Monday, December 21, 2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
I'm having a thought here Barbossa...
You know, I really do like the movie Inglourious Basterds. My opinion of it wavered when my primary fellow-film-viewer/mentor expressed his dislike for it, but it was reaffirmed when I watched it twice some time after that with two different groups (that both liked it) , in two different places, and then managed to purchase it for $5. Looked like a good omen to me. The reasons I like it are not the subject of this posting and may be discussed elsewhere, but rather the reason anyone likes anything really.
Who's to say what's good or bad? I was listening to Charles Dickens "A Christmas Carol" on the radio today while making Christmas cookies, and while I have no aversion to the story itself (and am, in fact, rather fond of the Disney version) Charles Dickens is my literary mortal enemy. His nauseastingly excessive, paid-by-the-word verbosity is my main complaint, yet he is considered a god in the fiction classics pantheon. And by whom I wonder?
A similar thought has been bubbling in my head ever since I read Hamlet for the first time. Being extraordinarily invested in the works of the English canon of literature, I of course am a fan of Shakespeare, but not so much of Hamlet. Supposedly, it's the greatest work of Shakespeare, some say in the whole body of English literature, perhaps in all literature itself. But again, says who? I'm not saying that Hamlet is not great, because compared to most drama it is high above ordinary. But so are all of Shakespeares plays, all compared to other dramas, not to each other. The varying degrees and rankings of the plays within Shakespeare whole corps of work is of little interest to me in the realm of critical study because I find such a thing is a product of personal preference. Of course there are a great number or people of do not like Shakespeare, but I think that it would be safe to say that those type of people don't like any plays more than they do Shakespeare, or perhaps any other reading materials. (I have high school freshmen and perhaps some very strange adults in mind.) Just as I loathe Charles Dickens but acknowledge his fame and [some of] his stories as skilled, I think that most people, those who dislike him included, concede to Shakespeare's skill as a writer. But I digress.
This thought came to me attached to Hamlet's line "What's Hecuba to him, and he to Hecuba?" Here, Hamlet is pondering just how an actor who knows virtually nothing of Hecuba, was not emotionally or physically attached to her in any way, can summon up the passion to mourn so movingly for her. Meanwhile, he, Hamlet, has had his father murdered by his usurping Uncle who has stolen not only the crown and wife of his father, but the crown and his mother from him, and the ghost of his dead, wronged father came to have him swear to get revenge, and yet despite all this he can't bring himself to do anything about it. Depite my general dislike for the rest of the play (acknowledgement for the skill of the form and whatnot aside), I decided that this was the one part of the play I liked. Why? "I can no other answer make, but" that it has something to do with greek mythology, which is a subject that interests me to no end. Beyond that, I cannot be held responsible for the explanation of my likes and dislikes, or the mysterious meandering of my thoughts any more than you could. Basically, I like what I like and I think what I think and sometimes I don't really know why, but I do think that can be said of a great number of people too.
Who's to say what's good or bad? I was listening to Charles Dickens "A Christmas Carol" on the radio today while making Christmas cookies, and while I have no aversion to the story itself (and am, in fact, rather fond of the Disney version) Charles Dickens is my literary mortal enemy. His nauseastingly excessive, paid-by-the-word verbosity is my main complaint, yet he is considered a god in the fiction classics pantheon. And by whom I wonder?
A similar thought has been bubbling in my head ever since I read Hamlet for the first time. Being extraordinarily invested in the works of the English canon of literature, I of course am a fan of Shakespeare, but not so much of Hamlet. Supposedly, it's the greatest work of Shakespeare, some say in the whole body of English literature, perhaps in all literature itself. But again, says who? I'm not saying that Hamlet is not great, because compared to most drama it is high above ordinary. But so are all of Shakespeares plays, all compared to other dramas, not to each other. The varying degrees and rankings of the plays within Shakespeare whole corps of work is of little interest to me in the realm of critical study because I find such a thing is a product of personal preference. Of course there are a great number or people of do not like Shakespeare, but I think that it would be safe to say that those type of people don't like any plays more than they do Shakespeare, or perhaps any other reading materials. (I have high school freshmen and perhaps some very strange adults in mind.) Just as I loathe Charles Dickens but acknowledge his fame and [some of] his stories as skilled, I think that most people, those who dislike him included, concede to Shakespeare's skill as a writer. But I digress.
This thought came to me attached to Hamlet's line "What's Hecuba to him, and he to Hecuba?" Here, Hamlet is pondering just how an actor who knows virtually nothing of Hecuba, was not emotionally or physically attached to her in any way, can summon up the passion to mourn so movingly for her. Meanwhile, he, Hamlet, has had his father murdered by his usurping Uncle who has stolen not only the crown and wife of his father, but the crown and his mother from him, and the ghost of his dead, wronged father came to have him swear to get revenge, and yet despite all this he can't bring himself to do anything about it. Depite my general dislike for the rest of the play (acknowledgement for the skill of the form and whatnot aside), I decided that this was the one part of the play I liked. Why? "I can no other answer make, but" that it has something to do with greek mythology, which is a subject that interests me to no end. Beyond that, I cannot be held responsible for the explanation of my likes and dislikes, or the mysterious meandering of my thoughts any more than you could. Basically, I like what I like and I think what I think and sometimes I don't really know why, but I do think that can be said of a great number of people too.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Goal #1 (and 2 and 3, sort of)
Imagine that, I have goal already. It's a small goal, but it's not a bad idea to start out small when you're trying something new. Being a lover of language (I was going to make my url "langlove" but it wasn't available.) I have to decided to try not never to use any of that AIM-speech as I call it. Abbreviations of things that really don't need to be abbreviated like laugh out loud. Why can't you just say hahaha. How hard is that. Plus, the abbreviation doesn't even denote when you actually laugh out loud; it's just a stock statement, a reply you have to deliver to your friend to show that you're still "listening" to them even as you surf ebay or update twitter.
I'd like to point out, in the interest of avoiding accusations of hypocrisy that I do use "AIM-speech" when I go on aim, but I try to avoid saying the abbreviation of laugh out loud because it's just so overused, and a variety of other things I will not list here. Similarly related to AIM, I find that one's grammar and spelling tend to decline because of the fast pace of communication upon it, even mine. It is a habit and a talent of mine to find these such mistakes in published works, so I will try my best to keep them out of my writings. However, I am making it another one of my goals to not go back and revise these posts any further than minor errors because I think it will be more interesting to see my path of my stream of conciousness, even if I am my only reader.
I'd like to point out, in the interest of avoiding accusations of hypocrisy that I do use "AIM-speech" when I go on aim, but I try to avoid saying the abbreviation of laugh out loud because it's just so overused, and a variety of other things I will not list here. Similarly related to AIM, I find that one's grammar and spelling tend to decline because of the fast pace of communication upon it, even mine. It is a habit and a talent of mine to find these such mistakes in published works, so I will try my best to keep them out of my writings. However, I am making it another one of my goals to not go back and revise these posts any further than minor errors because I think it will be more interesting to see my path of my stream of conciousness, even if I am my only reader.
Vive la Revolution!
Well, I've decided to start a blog. I've just now watched Julie and Julia and was inspired to do so because something Julie Powell said got me thinking, simplistic as it may be; "I could write a blog. I have thoughts." And it is true; I have a folder in Microsoft word labeled "Thoughts." Just expressions of whenever I feel particularly wordy and feel like writing it down. Of course, being a book lover, I prefer paper, but it takes me so long to write things by hand that I have forget everything I was going to write about in the first place. My diary is proof of that. But her I am, embracing new technology. Though I had to remind myself to be patient as I waited for my computer to turn on, then for the internet to open without it lapsing into "Not Responding" Mode more than 5 times, all the while thinking I could simply get a pencil and open my diary and really wishing wishing I had a real typewriter, like the real Julia Child. I'll have to look into that.
It also really resonated with me that the Julie Powell could never finish any literary projects. My diary is yet another proof of that, as I have tried many times to diligently write in it every day which worked out for a couple months but then would slowly slip back into oblivion. I can't promise that I'm going to write every day, because I know I probably won't, so all I can say is that I'll try. I'm not exactly sure what this blog is for yet, but I am sure that I should have some kind of goal, which is how Julie got herself to do it. With a definite goal, a deadline will follow, but for what I have, as of yet, no idea. I do love cooking, but being a college student who is without a well-stocked kitchen for the majority of the year, I'll have to find some other kind of goal.
As I was forced to vacate the living room when my dad turnd the TV to weather after the movie, I recalled Virginia Woolf's "A Room of One's Own," which I recently read selections of for my British Literature class (thank you, Professor Rumbo). If you have not read it, it basically sates that a woman must have 1) money and 2) a room of one's own in order to produce literary works. Ironically, I went from the living room to my parents room, which was quite silly being that my dad soon did the same thing, and I then excaped to my own room. This may seem silly to you, "why wouldn't I go there in the first place?" you might ask, but the truth is that during the day I spend very little time in my own room; I just spent all night there and I suppose I'd just like to journey to a different part of the house or something. Interestingly, now that I think about it, the only time I have ever secluded myself to my room to do an activity other than sleeping is, in fact, to write. So I guess Virginia was right, which is why I decided to make my display name, "2Judith" as a tribute to her creation, Shakespeare's unknown but equally talented sister, who could write because she was a woman. Now, in the 21st century, when an ordinary 19 year old girl can publish some of her ramblings with some gentle pressure on an assortment of keys and buttons and an internet connection just because she feels like it, I'd like to send my thoughts out to anyone who was or is a Judith.
I wanted to end this blog in a somewhat poignant way by saying "I'm writing this for her," which is true for me in a thoughtful way, but let's be fair. I keep in mind from the Julie and Julia movie their description of a blog: it's for you. It's actually a pretty narcisisstic entity because I doubt anyone will read my as of yet purposeless blog, but hey, why not. The technology's there, I might as well use it (something I still have to keep in mind as I try to reconcile myself, the paper lover, with a Kindle.)
It also really resonated with me that the Julie Powell could never finish any literary projects. My diary is yet another proof of that, as I have tried many times to diligently write in it every day which worked out for a couple months but then would slowly slip back into oblivion. I can't promise that I'm going to write every day, because I know I probably won't, so all I can say is that I'll try. I'm not exactly sure what this blog is for yet, but I am sure that I should have some kind of goal, which is how Julie got herself to do it. With a definite goal, a deadline will follow, but for what I have, as of yet, no idea. I do love cooking, but being a college student who is without a well-stocked kitchen for the majority of the year, I'll have to find some other kind of goal.
As I was forced to vacate the living room when my dad turnd the TV to weather after the movie, I recalled Virginia Woolf's "A Room of One's Own," which I recently read selections of for my British Literature class (thank you, Professor Rumbo). If you have not read it, it basically sates that a woman must have 1) money and 2) a room of one's own in order to produce literary works. Ironically, I went from the living room to my parents room, which was quite silly being that my dad soon did the same thing, and I then excaped to my own room. This may seem silly to you, "why wouldn't I go there in the first place?" you might ask, but the truth is that during the day I spend very little time in my own room; I just spent all night there and I suppose I'd just like to journey to a different part of the house or something. Interestingly, now that I think about it, the only time I have ever secluded myself to my room to do an activity other than sleeping is, in fact, to write. So I guess Virginia was right, which is why I decided to make my display name, "2Judith" as a tribute to her creation, Shakespeare's unknown but equally talented sister, who could write because she was a woman. Now, in the 21st century, when an ordinary 19 year old girl can publish some of her ramblings with some gentle pressure on an assortment of keys and buttons and an internet connection just because she feels like it, I'd like to send my thoughts out to anyone who was or is a Judith.
I wanted to end this blog in a somewhat poignant way by saying "I'm writing this for her," which is true for me in a thoughtful way, but let's be fair. I keep in mind from the Julie and Julia movie their description of a blog: it's for you. It's actually a pretty narcisisstic entity because I doubt anyone will read my as of yet purposeless blog, but hey, why not. The technology's there, I might as well use it (something I still have to keep in mind as I try to reconcile myself, the paper lover, with a Kindle.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)