The Great Aim of Education is not Knowledge but Action - Herbert Spencer

This American Life - The House on Loon Lake

Doing reading responses for college. Professor tells us about Glass, and I'm the only one who knows about it.

Here is what I got out of it:

                I see two versions of my life when I listen to Adam interviewing both his childhood life and the secrets of this abandoned family.

               A cross between a nostalgic past of "Adventure Time" with some buddies, practically brothers, where we would bring our brand new .177 BB gun, solid black and cold like the night. Rope, hatchets, and some knives - as we kept telling each other we were going to actually catch something - then eat it; none of us were hunters and got queasy at the sight of blood, besides Zack, who wanted to be a brain surgeon. Brandon would carry the gun, and I, a camera, documenting a life - at first I never could really explain to my parents; trespassing on old logging roads with backpacks, determined we would make it a week out in the sticks. We never did. We were 17.

                The other version is once I turned 18 - where this documentation turned into an art form that I consider to be my strongest asset. For my senior project, I filmed a documentary about art therapy, I filmed my friend Brandon - who dealt with dysthymia, as he drew intricate and detailed portraits of friends and actors. I began to discover sides of people I thought I'd never see again - all I had to remember it by was this film. The interview that reminded me most of Adam's story was my next door neighbor, Dave. We called him Old Dave, as a joke, because he was withered, with his walker. Alone and what I got, as a cold feeling every time I would see him - he was the gold of my story, after I heard that he had a past that was bleak and hopeful. Contradictory. He fought in Vietnam - suffering from PTSD - and painted his troubles away. In the little town of Cottage Grove - his family, now most gone, built some of the foundation of places I'd often visit.

                These two versions, I take away a lot of my history, just like the scrap of paper that Adam hesitated towards the trash can in the motel as he leaves - the weight finally off his shoulders - I feel the same, sticking it into my jacket, and my camera in hand.

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