It's very nice to be back at my usual spot in Emmanuel d'Alzon Library at Assumption college. Right now I'm on one of the afternoon breaks between all the events being held for the Student Government Association members; while the string of activities gets tiring after a while, most of the events are quite enjoyable. Just yesterday, we returned from the annual day-and-a-half trip to Camp Mah-Kee-Nak in the eastern part of Massachusetts. The stay is filled with activities designed to strengthen leadership skills (the most annoying of which activities was a yoga session), but I have come to suspect that it is all an extravagant excuse for the prank wars which inevitably go on there each year, as that is the most notable experience everyone seems to get out of the sojourn. (While I remained high and dry of the business, some of the guys successfully hung all the mattresses in one of the ladies' cabins on the rafters, and moved all the belongings about in another. The retaliatory expedition, likelu armed with silly string, failed to enter the [barricaded] cabin of those responsible, and were just about to enter our own cabin when one of our number shattered the salient as he hurdled out of bed, screaming at the top of his lungs. So the score is
by my reckoning. But, like the warriors by day in Valhalla, soon enough former "foes" were jesting and eating together, and things were back to normal again the next day). The best part of the trip, though, was gazing for hours at a time at the beautiful Lake Mah-Kee-Nak, for which the camp was named. Those memories will have to suffice until next year.
Perhaps more importantly than that, to one person at least, I got around to writing a sonnet for a friend of mine. When we were discussing our goals in life, she went on a little rant about how she liked her hometown, Agawam, but not the Six Flags thence situated, and wished to become mayor partially to give Six Flags the boot, and make her town into less of an attraction. Since the powers she desired to exercise seemed more fit for a dictator than a mayor, I took the liberty of Mussolini-izing her nickname into
Sonnet XC- THE GRAZ
One summer's noon THE GRAZ returned to Agawam,
And she won mayor post-graduation,
Besetting Six Flags in perspiration.
To craft her Christendom, her Avalon,
She made it clear: Bugs Bunny had to go.
No geezers danced below THE GRAZ's sun,
And from six flags her city went to none.
She even made the Superman go slow.
Her Great Work done, the citizens grew fond,
THE GRAZ ruled fairly and most mercifully.
Foremost, she garnted Daffy amnesty,
Banished him forever to the Duck Pond.
To boot, she circled Agawam in haste
To plant signs reading, DANGER: TOXIC WASTE.
Yes, I know the very first line has 11 syllables, and the poem won't make sense if you haven't seen the constant stream of ads for Six Flags New England which have gained notoriety in that region, or that the Duck Pond is near the entrance to Assumption College, or that a friend has the misconception that Agawam had a toxic waste dump, but it really brightened the subject's day!