The End of 2007

I'll talk about the holidays some other time, but now I'm in the empty student center at Vassar, checking up on things. The guy a few kiosks behind me has been playing Morphine out loud for the past 15 minutes, and I'm really tempted to turn around and request "Whisper".


Happy New Year.

Jesus H. Christ, Hollywood...

They know what causes babies now, y'know. And it's not something in the water.

Why we have more fun when we're young:

LOVE (imagine that it's flashing; hell, throw in some jazz hands, too) is much more entertaining than actual settled-down-wouldn't-trade-grow-old-together love.

Think about it.

Hypocrisy and Comfort Levels

At work:

So, I walk around the corner, headed to the bathroom, and over in the corner is a girl laying stretched on the floor next to her laptop, which is playing (out loud, no headphones) what sounds like Carrie Underwood. I keep walking, mentally shaking my head and thinking "Geez, what does she think this is, her living room?" and am forced to remind myself that I'm on the way to the bathroom in order to brush my teeth.

Always the best

I stay in reasonably close contact with a friend that I worked with at Buffalo's Cafe, during my (original) college days. Today, we're chatting online when he receives a phone call from another former Buffalo's employee. She called to tell him that another co-worker of ours had died two months ago in a housefire.

Man. I don't even know what to say about that. I remember her so well. She was, first of all, a gorgeous girl. She was also sweet, sassy, and smart, and one of the hardest workers I've ever known. We called her "The Machine".

She was one of the good ones, y'know? It's so weird how things like this happen, not only to good people, but seemingly to a small group of individuals; for example, college students who worked at Buffalo's during the late 90s. We lost another coworker several years ago to a drunk driver, and just this past year another individual who was a regular musician at Buffalo's died suddenly from cancer.

I guess sometimes we need a reminder that life and death are inescapable and without judgement.

Bibliomania

"I have been asked to write a foreword to this bibliography, a work whose good fortune I truly desire, but the nature of whose value or interest to anybody I do not understand. As for myself, I am a collector of sea-shells. I live in the strong though ebbing hope of finding someday on a briefly uncovered sand-bar a right-handed Left-Handed Whelk; or even, someday, after propitious foul weather, of digging out of the beach under the jealous eyes of hundreds who dare not quite attack me and wrest it from me, a perfect Junonia. The very thought of the words "Conus gloria-maris, Hwass" fills me with an ecstasy of longing and despair. But the sight of the words "matchless copy of Hookes' Amanda, with both blank leaves G5 and H" leaves me unaffected. However, as I said, to this bibliography, and to its compiler and to its readers, I wish good fortune. As a maniac in one department, I salute the maniacs in another: may sweet Insanity forever charm our days."

-Edna St.Vincent Millay, foreword to A Bibliography of the Works of ESVM by Karl Yost

The Little Engine that Couldn't

If you know me at all, you're probably aware that I am fiercely competitive, and that I hate to be seen as weak. As much as I might try to believe that women can do anything men can, sometimes, it must be admitted that it's simply not true. Particularly if one is a moderately short woman.

This move has been an interesting experiment in being honest with myself and saying "Face it, Sam. You can't pick up that box and carry it to the car." I'll probably find some other physical activity with which to destroy my body, but I'm proud of myself for acknowledging my limitations. It still sucks that I can't just move everything myself, but what are you going to do? Sometimes it has to be all about the little victories, no?

Hobbies?

This weekend we went to a birthday tea party for a very cool friend of mine. We passed an enjoyable afternoon nibbling on pastries and drinking copious amounts of tea whilst chatting away with said friend and her (equally cool) friends. Now, when I call my friend "cool", I mean it. She's a special collections cataloger, she used to fence, she dabbles heavily in costumery, sewing, cooking, belly dancing...she does a lot. She always has some kind of project going. Her friends would seem to be equally inclined, and at some point in the conversation, we're asked "So, what do you do when you're not being librarians?" And suddenly, I feel intimidated. What are my hobbies??

Fencing, admittedly, can be a pretty all-encompassing hobby. But what do I do if I'm not fencing? Singing, too, can take up a lot of one's time, but I'm not doing that these days. What else? I like doing the crossword in the morning. I spend way too much time on the Internet. I like the usual reading, listening to music, and watching movies, but would I call any of those a hobby? Not particularly. I used to do cross-stitch when I was younger. I can sometimes be counted on to go to the gym regularly. I really like hanging out with my husband. Occasionally we go roller-blading.

So, let's say that, beyond fencing, I don't really have any hobbies. Seeing as I really only fence maybe once or twice a week, what on earth is it that I spend the rest of my time doing? I have no idea. I don't even watch that much television. Must be the Internet.

The natural progression here is to say "Well then, get yourself a hobby!" quickly followed by "What are you interested in? What would you like to do?"

...
...
...

No effing clue. If I look at myself hard in the mirror, I realize that I am not a particularly creative person. Sure, I've tried art and writing and dance, and I'm so-so at all of them, but if I try to think of something I'd actually like to do with my time, none of those jump out at me. Sewing, etc. seems cool sometimes, mostly because in the library world it seems a lot of people go in for that kind of thing. I've been there, done that on the music front, although I'd like to make an honest try of learning to play those tin whistles I've got lying around.

I find myself leaning toward the physical. I'd like to roller-blade more. I could always fence more. One of my best friends (another highly multi-faceted and hobby-laden individual) is now firmly ensconced in the world of roller derby, and man! that looks fun. Ballroom dancing looks interesting, although I think I require some form of outside motivation, and I'm not really sure competitive ballroom fits the bill for me. I'd like to take yoga or Pilates classes, too.

So, there's a few things I could come up with. The problem then becomes being disciplined enough to do them. Plus, with a lot of the physical pastimes, there's an issue of money. In order to do things right, you need teachers and coaches, and in the case of fencing equipment and tournaments (or at least I do - again, the competitive thing).

The ultimate question, then, is "Am I just being lazy?" Lots of hobbies cost money. Sewing costs money to buy materials, etc. My friends with lots of hobbies are no less busy and no more monied than I, yet they find the time and the means to do all the things they do. So what's my problem? Is there some fabulous hobby somewhere that I've not thought of that I should be tapping into? Or should I just become one of the television-happy masses?

Seriously, if anyone's paying attention, I'd love to hear suggestions. Seeing as I'm about to move across the country and spend the next 6 months without my husband or a computer at home, I might as well try some new stuff, no?

PS - In reading back over this post, I think that the issue of "motivation" is a big factor for me. I'd want to do something with my hobby, if you get my meaning. With fencing, I've traveled a fair bit and won a few medals here and there, and that seems to be enough, so it's not major motivation, but there does have to be some. Guess that's something to think about.

American Gangster

The dilemma: I love Russell Crowe. I hate gangster movies. What do I do?

Positive reviews all over the place, even in the LA Times! Russell gets bad press from E!Online gossip columnists who want to maintain his poopy-pants image! Oscar buzz is rampant! He does the press dance, adorably imitating his son Charlie on Leno! And the crowning insult: American Gangster is up against Bee Movie for the weekend box office crown. As much as I love Russell Crowe, I loathe Jerry Seinfeld.

...But I really don't like gangster movies. I actually kind of actively dislike gangster movies. It's not like "Eh, I'm not feelin' it", it's more "Ugh, power-lusting men with guns. Pass."

Stay tuned for the resolution. We really might have to go see it, if only to do my part to keep Seinfeld from taking the box office.

Sigh.

Out of the Deep End

I'm sure it's occurred to me before now, but I really thought about it last night: I haven't lived in that many different parts of the US, but I've traveled a fair bit, and this place easily has the most advertisements for cosmetic surgery ... and by "easily the most" I mean there are tons. Ugh.

Entertainment

This weekend we (along with my brother and a good friend) had the distinct pleasure of seeing the Royal Shakespeare Company's staging of King Lear, starring Ian McKellen.
While there are always things to be nit-picky about, staging or someone's delivery for example, overall I found the play absolutely riveting. We of course wanted to see Sir Ian onstage. The appearance of Sylvester McCoy, a former Dr. Who, as the Fool was also exciting. But really, it made me realize that it's been quite some time (indeed, I can't remember the last) since I've seen real, honest-to-god theatre. McKellen and the actor playing Edgar, in particular, were really quite phenomenal and disappeared into their characters. I felt so sorry for Lear.

It being Los Angeles, we had a pretty exciting celeb encounter: Tom Hanks, his wife Rita Wilson, and two of their sons (I think they have more) were in the audience for the Saturday matinee. As a testament to McKellen's acting, at some point my brother said "You know, it's pretty impressive, really. 'Cause, you know, (pointing) that's Tom Hanks over there, but (pointing to the stage) that is not really Ian McKellen, is it?"

Indeed.

ABC, are you watching?

That's Jonathan Papelbon, the Red Sox's scary-ass closer, celebrating their Division win. Supposedly he's quoted as saying "Next stop, Dancing with the Stars". Dude. DWTS needs a baseball player; they haven't had one yet. Plus, once you stop laughing, recognize that the boy can actually dance. And finally, look at him in his skivvies. Boy is ripped. He would look good in a tux, is all I'm sayin'.

Fascination

I really want to know about John Linnell's college career, but no-one seems to know anything. Alas.

Apocalypse?

Thought #1: I absolutely refuse to believe that Britney Spears might actually have semi-decent taste in literature.
Thought #2: Wait a minute. She can read?

Take that, LA Times!

This morning I finished my second Friday crossword ever. That sucker's hard. Soon I'll be graduating to the NY Times. Go me.

Double Standards

I've only been meaning to post about this for a couple of months now. Somehow, the time was never right, so I've just decided to go for it.

I would not describe myself as a feminist. For the most part, I think feminism, by the usual definition, goes overboard. I like to think of all people as equal, and I'd like to be treated as such. I think that, too often, special interest groups move past equality and get a little too wrapped up in the "special". So, whereas I am a reasonably liberated female member of the species, I try to treat everyone in the same manner, and I try to maintain a sense of humor about expressions in our society that others tend to see as sexist, racist, or whatever.

However. I do have a problem when it comes to the double standards that are rampant in our society with regards to things like gender/race relations. To wit, the treatment and expression of men in ways that, if applied to women, would most likely bring outcry and potential bodily harm to the expressor. For example: I have seen, in the past few months, the following two t-shirts on young ladies. One was on her way to class, the other was grocery shopping, with a male companion.

Exhibit A: He's Just an Accessory
Exhibit B: Boyfriends Make Good Pets

Whoa, dude. Seriously, if a man had on a shirt that said "Girlfriends Make Good Pets", he would be lynched. Let's not even consider the ramifications of what would happen if the subject of that fashion statement was somehow racially charged. And how is that fair? Maybe the normal male would not be offended by such a statement, but seriously, I'm kind of offended for him. I think it's vile to say anything about "making a good pet" about another human being. If you know me at all, you know how much I love my cats, but they still do not take the place of my husband or my family members. And the "accessory" statement goes even further, relegating a human being to the same importance as an inanimate object!

I guess the bottom line for me is that I'd be willing to bet that either of those young ladies would consider themselves reasonably liberated, at least in terms of having their own life, not being dependent on a male, planning or having a career of their own, etc. Maybe they even think that their choice of fashion statement is in some way liberated. But really, those statements are still a part of the problem. Yes, men and women are different. But we're all here on this earth and in this society together, and we do deserve to be treated equally, at least in terms of showing respect for a fellow human being. You know, as opposed to pets and accessories.

We can't be silent

They Might Be Giants played "She's an Angel" for me (just for me, unless you can prove otherwise) Friday night during their show at the House of Blues in Anaheim. A zillion thanks to Mr. Kasper for getting us off our butts and out to the show. It was totally awesome. Plus, I have an adorable new t-shirt! We like Hammurabi best, with his emo haircut...

Edit: Check the video!! The Mesopotamians

Shattered Youth

The book I'm reading right now is entitled The Story of Britain: from the Romans to the Present: A Narrative History. So far it's really cool. It's history, but it reads fairly well. Not too sleep-inducing. Anyway, last night I just got through King John, and I'll be moving on to the Plantagenet kings next. Of the chapters I read last night, it's the last two I want to talk about: Richard the Lionheart and John. I also want to talk about Disney.

Now then. I'm not going to pretend to be astonished to learn that the bulk of Disney movies/stories, particularly if based on actual historical events, are very much historically inaccurate. This does not come as a shock. Still. I have to admit to being a little bummed out last night, in reading about the sons of Henry II, to learn that my absolute favorite Disney classic, Robin Hood, is really quite a historical mess. There's very little mention of Robin Hood himself in The Story of Britain, which is fine. He is mentioned, however, in conjunction with Prince John, as a means of demonstrating the historical characterization of John as the snivelling, money-hungry, bad-guy younger brother of the fabulous Coeur de Lion. This is not to say that he was a saint. He wasn't that great a king, really. But here's the shocking part: neither was Richard. Let's look at this through the lens of Robin Hood, shall we?

First of all, I was interested to learn that the concept of an English sheriff originated from the Anglo-Saxon times, died out for a bit after the Norman invasion, and was re-instated (I think) by Henry II. Moving on, though. Robin Hood tells us that the noble and glorious King Richard is on Crusade and that evil Prince John has taken over the throne, where he delights in taxing the heart and soul out of the good people of Nottingham, correct? Peripherally, the implication is that the Queen Mother, Eleanor of Acquitaine, is not in the picture, and that John was a mama's boy. I always got the impression that Eleanor was already dead during the action of the cartoon. Ready for the "historically inaccurate" part? Here goes.

Richard was indeed on Crusade, but John did not "take over the throne". He was given jurisdiction (by Richard) over some parts of England and France. He did become King after Richard's death, but that's neither here nor there. Richard was on Crusade for a while, and then on the way home he was captured and held for ransom by European enemies. All that taxation? It was actually Richard who introduced exorbitant taxes during the period in order to pay for his Crusade. The taxation continued, egged on by Eleanor in order to pay Richard's ransom. Eleanor was not only still around, she actually outlived her son Richard. And while the book doesn't make any mention of John's relationship with his mother, there's quite a bit of history to tell us that John was his father's favorite to the point where Henry II actually tried to take lands and money away from his other sons to give to John. Being the youngest, John had no inheritance for himself.

The truth is that neither Richard nor John was the King their father was; they were just different. Richard was hardly ever IN England, being off on Crusade or worrying about his French lands and scrapping with the French king. John was actually very present and involved in his kingdom even at a local level, but he was greedy and a bit tyrannical a la the Disney version.

Again, it's not a revelation that a Disney cartoon, intended for kids, is not the way to learn one's history. I guess what struck me was just that this was my favorite Disney movie. I still watch it every couple of months. Prior to last night, it was pretty much everything I knew about that particular bit of British history. And as a kid, certainly, it never occurs to you that it's not accurate; I guess some things hold over into adulthood. Prince John was evil, King Richard was good, Robin Hood was a hero, and so on. Sure, it's just a movie, and a kid's one at that. As an adult, I do know that things are rarely so black-and-white, and that movies of a certain type are made to entertain rather than teach. I guess I'm just a little sad that one of my favorite parts of childhood has been clouded a bit by shades of grey, and that I will probably never look at it in quite the same way again.

Note to self:

The reason that college girl looks so effing tiny to you is that she is probably 18, which makes her 14 years younger than you, and not necessarily that she has a better body/is anorexic/eats healthfully/works out all day.

Revelation.

Rage

I just saw the following t-shirt on an obese individual at the grocery store:

This working out thing isn't working out.

Ha ha fucking ha.

A weekend, mostly fencing

(Xposted from LJ, but hey, it's better than nothing, n'est-ce pas?)

I have the sinusy-cold thing that's going around. How fun.

I fenced a women's epee tournament yesterday, and finally won my first direct elimination bout in California. I'm reading The Inner Game of Tennis, which was recommended to me by one of the coaches at my club. Well, yes, it's about tennis, but really it's about sports psychology through the medium of tennis; specifically the notion that we have two selves when engaging in most activities: a doer and a talker. The talker doesn't really know how to do anything and just spends a lot of time criticizing the doer. Hence, an inner game: learning to shut up the talker and be non-judgmental about what one is doing. The idea is that if you let your body (the doer, more or less) just do what you've trained it to do, it's going to work better. So moving from that, my goal yesterday was really just to stay relaxed, try not to focus so hard, and see what happened. Well, what happened was that I went 6-1 (lost to the eventual winner*) in my pool, seeded 4th out of pools thus earning a bye into the round of 16, annihilated a C07 in my first DE (15-4), and lost in the round of 8 to a tall, skinny B, 15-11, placing me ultimately in 5th place out of 26 women. I was actually really happy w/that last bout, too, because I was moving pretty well and correcting things as I went along. It was fencing. If I'd won that bout I would've updated my C, which would have been awfully nice, but I'm not complaining. It was a solid result. I can't say I was relaxed the whole time or that "the talker" was completely silent, but it showed some promise. Focusing on something other than the immediate task at hand would appear to have some merit.

Guess that's the update for me. Andrew is ridiculously busy with choral goings-on, and things are pretty good here. Looking forward to a visit to Bloomington this month, as well as the afore-mentioned King Lear, which Ben & Austin will make the trip out to see. Yay!!

Hope everyone has a good week. :)

*Eventual winner being 19, about 100 pounds, 5'10" or so, and apparently a member of the Swedish National Team. She smoked everybody yesterday, so I don't feel too terrible.

I'm a crappy blogger

I keep trying to come up with a gimmick, and nothing works. Perhaps I'm just not a gimmicky person. Oh well. Is there anybody who reads this thing, anyway?

Happy Birthday, W.B. Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
~The Second Coming

Tiny Superhero!!

Who: Punto the Piranha.
Why: Because he arrived in my mailbox today.
No really, WHY?: Ok. So my husband has turned me into a Twins fan. And me being me, I don't normally go in for the big superstar players. So when Ozzie Guillen, coach of the White Sox, labeled some of the Twins players "Piranhas" last year (because they get in there, get little hits, get on base, steal bases, and just sort of pick at you) I was a fan. And then, as a promotion, the Twins created these little guys. And I just HAAAAD to have one. Now, thanks to eBay, I do! His name is Punto. Punto the Piranha. Named for my current favorite Twins player and the de facto "Head Piranha" himself, #8, third base, Nick Punto.

Isn't he the cutest thing you've ever seen?!

I need a hero!

Who: Donald Faison.
Why:


Honorable mention to The Fug Girls, who posted this link, and really, are my heroes every day.

Today's hero(ine)

Who: Sarah Silverman.
Why: Do you even need to ask? For slamming Paris Hilton (I mean slamming) at the VMAs last night. With Paris in the audience. I'm not going to post it, but the video is everywhere (TheSuperficial, TMZ, etc.), and you might want to turn the sound down if you're in a more public area. Honorable mention goes to the audience at the VMAs, who practically went into a standing ovation when Silverman said "Tomorrow, Paris Hilton is going to jail." Woo, indeed.

Perhaps someday we'll have enough sense to stop caring about what these people do. Or just throw 'em in a cell with all the other inmates as opposed to giving them special treatment because they've got lots of money. Bastards.

Hero of the Day™

Who: Dog Davis.
Why: Because he wrote this article, in which he has the following to say about new Diet Coke Plus-

"There are now six types of Diet Coke; seven if you include Coca-Cola Zero. The latest is Diet Coke Plus. Plus what? Vitamins and minerals, of course. Each 12-ounce can contains small amounts of vitamins B6 and B12, as well as niacin, magnesium and zinc. It has a funky aftertaste, but that's not really the point. How messed up are you if you're drinking a caffeinated, artificially sweetened, flavored soda for its nutritional value? 'Man, this tastes funny, but at least I'm getting 15% of my daily allowance of zinc!' You want vitamins and minerals in your drink? Go to Jamba Juice."

Awesome.

Hero of the Day™

Everyone needs a hero, right? I have often had a "Hero of the Day": someone who just makes my day a little brighter in some way. It could be someone I actually know, someone in the news, a group, a fictional character...whoever! So it occurs to me that this could be an amusing thing to blog. I am inspired (appropriately enough) by my very first Hero of the Day™.

Who: Steven Van Dahm
Why: Steve is a friend of my husband's. He runs a great forum for their group of college friends, on which they discuss ... well, mostly video games, but internet weirdness, current events, music, any and all manner of subjects. Anyway, a recent topic of discussion revolved around the fact that Steve looks a bit (I largely disagree) like Ethan Suplee. Now, my favorite Ethan Suplee moment is when he gets totally pwned by the kids in Mallrats, and so my addition to the discussion was about how I'd love to hear Steve deliver that particular line.

Well, he obliged. And that makes him the very first officially blogged Hero of the Day™.

Book babbling

I promise I'll babble about books some more, really really soon:

Song of Solomon, Twilight/New Moon.

Edit:

I lied. It's been too long, and frankly, Song of Solomon just didn't impress me that much. As for Twilight and New Moon, all I can say is that if you are female and enjoy YA fantasy, GO READ THEM NOW. The third installment comes out on August 7th, which just so happens to be the day before my birthday.

Now, I did just finish Steppenwolf, and so I can probably say a few things about that.

1. Siddhartha is better.
2. The titular Steppenwolf may have been a learned man, but ultimately, I don't think he got it.
3. It's interesting that, as dated in some ways as the novel is, it's still pretty resonant. There are still those of us who consider ourselves intellectual and therefore outside of the mundane (bourgeois to Mr. Hesse), and there's a lot we could learn from Harry Haller.
4. Good book. Not as beautifully poetic as Siddhartha, and much more earthly bound. Still, I'd recommend it. Pay attention to the introduction; it's important.

I am on to Shakespeare (A Winter's Tale, I can't wait) and Jane Austen's minor works, as soon as they come in at the library. Plus I'll need to re-read HBP and The Golden Compass at some point. I gave up on some heavily literary-referential sci-fi jaunt called Hyperion. I gave it a honest, Nancy Pearl-worthy try, but it was just too much for me. If you want theology + sci-fi, go read Mary Doria Russell instead.

WaH

Hey. Wanna read me whine? Oh, c'mon, you know you do.

I don't feel good.
I am bored with my life.
I hate my job.
I don't want to be a grownup.
I feel like my friends have all forgotten me. They never email, hardly ever message, unless they want something, of course.

I suppose I could be all verbose about this shit, but I don't really feel up to it right now, and since it's just me whining, what's the point anyway?

There now. Wasn't that fun?

No wait, I'll elaborate one some counts, lest you think me a selfish child. My friends are busy. I know that. School is ending, and most of them are probably pulling their hair out right now. And I guess, really, if I didn't have friends who were smart and good in school, I'd be somebody different. I'd rather have the smart friends. It's just that some of them still find time to log onto networking sites and blog and do things online, and it's after a few weeks that I feel ignored. I wrote a friend recently and said something along the lines of "You know, I think people could send me an empty envelope in the mail, and I would still feel loved based on the fact that they took the time to write my name and put a stamp on and put it in the mailbox."

I feel compelled to point out that the friend I wrote that to has not yet responded. Shocking, I know.

So I'm only slightly selfish. I know they're busy. I just don't think anyone understands how truly emotionally high-maintenance I am. And you know, I tend to think that I do a lot for my friends. I go out of my way to be there for them. I only ask for a little of that back, but I feel like I don't even get that much, most of the time.

Or maybe I'm just a jerk.

Now, are you sure you wanted me to elaborate?

How to Read Literature Like a Professor, Thomas C. Foster

From Amazon.com (unspecified otherwise)
In this practical and amusing guide to literature, Thomas C. Foster shows how easy and gratifying it is to unlock those hidden truths, and to discover a world where a road leads to a quest; a shared meal may signify a communion; and rain, whether cleansing or destructive, is never just rain. Ranging from major themes to literary models, narrative devices, and form, How to Read Literature Like a Professor is the perfect companion for making your reading experience more enriching, satisfying, and fun.

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Plus, he provides me with an awesome reading list! This book was recommended by my friend Lindsay, and was much enjoyed. The language is what really makes it great: one definitely gets the feeling that one is sitting in on a favorite kooky professor's lecture. Thought-provoking, too...I caught myself thinking back on past reads in attempts to decipher things I'd missed the first time. I actually ended up buying a copy of this, as I feel that it'll be more useful in the long run in terms of learning to read more sensitively. Still, it's a fun read, and if you enjoy reading literature I'd suggest it. And man, there's that reading list. He mentions a lot of stuff I've meant to read but never got 'round to, plus a few things I wouldn't ordinarily have considered, but that sound reasonably interesting. As a matter of fact, I've already gone through Toni Morrison's Song of Solomon, which he raves about, and am currently chewing through T.S. Eliot and Joyce's Dubliners. So, stay tuned for those. Reading is fun, kids!

Hey.

I love you.

Go tell somebody else.

To continue: I'm becoming mildly obsessed with the news stories from Va Tech. On IU Fencing's Facebook group, we've discussed their fencers. Their website says that they're all ok, I guess as far as the webmaster knows. I don't really know any of them, but they were at College Nationals this year and last, so I thought of them quickly. I think about all the friends I have in college. I think about the fact that I and my husband work on a college campus... many, many people I know are somehow affiliated with colleges. Morbid, yes. But really, how can you help thinking about it when these things happen? I think that if this happened at IU or at Southern, I would just get on a plane and go. There would simply be no way that I could deal with the situation until I was there and could see my friends with my own eyes.

I read an article today that was discussing why people do things like this. It's not new; the article seemed to state the reasons why were different, though, based on the demands of society today. I think about anyone I know that's ever been termed a "loner", myself included. Could I ever do something like that? No. It makes me want to walk up to anyone sitting alone or looking sad and say "Hey. How are you today? Do you need to talk?"

I dunno. I think all we can do is love each other as much as possible. It's hard to say what else really matters.

Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card

From The New York Times Book Review, Gerald Jonas
. . . an affecting novel full of surprises that seem inevitable once they are explained. The key, of course, is Ender Wiggin himself. Mr. Card never makes the mistake of patronizing or sentimentalizing his hero. Alternately likable and insufferable, his is a convincing little Napoleon in short pants.

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No, Mr. Card certainly never patronizes or sentimentalizes Ender. And that's what makes the book so weird. As a sci-fi novel, it's perfectly cool; the dialogue is what you'd expect, the writing is so-so, the imaginative qualities are excellent, but the main characters are little kids. Preternaturally brilliant little kids, grant you, but kids just the same. And honestly, it's hard to remember that. So it gives the book a rather unusual dynamic. Beyond that, though, it's a pretty good read. The descriptions of all the War Games sound awfully fun...can't wait for anti-grav laser tag. On the more literary side, though, Card actually does an admirable job of probing the inner workings of humanity. Surrounding the brilliant little boy is a big problem ... that's been dealt with in a tragically thoughtless fashion. I greatly enjoyed (well, sort of) Ender's struggles within himself to reconcile the part of him that is "human" with the part of him that is "monster". (Working hard for no spoilers, here.) The climax (as opposed to the ending) is sad on multiple levels, most of which have to do with humanity's stupidity. Actually, I suppose that "stupidity" could also be interpreted as "survival instinct," in which case it's hard to place blame in such a fashion.

...In thinking about it, I have an argument for it merely being stupidity. But to post that here would be necessarily spoiler-rich, so I won't.

Again, I'll recommend, but more for the sci-fi lover than for anyone with general literary interests. Science fiction writers so seldom have a way with the language. It's not so ridiculously sci-fi as to be utterly avoided if you've an aversion to such things, however. Somewhere in between Stranger in a Strange Land and Snowcrash on the geek scale, I'd say.

The Handmaid's Tale, Margaret Atwood

From Library Journal
In a startling departure from her previous novels ( Lady Oracle , Surfacing ), respected Canadian poet and novelist Atwood presents here a fable of the near future. In the Republic of Gilead, formerly the United States, far-right Schlafly/Falwell-type ideals have been carried to extremes in the monotheocratic government. The resulting society is a feminist's nightmare: women are strictly controlled, unable to have jobs or money and assigned to various classes: the chaste, childless Wives; the housekeeping Marthas; and the reproductive Handmaids, who turn their offspring over to the "morally fit" Wives. The tale is told by Offred (read: "of Fred"), a Handmaid who recalls the past and tells how the chilling society came to be. This powerful, memorable novel is highly recommended for most libraries. BOMC featured alternate. Ann H. Fisher, Radford P.L., Va.

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Fascinating and scary in the the Huxley/Orwell-ian sense. Fundamentalists have taken over. Women cannot hold jobs, and are forbidden to read. The narrator is the titular handmaid, government-issued to the older scions in the community and then forced to produce children in order to maintain her position. It's sad and frightening in that this woman remembers her life before, where she had a job and a husband and a child ... all of which taken away from her. The language is very simple and direct, yet still narrative. I enjoyed noticing the multiple references and metaphors for parts of the body. The entirety of society is in some way sexually repressed ... even the men are not really supposed to enjoy the act of intercourse. There's also a lot of reference to color; women's roles in the society are color-coded. "Marthas" are green, Wives are blue (Virgin Mary reference, perhaps?), and Handmaids are red. The narrator's sense of the importance of color is striking in a world that attempts to remove much of what is enjoyable and aesthetic from society.

Ultimately, though, Atwood makes a bit of a departure from Orwell's 1984 and Huxley's Brave New World in that this fundamentalist society is a sham. Even the heads of the community secretly acknowledge that there is still a desire, or perhaps a "need" for what they call depravity. The Wives and the Marthas typically despise the Handmaids, yet there are still times where all three classes join together in breaking the rules - a moment of sisterly solidarity. There is, of course, an underground movement of questionable authenticity as well.

I recommend this. The language finds the balance between artistic and prosaic. Plus, as with any of these "watch out for the future" type things, there are warnings and messages to be had. Perhaps in the final count, Atwood wants us to simply be grateful for the freedoms that we have.

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Sadly, I had to leave this, and now coming back to it I am not positive I managed to remember what else I wanted to say. This whole "book report" thing is going to be an experiment in reading/processing sensitively. I'm probably going to be reading a fair amount of literary criticism in the near future in order to aid me in that goal. Stay tuned for Ender's Game, and perhaps the long-promised comparison of Will in the World and Shakespeare by Another Name. Don't expect anything great from that one, though. I procrastinate too often; it's been a while now since I finished them.

Books?

I suppose, if all else fails, I could use this space to write about the books I read. With that in mind, I'll see if I can't come up with something shortly for the following:
1. The Handmaid's Tale, Atwood
2. Ender's Game, Card

Sick and tired?

I'm sick. Standard throat/sinus junkiness. Makes me feel groggy all the time. Won't be singing tonight. Fun and games.

Beyond the sick, I'm just having general feelings of blah-ness, and I'm trying to figure out where those are coming from.

My husband says that I'm very self-aware. I'd like to think so. I realize that everyone has baggage, and maybe I have more than most. I'm curiously anti-therapy, though. And so my self-awareness stems from a desire to work out my own problems. Biggest problem? Same as anyone: self-esteem. We've all got our ebb and flow. What I'm noticing lately, though, is that being (theoretically) on the cusp of things leaves me in some sort of gray zone where it's just ... kind of like the sinus thing, really. I don't feel bad, per se, but I just don't feel quite like me. Something's slightly off; my equilibrium is just the tiniest bit askew. So why am I off-balance, despite the appearance of being headed for some breakthroughs?

Job first. It has its ups and downs. Some things I like, some I don't. Changes are ahead though: I'm waiting to hear the results of an interview. I'm waiting to be scheduled for another one. And, I'm waiting to get started on adding some things to my current position which will help me move forward. So, things are on the horizon. Maybe it's the waiting, though...the notion of doing more or being more makes what I'm doing (or not, as the case may be) now that much more of an uncomfortable fit. Plus there's always the idea that all these other plans may fall through. Part of this, as well, stems from my looking at colleagues from graduate school and feeling as though they've succeeded that much faster than I have. I have, as my brother once called it, a "persecution complex," where I feel as though I'm somehow being singled out (by the universe?) in some way: missing out on job opportunities, losing touch with people (I think that it's something personal), or whatever. I take many things personally, I guess. Paranoia. Anxiety. Thanks, Mom!

So. What else? Well, I didn't make a New Years' Resolution to lose weight or get in shape or anything, but I simply took the opportunity to make the attempt to start good habits. And I've done pretty well. I go to the gym and do cardio at least twice a week. I do an upper- or lower-body weight routine at least 3 times a week. Ab routine 3 or 4 times. Plus I'm fencing again. So, once again, it can be assumed that better things are on the horizon. I can already see a difference in some things...I look a bit thinner, my arms are a bit more solid, etc. I'm working really hard on being patient, instead of doing the whole "Damn it, I've worked out for a week, why don't I look like a swimsuit model already?" thing. So maybe that patience is wearing a little thin, is all.

Maybe I'm just in a gloomy mood. I can't really pinpoint anything exactly that's got me down. I'm just down. I've rambled. At least "Ramblings" is the title of this blog, so I don't feel that I've misrepresented myself. I don't know if I had a point to make...I think I just wanted to get some of that stuff out. Perhaps if I think of a point later, I'll make it.

Don't Wanna

Some days I'm ok with getting older. Today, I just don't want to. Today I am wearing a suit. Wearing it poorly, I think. I got a haircut that I don't like that makes me look like Ramona Quimby. I feel like a little kid playing dress-up. Not just superficially, either. I go to work and I feel like I'm fooling people into believing that I know something about libraries and books and all. I mean, I have a diploma, but I feel so green sometimes. I feel that the only thing separating me from the student workers is the fact that I don't wear jeans every day. And honestly, sometimes I feel as though they're more knowledgeable, capable, and valued than I am. They know what's going on. My boss knows what's going on, too, but he doesn't often tell me. Why do they need me? I'm part-time and when I'm not there, a student does my job. I honestly don't know how to differentiate myself from that. The person who had this job before me was the first one to have the job at all, and he did the bare minimum, and students cover the desk when I'm not here, so it seems as though things were just fine without me here. I don't know how to make a mark.

I want to be a student again. I want to shuffle to class in jeans, flip flops, and my cut-off sweatshirt. I want to read Shakespeare and soak in what professors tell me. I want them to ask me questions so that I can think of things I've never thought of before. I don't know how to do it by myself. I don't want to worry about my vacation time, insurance, and what needs to be done. Let me be 20 again. Let me have my 20 self back. I promise I'll take better care of her this time. I won't eat such crap. I'll go to the dentist. Let me be beautiful and silly and thoughtless and carefree. Is it any surprise that I didn't value it when it was mine?

You know, I've spent a lot of time telling my younger friends that my apparent confidence and self-awareness is an act. I really believe that to be true. But sometimes, I feel like such a bad actor. The person that truly needs to be convinced is me, and I don't buy it; not for a second.

I'm whining. Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow. For today, though, I want to go home and read and eat junk food and not care about any of it. I think I lost my innocence the second I started caring.

When did I become old?