My comments are thoughtfully provided by enetation
In his travel book "Full Circle," Chilean writer Luis Sepúlvuda recounts the (true) story of his two and a half years in a Chilean prison:
The worst of it wasn't the fact of being locked up, because life went on inside, and was sometimes more interesting than outside. The most highly qualified "prisoners of war"-- and the teaching staffs of all the southern universities were there-- set up various faculties, so a lot of us learnt languages, maths, quantum physics, world history, art history or the history of philosophy. Over two weeks, a professor called Iriarte gave a magnificent seminar on Keynes and the political reasoning of contemporary economists, which was attended by several army officers in addition to the hundred or so prisoners. The journalist and writer Andres Muller discoursed on the tactical errors of the Paris Communards, to the astonishment of the troops guarding the shoemaking workshop, which we had christened the Great Hall of the Temuco Anethaeum. Another famous POW, Genaro Avendano-- he was 'disappeared' in 1979-- moved both prisoners and soldiers with a dramatisation of the writer Unamuno's 1936 Salamanca speech denouncing Franco's Falangists.
I have been doing some research, and I have discovered a couple of things.
First of all, TONS of people love Buffy, but they're embarrassed to admit it. Every small group I work in at school, I find someone who likes the show and has scary amounts of knowledge about it, just like me.
Speaking of Buffy, in the episode where Xander goes on a date with Ashanti, she orders a drink at the Espresso Pump called a "red eye"-- black coffee with a shot of espresso. The Java Jive in HUB sells the same cocoction with the same name. I had to order one when I discovered this. I'm not very tolerant of caffeine and at this moment my hands are shaking so badly I can hardly type. This is just one more way in which Ashanti and I are different. (Also: she is a pop sensation whereas I am a roving pirate queen.)
Second of all, spring is the season for love.
Also: my hair looks better the longer I go without washing it; and, I got four pieces of mail today, and only one of them was from the U of A asking for money. Woo!
My Very Hungry Caterpillar essay is done and handed in. I will share with you one particular highlight:
"The pages that describe the caterpillar's feast are different sizes, and they have holes in them to represent the caterpillar eating through all the food in the pictures. As these mini-pages are turned over, we can see the caterpillar eating through the food on the other sides of the pages. As a result of this format, the pages grow bigger the more the caterpillar eats, until his final feast ("one piece of chocolate cake, one ice-cream cone, one pickle, one slice of Swiss cheese...") occupies an entire two-page spread. The caterpillar himself also grows bigger in the illustrations, as if he is eating the paper of the book. It is also significant that up until this point the text's appearance is limited to the left-hand page, but at this point in the story it cannot be contained by the left-hand page and seems to spill over onto the right-hand page..."
How much do I suck? *Kindergarden gesture of stretching arms as wide as possible* This much.
Simpsons quotation of the day
Dr Nick: "While you were that coma, did you feel your brain being damaged?"
The academic highlight of this semester for me will doubtlessly be my Engl287 term paper on, and I am being completely serious, The Very Hungry Caterpillar.
I am thinking of supplementing the too-short text of the paper with some supplementary craft projects.
PS. If I am ever in Massachusetts, I am going to visit Eric Carle's Museum.
So. Today: sort of sublime day.
I. I registered (for the fall semester of next year) around 7.30 this morning, only 1 hr after registration opened. And one of the classes I wanted to take was already almost full-- 4 sections were being offered and there were a total of about 10 spots left. Lucky me.
II. In my children's lit class we watched this video from one of those right-wing fundamentalist Christian groups about the evils of Harry Potter. This video caused me to feel seething, terrible, cynical anger and deadly boredom in equal measure. And also a sort of pride that, at least by someone's standards, I am bad-ass and evil and cool, much in the manner of Spike.
III. Partway through the video I got bored and strolled out of class down the hallway and outside, there the world was headachingly bright. I stood outside the Humanities Centre and breathed in the fresh, cold air of spring. It was like high school, when I used to wander out of class and down halls more or less constantly to break the tedium of class. It seems lately there have been an abundance of those high school moments.
IV. I woke up at 3.40 this morning (the breadmaker woke me up-- my mom had programmed it to start churning at 3.40-- technology!) and couldn't get back to sleep. So I got up, turned on my old computer, and finished one of my Spanish Lit assignments. I did make mention of Samuel Beckett, but I didn't use the term "Beckettesque;" nor did I quote my favourite "Beckettism":
"Quand on est dans la merde jusqu'au cou, il ne reste plus qu'à chanter."
V. I have four Westerns to watch, three papers to write, 1 EAS chapter and 2 Shakespeare plays to read, and a partiridge in a pear tree. I'm awfully busy, but I guess I'm doing alright these days.
it's the blind, leading the blind...
In the middle of my Spanish Lit class my glasses spontaneously broke. The world is extremely disorienting, now, and blurry. It's actually genuinely frightening. I can't find my metal glue anywhere, either. (Glue I said, not duct tape!)
I feel like I'm having one of those fits, like actresses in old movies. I will complan of a migraine, and rub my temples, and swoon; and someone, possibly Spencer Tracy, will catch me. Or, alternately, I will suck it up.
Blah blah blah website. I feel somewhat obligated to write this stuff. Does anyone read it? I think I'm having a "one-hand-clapping" day. I have trouble believing it even matters.
Well, I'm off to write an assignment about playwright Manuel Puig. Tell me, if I accuse him of being "Beckettesque," will I seem pretentious or merely well-informed? We lit students walk a fine line, I tell ye.
PS. Was Chicago really the Best Picture? Were Martin Scorsese and Julianne Moore robbed? Dear Oscars. You suck. Love, Jocelyn.
I never win any Oscars
I am so easily manipulated by television, it's humiliating. Kirk Douglas makes me cry. Billy Wilder dying makes me cry. Canadian Tire commercials about buying bicycles for children make me cry. In fact, last time I checked, the only thing that DOESN'T make me cry is Eminem.
Even that IKEA commercial about the lamp being left in the street made me cry.
Neil Postman, what hast thou wrought?
Notes of Saturday
1. How The West was Won is not The mightiest adventure ever filmed! This is just PR.
2. Because I am a big loser, I want the soundtrack from Undercover Brother.
3. War is good for my mutual funds, apparently.
4. I have an awful lot of work to do these days, and I'm trying to find a job, as well. So don't take it personally if I don't have a lot to say. It's not that I don't love you; it's just that I don't really care.
All your bad days will end
But not today.
I. The city has come alive in the past few days with the corniest possible signs of spring, and so I ride around on the bus and imagine that everything around me is in ruins, destroyed by bombs. Also: every TV channel, seemingly, has continuous live coverage, even Much Music, which is ridiculous because MuchMusic can't even manage to cover the world of music intelligently.
II. I went to see THE HOURS, and in spite of all the hype it actually is rather good (since in my experience there is an inverse correlation between hype and quality of movies), and it scares me, too: the idea that we all just "keep living for each other" and for nothing else, maybe.
III. I watched three old Westerns: Winchester 73, and Rio Bravo, and its sequel, El Dorado. Rio Bravo is weird because it's this long, rambling, semi-serious Western only Dean Martin and, I think, Ricky Nelson sing in it, and Angie Dickinson is great. And El Dorado is weird because it's almost exactly the same as the first one. Did they think I wouldn't notice?
IV. NAKED IMPROV!
Because I could never really be a marine biologist-- I haven't taken any bio classes!
I'm having a pretty bad day.
Yeah. Pity me.
For one thing, the Spanish department changed around the requirements for my minor in what seems like a concerted effort to fuck me over. Suddenly I have two years' worth of classes left to take. Yes, that could really happen.
Also, my computer has been infected with the computer-virus-equivalent of the mutant flu: it hangs up, and won't boot, and is extra-super-slow, and it throws up everything it eats. Through the little vent-holes. Well, OK, that was completely true except for the last part. Anyway, there is little antivirus help to be found because my computer is so old-- I'm running Windows 95-- and I have this creeping suspicion I can't fix it.
Additionally, as you may have heard, there's a war. For some reason I'm having trouble putting my "Defending Freedom, Fighting Evil" face on.
What I want to be when I grow up
Haunted by American dreams
"Prime Minister Jean Chretien says Canada will not support an American-led war against Iraq because of the Security Council's refusal to authorize military action to force Saddam Hussein to comply with a series of UN resolutions.
And on the front page of the fashion section: "regimental chic" is on its way back in. No fucking shit.
Jocelyn: "Did your ex-girlfriend like fish?"
and as for me I'll wish that I as anywhere, with anyone, making out
Good morning, girl. How'd you sleep last night?
I feel obliged to tell you that I'm a little depressed today, because it's been a long time-- almost a week-- since I've watched a Western. However, I am renting Winchester '73 tonight, and Jimmy Stewart always cheers me up.
Over the past few days we've gotten a bunch of new snow. Today was this beautiful warm day. A lot of the snow melted, making these huge lake-sized puddles that stretched across whole streets. Watching people interface with these puddles is fun. You can tell what kind of person they are by whether they try to jump across, or try to carefully walk around (this seldom helps), or if they just sigh and trudge through. I'm a jumper, myself.
Anyway, the day was glorious for that and other reasons (for one thing: I got to buy commemorative stamps, which always cheers me up; for another, I bought the last of my textbooks, just in time for finals), and I feel wonderful, internet.
oooh, it ain't no good life... but it's my life
Make it yourself! Thrift Deluxe
I think punk is on its way back in: "post-punk."
When I came home last night around 11.30, the sky above Whyte Ave. was lit red and the smell of smoke followed the bus all the way to the west end. On the grand scale of things that are sad in the universe it doesn't mean much, but the idea of a whole pet store going up in flames IS sad. Edmonton Journal story
And when I came home there was a big bag of mini-eggs on my desk.
I'm still sick!
So bored I'm reading old Television Without Pity recaps
"Buffy returns from LA and enters her dorm room. She looks towards Willow's side of the room, but Willow isn't there. Buffy rubs her head exhaustedly and lies down on her bed, looking sad and preoccupied. I like to imagine she's pensively considering the unworkable cross-over timeline between her show and Angel's, but she's most likely just trying to remember if she needs to pick up any of her leather pants from the dry cleaner's." -The Yoko Factor
Crocodile Hunter is a pretty weird show. I kind of wanted to see the movie, just for the part when Steve Irwin is like, "I'm lucky my wife is such a good driver!" If I were ever married I would want my husband to think it was nice that I was such a good driver.
Although I can't, in fact, drive.
You have not already won
I'm at home today because I'm sick. In a few minutes I'm going to go watch Crocodile Hunter. But right now it's time for us to spend some quality time.
I think you should go to the Edmonton International Film Festival this weekend. I'm going tonight. I also recommend the following activities if you want your weekend to be like mine: work. writing papers. improv. bowling.
I am at a fashion loss as to whether to wear my "nouveau white trash" arm-warmers bowling, or my 70s polyester bowling shirt. I don't know which is likely to bring me more luck, and this is a problem because I need all the luck I can get. I'm always making those bowling-lane-alarms go off by stepping over the line, or I'm denting the lane by throwing the ball wrong, or something. I don't know why any of my friends ever want me to go with them. Unless it's my impeccable taste in bowling outfits.
I'm having a lot of trouble thinking of things.