Sunday, December 16, 2007
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Friday, September 28, 2007
Two stellar Bose speakers, one pair of denim shorts, a Forgotten English page-a-day calendar, an ugly jar made in high school pottery, four books (A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, Mrs. Dalloway, All Over but the Shoutin', and The Handmaid's Tale), a set of X-rays of my spinal cord and rib cage, a Nexium pen, a pair of jeans, a set of new car insurance cards, three months' worth of bank statements, a black skirt, a denim skirt, a black bra, an empty plastic cup, a checkbook, a thank-you card, the title of my car, a stack of comic books (Immortal Iron Fist and White Tiger), three textbooks (Images of the Past, Cultural Anthropology, and The Longman Anthology of British Literature), one yellow folder with various library call numbers written on it, the set list of a Kamelot show, a red picture frame featuring a postcard from the Victoria and Albert Museum, a sonnet written in response to Keats's "On Seeing the Elgin Marbles for the First Time", English notes from last summer, an "I trust Severus Snape" sticker, and my purse.
One Thing Which Is Not:
Friday, September 07, 2007
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
I think we're in Tallahassee, but I'm not sure.
Five minutes pass.
Oh, wait! That's the Capitol building.
This should tell you something about Florida's capital city, namely, that it does not deserve to be the capital of our glorious state. Bah.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
I am also convinced that the narrator of the Fall Out Boy song "Sugar We're Going Down Swingin'" is a gay man.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Monday, April 02, 2007
And of course
Those Swedes, man, they really know how to do it right. I mean, let's think about this. Sweden has produced, in the history of its being, stellar musical acts such as Abba, Roxette, and Yngwie Malmsteen, delicious meatballs, Greta Garbo, Ingrid Bergman, and Bjorn Borg, cute little Uppsalan gnomes, and of course, Ikea. Clearly the main export of Sweden is rump-kicking coolness.
PS: I will marry whoever can tell me where I got the title of this post. Cheers!
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Actually, scratch that. This is not about feminism. This is about common sense. I'm not a feminist, and I don't have a lot of common sense, but I have enough to know that a mother breastfeeding her baby is not exactly a situation for lawsuits. Futhermore, this is America. Breasts are big business. They're everywhere, from movies to billboards to music videos to magazines dirty and otherwise. It is sheer hypocrisy to label a mother feeding her infant as 'indecent' or 'lewd' when more than half of the nation's population looks at tots daily. Where is these people's shame? To claim that 'men don't know what to do or where to look when a woman is breast-feeding in front of them' is sick and should be seen as such. Look at her face, you drooling idiot! Try and act like your IQ is higher than your sperm count. There is nothing, nothing sexual about a mother feeding her child, and there is no reason that men should feel awkward. A good chunk of them were breast-fed, I expect, and another sizable bunch see their wives' or girlfriends' breasts every day. Celebrities in Hollywood blockbusters flaunt their double-Ds all over the movie screen, yet an infant receiving its breakfast is despicable and should be hidden? Lame.
Another aspect of this situation is that many of the people taking offense are women. Does that make sense, or am I just old-fashioned? Why would women be taken aback by the sight of something that they personally possess? One of these women commented on a magazine cover which used a photograph of a nursing baby; she said, I don't want my husband or son to accidentally see a breast they don't want to see. From this woman's comment, can we assume that she and her husband have never seen one another unclothed? And she better not believe that her son's never seen boobies, 'cause that's just wishful thinking.
Certainly, it's preferable to find a private place to feed your kid. But if that's not possible, and often it isn't, what's more annoying: a screaming baby or the possibility of the public seeing something 99% of them have already seen, numerous times? Come on. No one in this country can grow up without seeing tots, and lots of them--girls have them, boys like to look at them. It's stupid to say otherwise, and it's hypocritical to pretend offense when a woman breast-feeds her infant in a public place. Our society sees breasts as sexual, but that same society is what has turned breasts into fantasy objects. Breasts are there for a purpose, and that purpose is to feed children. Deal with it or go find a nice cave, you self-righteous Puritans.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Thursday, January 25, 2007
I kinda love it.
Admittedly I enjoy reading literary criticism, period. I love Orwell's essays in particular (possibly even more than his novels), and Martin Kellman's T.H. White and the Matter of Britain is brill, but Frost's essay on the nature of poetry left me a little dizzy. I actually read it three times in a row, and I never read anything for American Lit classes more than once. (Not even "The Waste Land". Ick.) Frost manages to articulate ideas and give structure to thoughts of mine that have only ever been ethereal; while reading his essay I felt that essential recognition, the likes of which I have only previously experienced while reading White.
Anyway I'm about to quote, and with relish.
"If it is a wild tune, it is a poem...to be wild with nothing to be wild about."(The joy found in the everyday--the telling of the mundane in a way which is anything but.)
"For me the initial delight is in the surprise of remembering something I didn't know I knew."
"Scholars get their [knowledge] with conscientious thoroughness along projected lines of logic; poets theirs cavalierly and as it happens in and out of books. They stick to nothing deliberately, but let what will stick to them like burrs where they walk in the fields."
"Read [a poem] a hundred times: it will forever keep its freshness as a petal keeps its fragrance. It can never lose its sense of a meaning that once unfolded by surprise as it went." (The pleasant shock of discovering something in pages read over and over.)
Longwinded, yet deserving, I think. Frost's words can be applied not only to poems in their technical sense, but any writing with the smoothly lyrical, off-kilter and frightening, or purely lovely qualities of poetry. Even prose, at its highest, is a form of poetry and contains the joys of remembering things we didn't know we knew, of recognition, of sparkling newness.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
At the risk of sounding overwrought, I don't recall the last time I was so absorbed into a movie. Go see it, right now.