Food for thought
Every year, The University of Chicago rolls out the topics for its much vaunted UNcommon Application. It is chock full of oddities and a bizarre twist or two–in fact, it kind of reminds me of you all. So much more fun, though, than the run of the mill, “Tell us why you’re right for our university.”
From time to time I’ll post the current and past questions. Feel free to comment on them. They’re designed to be essays, so the topics may seem sprawling; you’re welcome to shorten your response. But I like their general take: show us how you think; how you tackle a problem; how you respond creatively.
Our Current Topic:
Chicago author Nelson Algren said, “A writer does well if in his whole life he can tell the story of one street.” Chicagoans, but not just Chicagoans, have always found something instructive, and pleasing, and profound in the stories of their block, of Main Street, of Highway 61, of a farm lane, of the Celestial Highway. Tell us the story of a street, path, road—real or imagined or metaphorical.
Filed under: Food for Thought and
Ernest Hemingway’s greatest work might not be The Sun Also Rises or The Old Man and the Sea, but a short, six word sentence that manages to be a short story: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” So now I’ll try my hand at a short short story about the road:
Worker needed to repair road. Must be strong, smart, and unafraid of ghosts.
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this topic is a bit confusing..
when i think of “the story of one street” i think of where someone has grown up and how that “street” has influenced the person. I think all people have a story, whether they choose not to tell or not. Everything that they feel, everything that they do has a certain purpose and i think where they grew up influences them in a great way. Some people may have grown up in a place of poverty or wealth, but wherever they have grown up from, whether they like it or not, provides them with a new experience. I think these experiences help them in the future–sometimes as a trial and error period.
i’m actually confused now, so i’ll just leave it at that.
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i know a good joke about a road worker but its meant to be said in russian. so it starts with two road workers doing some work on a highway in russia. they are talking and singing old folk songs when all the sudden an official vehicle with soviet flags fluttering from the hood stop near them. the driver asks,” hey how do i get to st. petersburg from here(in russian)?” neither of the workers hear what he is asking because of the music. the driver askes again,”how do i get to st. petersburg(in german)? again neither of the two understand what he is saying. extremely frustrated the driver askes in english one last time if they know the route. no reply from either of them and so the driver punches the gas and drives off. both workers are confused and one says to the other,” hey maybe we should go back to the university and learn a different language.” the other turns to him and says,” what a dumb idea, that man knew three and it didnt help him.”
o russian humor so funny
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i wish i was as clever as dylan!!!! how clever!@#!@!249u0!!!
i believe that most people see streets through their car windows, peering out as if a movie was playing. whenever i’m in the car (and not driving), i stare out one the side windows, staring at the houses, people, other cars, or just the plain open road pass by me like a film strip. each time you go down the same road, you may notice something you didn’t see before, or you may see familiar faces walking on the sidewalk or cars driving next to you. when i’m going down my street, i can watch the old memories of climbing the tree in front of my neighbor’s house, dragging my wagon across the street to go to the park, or waiting for my brother to come home from school.
so i guess if i were writing an essay for this topic, i would talk about my own street- about driving down it everyday, yet always noticing something new, whether it be an old memory revived or … i don’t know. maybe i wouldn’t write about this because it took me a really long time to think of what to write. SORRY!!!!!
and that’s all i can think of.. sorray..!!
have a nice day!!!
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sorry but..
so the workers did understand the driver? or didn’t…?
i dunno anything.
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As I ventured around mid-town Manhattan with my family one day, I was struck by a pair of creepy men inhabitiing the alley. Humming along to “No Remorse” by the infamous Metallica, I noticed that they were playing dice against the wall of a rundown pawn shop. The first man that I made eye contact with in that alley, gave me a discomforting look with his one and only eyeball! After that, I found my mom and we booked it to times square then pushing our way into the “Hard Rock”, out of fear of that the one eyed scary-man in the squalid allie way would have followed us. I firmly believe that that day was one of the most terrifying moments of my life. Now whenever my family deciedes to roam New York City, I refuse to walk anywhere near the vacinity of that particular alley.
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hehe
I like Brian’s joke
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i completely agree with the quote by Nelson Algren. Writers have always taken inspiration from the things they have seen on the streets. By observing what is going on around them, writers can write about situations and people that they have never personally encountered. If writers only wrote about things that they have experienced they would quickly run out of things to write and their stories would be very limited
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So my friend and I stumbled upon this as a fun opportunity. While his creativeness was exponential, I had to tone it down a bit for school purposes =).
The shallow road before me was dark and unlit. I knew I had to trek into the darkness, but would I survive? The street light flickered as a metronome for my heart’s beat. I stumbled down the hill because I was crippled, the multiple sclerosis was taking control ever so steadily. I walked into a liquor store illuminated by its bright neon sign. It must be closing time soon, so I have to get out. I grabbed my two packs of Marlboro’s, my favorite brand since I saw Clint Eastwood as a child. I saw shadowed figures at the end, but I knew I had to keep moving.
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i was going to say that was nice…but that word doesnt meaure up! haha when i read that i felt like a really old man. is that weird? ive never felt like that before. but yeah nadir thats cute. thanks for sharing that
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yes, melanie, that’s weird.
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As I walked along the dusty road, all I could hear was the whistling of the winter air rushing past my ear. The farmland was dead silent, causing me to hear the unsteady beat of my heart. A few feet ahead of me, a tumbleweed strolled casually across the road capturing every little speck of dust imaginable. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a rustling in the tall wheat patch, but the rustling was not that of an animal’s but more of something larger, something that was easily bigger than me. As if i was mystically drawn by the suspense, I nearded towards the rustling putting my self in severe potential danger.
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