the park. These two apartment buildings were tall and long. I watched as people hung their clothes out to dry on clotheslines. A woman was hanging up hers with the help of another woman on the other building. They were speaking about life, almost as if they’ve known each other for years, but they didn’t! The one hanging it up had recently moved here! And she trusted a stranger with her clothes so deeply? Lucky, she was, for such a good neighbor. All of mine are crap, hardly check in on me. We only speak when I ask them to lower their music. The two newly-aquainted neighbors added their clothes to the clouds of shirts, underwear, and jeans hanging across the two concreate mountains. They were like kites, flapping in the wind, the moisture evaporating into real clouds. The sun was getting out now, and the view as it rose between the alleys was beautiful. I wish (text-colour:black)[Linda] was here to see this. The park was across the street now. [[An end]]

I crossed the street and went inside the park. There were two young men raking the leaves together. They must’ve been a few hundred feet, but I could still hear them arguing over something. A swan led her ugly ducklings around the pond, teaching them how to catch their food. A father played with his children. A couple was having a picnic. There were birds tweeting, (text-colour:black)[finches] and (text-colour:black)[wrens] and (text-colour:black)[robins]. A man was riffing on a (text-colour:black)[I-III-IV-IV progression] with his saxophone, not one I always hear. I sat at a bench and watched the life in front of me. My joints felt a little better now. The sun rose gently into the sky, bathing the scene in a reddish-yellow light, the leaves that still happened to be green absorbing what little they could for its tree. I wish I could remember why I came here.

Mark Wachowski was a (text-colour:black)[fisherman] for many years. He worked in Maine as a lobsterman for a good number of years until his company shut down. Two of his three boats breaking down, coupled with a terrible season, sent it down a spiral they never recovered from and they filed for bankruptcy. After that, he went down (text-colour:black)[to New York] for the same trade, but settled for a commercial fishing gig. After a few years, Wachowski, frustrated with his job, moved down south with his family here in Nebraska. He opened his own salmon hatchery with the help of a (text-colour:black)[far more experienced] friend. The two rose the Wachowski Salmon Hatchery to second best in the state, and once he decided to retire, Wachowski gave the rest to his son, James Wachowski. From what he’s said, his son is making the business better and better every year, and I’m glad. I’ve met James a few times, and he seems like a smart kid. [[Left]]

The area I was in was technically a park but did not have any [[seating]]. It was more akin to a small encampment of dirt, two trees, and a rusted, broken swing that has still not been fixed since the time I saw a child jumping on it and the damn thing broke and he fell to the ground face first. I’m sure many people have had fun here, I still see a father and son play catch here every so often, but the place was lonely, and occasionally, you’d see a [[few cats]]. It was built because the residents of the area wanted a park they could travel to a little easier. This was before the park I am currently heading to was built, but since that park’s construction, this little encampment that couldn’t has been left alone for ages. I think it could be a fine area if the city cared more about it, but its likely will never. Cities like this one tend to want to appear good for their community, but on what matters, like this park, it never does. The larger park is just up ahead. [[Forward ]]

This section of the city was filled with migrants from other countries but dominated by Mexicans and Hondurans. I worked with a few, even helping some enter the art scene. There were several Mexican and Honduran restaurants here, one of my favorites, a little shop called [[Tamale Central]]. Their tamales were soft and fluffy. They were great with sour cream and Mexican cheese. I can’t order much anymore, since wait times and lines are long, and there is no space for seating. The city removed them ages ago to curtail how many people were there, and it hasn’t worked obviously, it’s still a hard place to push past. The area has many small restaurants, food trucks, grocery stores, and miscellaneous shops like a leather shoe shining and repair shop. The owner of said shop, a man who calls himself [[“Tito,”]] came to the country decades ago and has found success(text-colour:black)[, once even shining the President’s shoes]. He won’t ever say which one, but he did mention that the inside and outside of his shop was filled with men in tuxedos and sunglasses. Latin music fills the air with its syncopation and light acoustics, and I enjoy strolling here on my better days,(text-colour:black)[ but it is not a better day]. I need to keep going forward if I want to get to the park. [[Forward ]]

The city council and current mayor, all political descendants of the man I first voted for, took out much of the seating that existed, and added steel bars and spikes to many of the large, square concrete slabs people sat on. The excuse was to curb homelessness but has arguably caused more. I managed to get out of bed one day and get to one of the city council meetings. I hobbled to the mic and told them that their systematic destruction of public seating is destroying the city, that no one has any place to rest except in public parks. I can’t remember all I said, but the son of a friend told me that a video of my speech went viral. I could care less, but I’m glad people agreed with me. Unfortunately, my and other’s impassioned speeches meant nothing to the city council. Since then, I haven’t gone to those meetings, and those who still go are wasting their time. Nothing they do will get the city council to move from their terrible position. [[Right ]]

There are countless cats throughout the city. Some people have lost, some that people threw out, some that escaped. The city government has done nothing to curb their multiplication, and they have been becoming an unhealthy problem. They shit on the sidewalk and throw up on what few benches we still have. They don’t eat every rat or bird they catch, so they end up rotting on whatever tree they left them in. I swear, the sidewalk gets stinker every day. I wish the damn city would do something like facilitate neutering, but they far prefer catching them and placing them in kill shelters. (text-colour:black)[I’m not a cat person,] but (text-colour:black)[Linda] was. She’d catch them whenever she could and would care for them until they felt better. Then she'd let them choose whether to stay or leave. And many stayed. When she died, I still had to take care of 6 elder cats. Never did get anymore when they passed though, my joints won’t let me anymore. [[Right ]]

The Nebraska Museum of Natural History catered more towards families than those who liked being alone, but considering the city itself is supposedly catered towards families, it’s never been something I minded much. That type of question, “How will families like this?” was something posed a lot by the director of the museum when I worked there.(text-colour:black)[ I facilitated the construction of art exhibits and design the layout of them. My favorite works would always go near the end, almost like a cherry on top. The most exciting though, would be] near the middle. One such Spring many years ago, (text-colour:black)[we obtained several paintings by Reginald] Oswald, an obscure artist, but one we knew much about considering he (text-colour:black)[wrote countless detailed diaries up until his untimely demise in 1919 at the age of 36]. His work, “*L(text-colour:black)[Looking Glass,]” was a simple painting of him staring through a mirror at a reflection of himself. It is saturated with blues, with minor scritches of yellow throughout it. (text-colour:black)[I placed it near the end], a reminder to constantly reflect on one's thoughts and memories. However, his piece “Storm,” a wild array of spinning reds, blues, yellows, dark greens, and black, was what we placed at the middle. Created after his mother’s funeral, a shadow of a human looks towards the sky, afraid of this torrent of striking color, and at grief with the memory (text-colour:black)[of those he loved]. The Oswald exhibit (text-colour:black)[was a hit]! It was (text-colour:black)[popular]! It… It was (text-colour:black)[popular]. Hmm. I can’t seem to remember how it was received. [[Forward ]]

Tamale Central is a small shop with a large sign. It was designed by the son of the owner, Manuel Chavez, an amateur graphic designer. On the last year of my job, the owner of Tamale Central, (text-colour:black)[Emanuel] Chavez, asked me if his son could design one of the signs for an exhibition. I agreed, and the museum director let him design one for a more recent paleontological discoveries, a collection of (text-colour:black)[82] Dakotaraptor nests. What Chavez came up with was very ugly and I regret having him work on it. A picture of the nests was poorly placed onto a bright yellow background and text that said, “Come see the Dakotaraptor nests, 12/5!” The composition was off. The words “see” and “nests” were angled, a good idea, but the texture on the background, which also had lines across it, were on different angles! The nest was not centrally aligned, the font was Comic Sans, and the text was green! Despite this ugly poster, it attracted a decent audience, more than expected by the museum. Manuel Chavez was not good then, and I am unsure if he’s gotten better, after all, the sign is obtuse, in cursive, and has a tamale crossing the T. [[Forward ]]

The man called “Tito” came to the US in 1996. He was a young and ambitious man, already graduating from the University of Mexico City as a physicist. While he did far prefer leatherworking, a physics degree allowed him to take a job in the US, one that paid far more than a leatherworking job in Mexico. He worked for 20 years as a physicist, becoming an important figure in the physics space. One day, (text-colour:black)[as he tells it,] the managers at his lab at the University of California, Berkeley pissed him off so much that he did something he’d never done before: Purchase a lottery ticket. He took the rest of the day off, and once he got home(text-colour:black)[, scratched off the winnings], and nearly collapsed form the shock. 5 million dollars was suddenly his! The ginormous pay day allowed him to continue towards his true passion, leatherworking. Tito moved his family out to the Midwest where rent is far cheaper than on the West Coast. He’s explained that while it was possible to make a living off leather working, he made far more at his physics job, and there was no reason to switch to his hobby until he hit the jackpot. Tito’s retired into obscurity, and (text-colour:black)[from what he has said, ]is living well. [[Forward ]]

Further inside this section of town, right before the park, is almost a maze-like area. It winds from left to right to left and right and right, over and over again, and it is filled with more shops. Each straightaway lasts for only around 100 feet before it turns sharply in a direction. Jewelers, antique stores, and craftsman shops riddle this area. An older woman tries to sell her baskets to someone, while an older man hails people to try his specialty donuts. You can tell who has been here before and who hasn’t by their confusion with the layout. Far less like a street and far more like an open mall, [[the urban designer]] who shaped this section of the city was a strange one. As I exited the mall-like street, the day was going further on, and more people began to exit their apartments for work or fun. Families stood outside the [[Nebraska Museum of Natural History]], famous for its collection of contemporary art and Paleozoic fossils, waiting for its opening. The park was right in front of me, I should cross the street. [[An end]]

The manner in which this area was constructed was inane. Some quack urban designer, (text-colour:black)[James] Aloefield, designed this section of the city in the 1960s, or so I’ve read from the local library, which I occasionally attend whenever I get the penchant to read. I used to have a bookshelf, but I sold it when I moved into my current apartment (text-colour:black)[10] years ago, so libraries are my source of reading now. Aloefield lived a normal life in the middle of nowhere in the (text-colour:black)[Midwest until he decided at the age of 23 to attend architectural school]. He managed to make his way and graduated with decent grades. His first few jobs were normal, but one day, decided to change the shape of a town block from a square, to a triangle. I’m unsure if it was because he was bored, but the strangely shaped block managed to garner some news in the state it was in(text-colour:black)[, Virginia,] and the small town soon bustled with tourism. Since then, smaller towns asked for Aloefield to design them strangely shaped blocks, and no doubt, almost half a century later, all must be completely useless. Nevertheless, the city decided to enlist his help, but rather than designing his classic sharp-edged triangular, star, or oblong blocks, he used square blocks and created a maze of a city. There is no structure and no formality! I used to walk to a farther, larger park but got lost so often I decided on this one instead! [[Forward ]]

There were two major differences between the older buildings and the newer buildings. One was that many of the newer buildings were pre-planned. Older buildings tended to have floors added on(text-colour:black)[, and often, many of the floors had different layouts]. The rooms were larger and much nicer, but when I was looking for apartments after my wife died, I almost immediately threw these out as options. Floors would either have only (text-colour:black)[left turns], or would be constructed maze-like, or they could even be built like motels! The lack of formality to the floorplans annoyed me. Plus, it would be easy to get lost in one of those buildings, especially if someone were to make a friend on another floor. The other difference was that they were far less structurally sound. The different floor plans placed different stresses on the building and the floor below, and during an earthquake or heavy storm, these buildings were far more likely to fail than the others in the city. The government has been rebuilding them, but slowly, almost to spite those who asked them to repair them. [[Right]]

There is a big problem with homelessness in this city. For a good many years, the city was attempting to expand into the entertainment business, but that failed, and left a lot of actors and production teams stranded. That, coupled with the flood a month later which left many homes decimated. The city rebuilt those homes and sold them to landlord companies. These companies hiked up prices(text-colour:black)[ by almost 100 dollars a month] and when those families and individuals came back to live in their former homes, were almost immediately kicked out by the price hike. Not many managed to get back on their feet, and those that did, got lucky. I never understood why many of them didn’t simply leave. Maybe it was the memories. Maybe they couldn’t go back. Maybe they were too late. [[Right]]

I moved away from the noise of the construction towards the newly constructed buildings. Some were tall, almost 15 stories, while others were a modest 5 stories. Some were constructed with glass, while others were made of stone. In between one of the buildings was the [[statue]] of a man in bodybuilding pose. A group was crowded around the statue, taking pictures of themselves with it. Though the buildings themselves were new, the sidewalk was cracked and lifted in much of the area, no doubt because of the giant [[trees]] that interspersed the sidewalk. Seeds almost always covered the sidewalk here, and the crunching sound they made underneath my feet was a constant. It was a difficult area to walk in, so hardly anyone did. Most people who lived here would almost immediately turn into an alleyway and walk on a better sidewalk. The city gave up on these sidewalks almost instantly once the trees were planted and haven’t cared to repave it for well around two decades. I should leave quickly this area quickly; the park is close by. [[Left ]]

I’ve seen plenty of statues in my day, and the most I could say about this one was “mediocre.” The copper was misshapen in plenty of places, and face was mirror-like. The statue’s body was twisted in a pose similar to Arnold Schwarzenegger ¾ back pose, but the left leg was further back. I could see the sharp edges etched between the supposed-muscles. Certainly, the person who made this, (text-colour:black)[Ren] Alvarez, was still a student when she made this, but a (text-colour:black)[talented] student nonetheless. The twisting on the abdomen was well hammered and realistic for the pose. The muscles’ flatness, while not accurate for a human body, shone quite well midday. Even veins were hammered and melted into the plating well, details which can be difficult for novices to create. It looked far more like a copper-painted marble statue than a copper statue. The city held a competition for best statue and would erect the winner's, and Alvarez won. Apparently, her late father(text-colour:black)[, the model for the statue,] was a bodybuilder, and she wished to immortalize him. He worked tirelessly in the community, (text-colour:black)[volunteering for recreational centers], picking trash off the street. (text-colour:black)[A labor of love for her family member.] His name and catchphrase was screwed into the base of the statue, "My muscles are powered by love, my muslces are forever." No doubt the city awarded her for her statue in remembrance of him, as well as her skill. [[Forward ]]

This particularly area of the city was full of trees, and not only because of the park, but because the state of Nebraska paid a lot of money to cities with good foliage cover. Up to two million at times. Many cities haphazardly placed hundreds of trees, not really caring which ones they placed as long as they required citizens to clean them up and if their foliage was big. This city was awarded (text-colour:black)[1.5 million] for its foliage cover, but many of the trees that were purchased were grown away from the city, and aren't native to the area. They did that all for the money, and nothing angers more than seeing people, much less governments, try to create for the sake of money or for the sake of winning. Create for the sake of creation, expecting something at the end, no matter how good it is, turns the creation from art to product. [[Forward ]]

People were waking up now. Those that descended the steps of their complexes were heading to school, work, or shopping. They basked themselves in the rising warmth of the morning. One man even stood still for a minute, just letting the sun warm him up. A flock of birds congregated in a tree, and a small group of older men rapidly wrote in their notepads whatever species the bird was. Apparently, a famous musician used to live in one of these apartments when he was younger. [[Yuri Lorren]], his name was. A great jazz singer and pianist. Moved onto rock-and-roll, but his stuff before then will always be better. Still, the city was getting busy, I should get to the park quickly. A building blocks the way forward, another example of the city's awkward blocking, so the path splits two ways. Both get me to the same way at the same time, so I could care less which one I go down. [[Left Path]] [[Right Path]]

The trees were beginning to darken. Only a few more weeks until Autumn, my favorite time of year. I watched a cat run into an alleyway, a man chasing after it, calling for its name. A couple older men were playing chess on the sidewalk, while younger men just ahead of them sat on the steps playing music. It was a form of rap, but it seems the backing track was an older jazz song, //Body and Soul//(text-colour:black)[by John Coltrane], a favorite of mine. The music filled the air of the empty sidewalk, and almost seemed to be an alarm. More and more people were openeing their windows to the new day. I continued along the sidewalk passing a [[mural]] depicting what the city was known for: Jazz, architecture, even the [[surprisingly large bird watching community]]. The park was closer now, I could see the small stone walls that surrounded it. [[Forward ]]

Yuri Lorren was a singer and pianist born in the area years ago. (text-colour:black)[He grew up with several brothers and a sister, who all his brothers were protective over.] He was born into a farming family, and learned to play piano very young(text-colour:black)[, the only one amongst his siblings to care about it]. He climbed his way into the scene slowly, getting bigger and bigger gigs until he played with Miles Davis at (text-colour:black)[28] years old. His music was played quite a bit, he worked with musicians like Paul Bley, but he never seemed to really care if he was famous or not. He ended up relatively obscure, doing his best to appear in the background and support other jazz musicians. He pivoted(text-colour:black)[ in the 80s] to rock, not necessarily because he wanted to, but an opportunity arose, and took it. He played keyboard on various rock-and-roll albums, but not the famous ones. They were all released independently, and he was said to even sell copies of them on the street. He unfortunately passed away in a car accident(text-colour:black)[ at 50 years old], just before the turn of the century. Despite his lack of fame, many people came to his funeral, me included. A good man, Lorren was. [[Left ]]

This path was next to the busiest street in the city. I never liked going here much. The sounds are much too loud, its why I live where I do, away from this street. Even though this street is so close to the park, its massive trees block the sound. Funnily enough, some of the last benches are on this street. Its like the government knows no one will sit or sleep there considering the sound. Plus, the drivers here are mean, I’ve seen more than a few splash homeless people during rainy days, or even pretend to give them money before driving away. I wish I never lived in this city. I’ve forgotten why I even came here. Its corrupted me, making me forget. [[An end]]

This path was down a large alleyway. There were just a few dumpsters here, and a few cats perched on some of the windowsills. Despite the bustling of people outside, it was quiet here. The meows of cats and hums of air conditioners were the only sounds I heard. My steps echoed through the alleyway. It was calming. I’m not surrounded by this much silence anymore. I grew up in the countryside in Louisiana. I remember(text-colour:black)[ sleeping with the cows and feeding the pigs]. I remember (text-colour:black)[looking up to the sky at night and hearing the universe before me]. The hum of the city lights deafens its sound, here. I wish I moved back when I could. But (text-colour:black)[Linda] and I never had kids, and all our siblings died before us. No one would take care of me if I did. I can’t hear it any longer, but I hope I will when I join her. [[An end]]