Today is Valentine's Day. I really don't want to be the sort of person who writes about Valentine's Day, on Valentine's Day, for any reason. There are loads of people who do that. There are newspaper articles about romantic restaurants, and romantic movies, and which books are secretly lovers. There are feminist rants about how Valentine's Day is a sick joke. There are all the advertisements about flowers and candy that helped spark the feminist rants in the first place. There are reviews of the movie Valentine's Day, which is universally hailed as horrible. Everything to be say has already been said.
Except that I haven't found any articles about treating Valentine's Day like just a normal day, and I've found only one article about loving yourself on Valentine's Day. And those are the two things that led to this year's epiphany.
Oh, I've been a good feminist for years and I know I'm supposed to love myself and also be angry about how the world wants me to pair up all the time. But I've been single long enough that I'm pretty used to all that stuff as an everyday thing, not a once-a-year thing. And it's true that some days I feel lonely, and some days I feel frustrated, and some days I feel angry. Some days I feel so damn relieved to be single it isn't even funny. But what I didn't articulate to myself until just now is that loving myself and valuing myself as a single entity doesn't mean I have to be angry about that stuff. I know it seems obvious, but sometimes things like that are, and sometimes they aren't. And I just got back from London, finally slept in my own bed, among my own books and music and keepsakes, and just did not have the energy to whip myself into a polemic. So I loved myself peacefully instead.
Certain days of the year (notably my birthday) I designate as love-me days, which means I get to do whatever I want, and am not allowed to guilt-trip myself for a full twenty-four hours. And because I am single (but I think I am going to continue this tradition next year regardless) Valentine's Day is now another day like that. Except a quieter, and in a way more relaxing one, because the one thing I do sort of force myself to do on my birthday is treat myself to something, and today, I didn't even bother to do that.
Today, I started the day by doing warm-up staging exercises. Then I brushed my teeth and went to the library. I got five books that basically have nothing in common with one another. I dipped a bit into the fantasy, and read some of the angry feminist polemic (the latter means I fit the stereotype of a man-hating forever-lonely feminist bitch). Then I read a romance story (which means I fit the stereotype of the overly-romantic wishful lonely girl). I had a bowl of soup and took a nap (the stereotype of a couldn't-care-less feminist free spirit hippie?), and managed to watch six episodes of Criminal Minds on DVD (I have no idea what that makes me). I called two female friends and told them that I love them (chick flick best friend stereotype) but I would have talked to both of them anyway, given the option. I cooked pasta for one (lonely, pathetic and weepy, except I wasn't) and drank some juice because I'm off booze at the moment.
And all day I didn't feel guilty about any of those things. What I mostly felt was slightly bemused by all the single-girl stereotypes I was fulfilling, without actually having any of the feelings associated with those stereotypes. The romance story makes me feel happy and imaginative, and the angry feminist polemic appeals to my intellect and said some really fascinating things. The only sacrifice I can really think of to the holiday (besides the aforementioned guilt-free-ness) is that I got a book I wanted to read from the library instead of from my friend Poppasmart, who would have loaned it to me, because I wanted to give her time with her boy. But I probably would have done that anyway, since they haven't seen each other for a couple weeks and I've been sharing a room with her in London.
I like this way of celebrating. So often if I take an extra guilt-free day, I just feel stagnant, because I use the time to nap. But crap on that - I'm going to have one me-day a month, and sooner or later I will train myself not to nap them all away. Anyway, I did nice things today besides nap, so I have decided it's all right.
And now no more personal life ramblings; I keep meaning to write a post about why I refuse to go see Avatar.
Showing posts with label Culture (of a sort). Show all posts
Showing posts with label Culture (of a sort). Show all posts
21.1.10
Quick Rec
Sometimes I have time and inclination to ponder deep thoughts in writing. This is not one of those times.
This is just to let you know that this blog:
http://www.childrenofthenineties.blogspot.com
will creep you the hell out if you were born between 1980 and 1995. I don't remember every single thing they post about, but I remember more than enough to shake my head in bemusement and shame.
Check it out.
This is just to let you know that this blog:
http://www.childrenofthenineties.blogspot.com
will creep you the hell out if you were born between 1980 and 1995. I don't remember every single thing they post about, but I remember more than enough to shake my head in bemusement and shame.
Check it out.
16.1.10
There's Got to be a Way
Does anyone know how to read multiple books at the same time? Or to read and knit simultaneously? Or to read (properly, not listen) while washing dishes? Or how to motivate myself to do any of these things more individually?
You know, I just read an article about the "Quarterlife Crisis" about how people my age have so much potential and they've been told they can do whatever they want and then they all feel like failures when they just go to an office job every day and they're paralyzed with indecision about whether to travel or have babies or buy a house or jump off a cliff. And in the larger sense that the article is talking about, my basic response is like, "cry me a river, you whiny bitches," because you do the best you can at a given time and if it sucks you do something else that sucks less, etc., etc. Not to say I don't know what they're talking about, but if you want to do something like travel, do it, don't dither about it, because once you're actually travelling, dithering gets you precisely nowhere.
But in the smaller things I admit I kinda see their point. I have four or five books I'm reading right now, and I can think of at least four or five more that I've been meaning to start (or in some cases finish) since forever ago. It's the feeling I used to get on Christmas morning when I was a kid when I couldn't decide which toy to play with first. (Actually, even when I was a kid, it was quite often which book I would read first.) So right now, I want to be reading all these books, and I also want to watch the movie I got from the library, and a movie I got for Christmas that I haven't seen yet, and I'm working on a new knitting project that's very exciting (if you're really bored or really addicted to yarn) and what I ought to be doing is washing my damn dishes so I can cook some dinner, but on the other hand it's raining outside and nothing makes me happy like hearing rain outside when I'm cuddled up in bed, but will I enjoy it as much with my room the mess that it is, and also I've got some good music playing, so where does that fit in?
I know, I know. Cry me a river.
The article mentioned that back in the day, when career options were more fixed (housewivery or secretary school for girls, professions determined on aptitude, class, and parental background for boys), twentysomethings didn't have this problem, blah blah blah. Then maybe people got midlife crises when they realized they weren't doing what they wanted to be doing. I don't know about the mid-life crisis part of the analogy, but I'll tell you when I never have trouble deciding what to read or watch or listen to: when I've got a paper due.
I read a quotation in high school that struck me as brilliant. I had to do a search for who said it (that part clearly didn't stick with me: it's attributed to Mary Wilson Little), but I reproduce it for you now:
"There is no fun in having nothing to do. The fun is in having lots to do and not doing it."
You know, I just read an article about the "Quarterlife Crisis" about how people my age have so much potential and they've been told they can do whatever they want and then they all feel like failures when they just go to an office job every day and they're paralyzed with indecision about whether to travel or have babies or buy a house or jump off a cliff. And in the larger sense that the article is talking about, my basic response is like, "cry me a river, you whiny bitches," because you do the best you can at a given time and if it sucks you do something else that sucks less, etc., etc. Not to say I don't know what they're talking about, but if you want to do something like travel, do it, don't dither about it, because once you're actually travelling, dithering gets you precisely nowhere.
But in the smaller things I admit I kinda see their point. I have four or five books I'm reading right now, and I can think of at least four or five more that I've been meaning to start (or in some cases finish) since forever ago. It's the feeling I used to get on Christmas morning when I was a kid when I couldn't decide which toy to play with first. (Actually, even when I was a kid, it was quite often which book I would read first.) So right now, I want to be reading all these books, and I also want to watch the movie I got from the library, and a movie I got for Christmas that I haven't seen yet, and I'm working on a new knitting project that's very exciting (if you're really bored or really addicted to yarn) and what I ought to be doing is washing my damn dishes so I can cook some dinner, but on the other hand it's raining outside and nothing makes me happy like hearing rain outside when I'm cuddled up in bed, but will I enjoy it as much with my room the mess that it is, and also I've got some good music playing, so where does that fit in?
I know, I know. Cry me a river.
The article mentioned that back in the day, when career options were more fixed (housewivery or secretary school for girls, professions determined on aptitude, class, and parental background for boys), twentysomethings didn't have this problem, blah blah blah. Then maybe people got midlife crises when they realized they weren't doing what they wanted to be doing. I don't know about the mid-life crisis part of the analogy, but I'll tell you when I never have trouble deciding what to read or watch or listen to: when I've got a paper due.
I read a quotation in high school that struck me as brilliant. I had to do a search for who said it (that part clearly didn't stick with me: it's attributed to Mary Wilson Little), but I reproduce it for you now:
"There is no fun in having nothing to do. The fun is in having lots to do and not doing it."
7.11.09
I haven't posted in FOREVER
Because I am a failure and a terrible person. But I'm back on the wagon, folks. I have thoughts, and soon you'll get to hear them more regularly.
I don't usually post any pictures on this blog, particularly of anything personal or identifiable. But I'm going to bite the bullet and post this one, because it commemorated a truly amazing experience.
THAT IS EMMA THOMPSON, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. EMMA THOMPSON, AND ME, AND MY CLASSMATES.
Because, awesome.
More about the workshop, the experience, life in Britain, and, of course, Shakespeare and other literature, coming soon.
I don't usually post any pictures on this blog, particularly of anything personal or identifiable. But I'm going to bite the bullet and post this one, because it commemorated a truly amazing experience.
THAT IS EMMA THOMPSON, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. EMMA THOMPSON, AND ME, AND MY CLASSMATES.
Because, awesome.
More about the workshop, the experience, life in Britain, and, of course, Shakespeare and other literature, coming soon.
25.6.09
Thoughts After Watching The Wire
I started watching The Wire again this week, after thinking about watching it for the last six months and rejecting it as too intellectual when I'm trying to do school as well. Now I'm not doing school for the moment (except for that one paper) and I nabbed it from the library while the nabbing was good. I watched season 1 about a year ago, and had planned on watching it again before going to season 2, but it was checked out, and season 2 wasn't, so there you go. And now, I have thoughts.
1. Ziggy, you are too stupid to live. I'm sorry! But you are! You are a moron, and you are too much of a moron to realize that messing around with illegal shit is a stupid thing for a moron to do! You are going to get murdered, and it will not be my fault. I have tried to warn you repeatedly, and so has your friend who is probably also going to die but who I will miss because he is not a moron.
2. If I keep living in Britain and watching American TV, I am never, ever going to figure out where the driver's seat in the car goes. Ever.
3. I finally know what a stevedore is. (I had only heard it in... um... the wrong context, before.)
4. YAY! Freamon! And Daniels! Yay! Love them so, so much. Also Omar. Yay, Omar!
5. One of the best lines on TV, ever:
Stringer Bell: I need you to be subtle with this shit. You know what subtle means?
Random Dealer Guy: When you all laid-back and shit.
It was the delivery. The delivery was awesome.
6. I remembered how intellectual the show is, and how it doesn't hand-hold and expects you to keep up. But I forgot that it's also often funny and always interesting, and that if you do pay attention it rewards you a lot. In short, I remembered that it was "good," but forgot why I thought so. Nothing will ever take the place of Doctor Who in my affections, but damn, The Wire is some good shit.
7. Also, I swear a lot more when I'm watching it. Clearly. Sorry, Grammy.
1. Ziggy, you are too stupid to live. I'm sorry! But you are! You are a moron, and you are too much of a moron to realize that messing around with illegal shit is a stupid thing for a moron to do! You are going to get murdered, and it will not be my fault. I have tried to warn you repeatedly, and so has your friend who is probably also going to die but who I will miss because he is not a moron.
2. If I keep living in Britain and watching American TV, I am never, ever going to figure out where the driver's seat in the car goes. Ever.
3. I finally know what a stevedore is. (I had only heard it in... um... the wrong context, before.)
4. YAY! Freamon! And Daniels! Yay! Love them so, so much. Also Omar. Yay, Omar!
5. One of the best lines on TV, ever:
Stringer Bell: I need you to be subtle with this shit. You know what subtle means?
Random Dealer Guy: When you all laid-back and shit.
It was the delivery. The delivery was awesome.
6. I remembered how intellectual the show is, and how it doesn't hand-hold and expects you to keep up. But I forgot that it's also often funny and always interesting, and that if you do pay attention it rewards you a lot. In short, I remembered that it was "good," but forgot why I thought so. Nothing will ever take the place of Doctor Who in my affections, but damn, The Wire is some good shit.
7. Also, I swear a lot more when I'm watching it. Clearly. Sorry, Grammy.
22.6.09
Les Anglaises
Once again, I must apologize for real life getting in the way of the much more important realm of blogging. I had a major deadline for a project last week, and as such spent most of my waking minutes trying to make my project not suck. (It didn't, but I still felt I could have done better - making my thesis for my portfolio on said project basically write itself.)
Another of the side effects of said project was to immerse me in British culture in a way that 6 months living here couldn't match. Since 88% of my course is made up of either American or Canadian students, and our professors, though British, make allowances for that, and since my life outside the university is primarily restricted to business transactions, several sides of British life have become clear to me only in the last couple weeks.
Such as... what the hell is up with British schools and youth and whatnot? I'm not complaining about the curricula, of which I know very little; nor do I want the damn kids to get off my lawn. I'm just completely flabbergasted by the pastimes of British youth. For background, please remember that although I was a fairly straight-edged kid, I did go to school in Berkeley, where clouds of pot smoke would hang over the park where we gathered for lunch -- the park that was across the street not only from the high school but also the police station and City Hall. So it's not like I think teenagers are angels.
But when I was young, we did not set people on fire in order to wake them up. Nor was it cool to trick someone into drinking your urine. There may have been one knife fight at my school that I remember, but racial slurs shouted in the halls really weren't tolerated, and the authorities were not shy about expelling students who threatened death and dire bodily harm on other students. Or who wrecked school buildings. In the UK, however, these things were apparently a matter of course. But they're less violent than the states, because they carry knives instead of guns. I guess. I... I don't know. Don't look at me, I just live here.
I read The Anglo Files before I got out here, and it's tremendous, and I recommend it to everyone. But I really am waiting for the author to write a sequel covering violence in schools, pantos, the appeal of getting drunk at ten in the morning, why the British complain about having to pay for their prescriptions, and why they can't share the effing sidewalk.
Another of the side effects of said project was to immerse me in British culture in a way that 6 months living here couldn't match. Since 88% of my course is made up of either American or Canadian students, and our professors, though British, make allowances for that, and since my life outside the university is primarily restricted to business transactions, several sides of British life have become clear to me only in the last couple weeks.
Such as... what the hell is up with British schools and youth and whatnot? I'm not complaining about the curricula, of which I know very little; nor do I want the damn kids to get off my lawn. I'm just completely flabbergasted by the pastimes of British youth. For background, please remember that although I was a fairly straight-edged kid, I did go to school in Berkeley, where clouds of pot smoke would hang over the park where we gathered for lunch -- the park that was across the street not only from the high school but also the police station and City Hall. So it's not like I think teenagers are angels.
But when I was young, we did not set people on fire in order to wake them up. Nor was it cool to trick someone into drinking your urine. There may have been one knife fight at my school that I remember, but racial slurs shouted in the halls really weren't tolerated, and the authorities were not shy about expelling students who threatened death and dire bodily harm on other students. Or who wrecked school buildings. In the UK, however, these things were apparently a matter of course. But they're less violent than the states, because they carry knives instead of guns. I guess. I... I don't know. Don't look at me, I just live here.
I read The Anglo Files before I got out here, and it's tremendous, and I recommend it to everyone. But I really am waiting for the author to write a sequel covering violence in schools, pantos, the appeal of getting drunk at ten in the morning, why the British complain about having to pay for their prescriptions, and why they can't share the effing sidewalk.
1.6.09
Overheard
"See, I know my own come-dine-with-me-theory a lot better than you do!"
A syllogism about this post:
Summer leads to open windows.
Open windows allow me to hear drunk people coming home.
Drunk people coming home are hilarious.
A syllogism about this post:
Summer leads to open windows.
Open windows allow me to hear drunk people coming home.
Drunk people coming home are hilarious.
29.5.09
Mawwidge is wat bwings uss togeffur today...
Normally I try to refrain from boldly stating my opinion about things I know nothing about. I state my opinion less boldly instead. But a bunch of things together are leading me to say something about marriage.
Namely, shut up, people who want to control other people's marriage in any way, shape, or form.
I'm not just talking about the whole Prop 8 debacle in California. I mean marriage is the decision and prerogative of the participants, but you'd never know it, the way other people won't shut up about it. Unmarried teen mothers! Reality shows! Gay people! Commitmentphobes! Your kids!
Shut up, reality shows! (My favorite of which is discussed here.) If the damn people want to get married, let 'em. If they don't, say it with me here, it is none of your business. None! At all! Doesn't affect you in the slightest! There may have been stigma about it back in the fifties, but it's 2009 now and nobody fucking cares! Except you! Who needs to shut up and mind your own damn beeswax already!
Shut up, science fiction! How many times must you re-use the plotline that it's just hilarious and, you know, terrifying, when they land on a planet of some sort, the locals throw them a party, one of our Heroes (never our Heroines) gets drunk, wakes up the next morning, and found he has been tricked into getting married! Hyuk hyuk hyuk! It's every heterosexual man's worst nightmare! He will HAVE to leave his wife and become a deadbeat, because she left him NO CHOICE. Shut up while I barf. I'm looking at you, Stargate, Enterprise, Firefly (and honestly, Joss, I expect better from you). Listen up, straight men of the world: you get married by going to a church and saying vows. If you don't want to get married, don't fucking do that. If your girlfriend is riding on you so hard that you are miserable and/or worried that she's going to roofie your drink and drag you to the altar, follow these simple instructions: 1) get the hell over yourself, 2) man up and either a) dump her ass or b) get over it and marry her ass. But this supposed fear that all women are altar-happy harpies is so tired that it passed out ten years ago and has been on assisted respiration ever since.
And yes, finally, shut up, people who don't want gay people to get married. Whose choice is it? Theirs. How does it affect you? It doesn't.
Grow up, people. Marriage is no longer a business transaction, an ownership deal, a death sentence (or even a life sentence), a hard-and-fast rule of living, a necessity, a job description, or any of your business! It's two people who want to hang out together and get a phone call and visiting rights if one of them gets cancer. Move on and grow up, and let's talk about something else.
Namely, shut up, people who want to control other people's marriage in any way, shape, or form.
I'm not just talking about the whole Prop 8 debacle in California. I mean marriage is the decision and prerogative of the participants, but you'd never know it, the way other people won't shut up about it. Unmarried teen mothers! Reality shows! Gay people! Commitmentphobes! Your kids!
Shut up, reality shows! (My favorite of which is discussed here.) If the damn people want to get married, let 'em. If they don't, say it with me here, it is none of your business. None! At all! Doesn't affect you in the slightest! There may have been stigma about it back in the fifties, but it's 2009 now and nobody fucking cares! Except you! Who needs to shut up and mind your own damn beeswax already!
Shut up, science fiction! How many times must you re-use the plotline that it's just hilarious and, you know, terrifying, when they land on a planet of some sort, the locals throw them a party, one of our Heroes (never our Heroines) gets drunk, wakes up the next morning, and found he has been tricked into getting married! Hyuk hyuk hyuk! It's every heterosexual man's worst nightmare! He will HAVE to leave his wife and become a deadbeat, because she left him NO CHOICE. Shut up while I barf. I'm looking at you, Stargate, Enterprise, Firefly (and honestly, Joss, I expect better from you). Listen up, straight men of the world: you get married by going to a church and saying vows. If you don't want to get married, don't fucking do that. If your girlfriend is riding on you so hard that you are miserable and/or worried that she's going to roofie your drink and drag you to the altar, follow these simple instructions: 1) get the hell over yourself, 2) man up and either a) dump her ass or b) get over it and marry her ass. But this supposed fear that all women are altar-happy harpies is so tired that it passed out ten years ago and has been on assisted respiration ever since.
And yes, finally, shut up, people who don't want gay people to get married. Whose choice is it? Theirs. How does it affect you? It doesn't.
Grow up, people. Marriage is no longer a business transaction, an ownership deal, a death sentence (or even a life sentence), a hard-and-fast rule of living, a necessity, a job description, or any of your business! It's two people who want to hang out together and get a phone call and visiting rights if one of them gets cancer. Move on and grow up, and let's talk about something else.
21.5.09
A Treat for All of You
Because I can't read this without sharing. It wouldn't be right.
From a link on another blog, I found a blog that copies out one-star reviews of classics of Western culture - music, films, and novels. Not old, boring classics -- we can't all love Aristotle -- but modern, interesting, thought-provoking classics. But here you can learn that:
The Godfather "was so violent I couldn't believe it! On a scale of 1 to 10 of the violence in this movie I would give it a 9!"
The Diary of Anne Frank "was really really boring. Its about some girl and her life- who cares!?! It is a total girly-girl book. Too dull to even care. I couldnt even pay attention to what happened to her, why it was so awful. Oh Well, NEXT…"
Abbey Road "is a really horrible album with a few of the most horrible tracks in here comes the sun. Don’t buy this awful album. go buy any joe walsh, dire straits, foreigner, guns n’ roses, green day, or nirvana insted."
The Princess Bride "is about two guys who are in a book and they’re fighting over a princess named Buttercup. But the problem is that one of them is a pirate and the other one is a giant! I know it’s supposed to be fictional…but come on! Even my suspension of disbelief is not that good, and I work with children!"
.... right. I ... don't think there's really anything I can add to that.
And with these I have not scratched the surface. After reading Huck Finn, one reader hopes that Mark Twain "doesn't plan on writing anything else." Another says Citizen Kane is "just like The Blair Witch Project." And did you know that Ingrid Bergman is "no Maryland Monroe"?
People have a perfect right to like or dislike whatever suits them, and I get that. About half the classics featured I've either never read or hated with a passion. But not with an ungrammatical or misspelled passion.
I know it's wrong to laugh at stupid people. But sometimes it's wicked easy.
From a link on another blog, I found a blog that copies out one-star reviews of classics of Western culture - music, films, and novels. Not old, boring classics -- we can't all love Aristotle -- but modern, interesting, thought-provoking classics. But here you can learn that:
The Godfather "was so violent I couldn't believe it! On a scale of 1 to 10 of the violence in this movie I would give it a 9!"
The Diary of Anne Frank "was really really boring. Its about some girl and her life- who cares!?! It is a total girly-girl book. Too dull to even care. I couldnt even pay attention to what happened to her, why it was so awful. Oh Well, NEXT…"
Abbey Road "is a really horrible album with a few of the most horrible tracks in here comes the sun. Don’t buy this awful album. go buy any joe walsh, dire straits, foreigner, guns n’ roses, green day, or nirvana insted."
The Princess Bride "is about two guys who are in a book and they’re fighting over a princess named Buttercup. But the problem is that one of them is a pirate and the other one is a giant! I know it’s supposed to be fictional…but come on! Even my suspension of disbelief is not that good, and I work with children!"
.... right. I ... don't think there's really anything I can add to that.
And with these I have not scratched the surface. After reading Huck Finn, one reader hopes that Mark Twain "doesn't plan on writing anything else." Another says Citizen Kane is "just like The Blair Witch Project." And did you know that Ingrid Bergman is "no Maryland Monroe"?
People have a perfect right to like or dislike whatever suits them, and I get that. About half the classics featured I've either never read or hated with a passion. But not with an ungrammatical or misspelled passion.
I know it's wrong to laugh at stupid people. But sometimes it's wicked easy.
27.3.09
My Sister's Gonna Hate Me
I wandered around Cardiff all day - well, hang on. I wandered around Cardiff for half a day and then got tired and found the library, and then it closed so I found a bookstore, and then it closed so I found a restaurant and had dinner. But there was wandering. In the morning, there was.
In the morning, I went HERE:
And then I found THIS:
I KNOW! So of course I had to do THAT. And I saw this:
And THESE:
And almost got exterminated by THEM:
It was VERY exciting. For me. Who is a dork.
In the morning, I went HERE:
And then I found THIS:
I KNOW! So of course I had to do THAT. And I saw this:
And THESE:
And almost got exterminated by THEM:
It was VERY exciting. For me. Who is a dork.
15.3.09
It Feels Like Years Since It's Been Here...
Here comes the sun...
I know, I missed a week again. But this time, my excuse is that I was on a train up to Stratford to do a research project. I couldn't update from a train. No, honestly, I couldn't. It was sad.
Stratford, though, was not sad. We caught a showing of The Tempest while we were there, and it was just gorgeously, gorgeously done. Antony Sher as Prospero was fairly magnificent, and John Kani as Caliban was very affecting, although I have mixed feelings about the face he presents in interviews. (I haven't read any interviews with Sir Antony, but he was perfectly charming when I met him.) And Ariel and Ferdinand were very attractive and took their shirts off a lot, so that was nice too.
The interpretation was post-colonial and almost purely African, and it was bright and beautiful and interesting. Everyone we talked with beforehand said things like "It's certainly a very interesting production," so I was prepared for rather the worst, but actually, I thought the whole thing worked beautifully. In practical terms, it was very creative: there was a monstrous puppet Sycorax, and the disappearing banquet was the best I'd ever seen it; plus the way Prospero summoned Ariel was clearly authentic. And on an interpretive level, both Prospero and Caliban became so much more interesting. Prospero, especially, I think, since we got to see his much darker side, and so many character flaws that most productions just ignore.
So that was moo-velous, and my research went just fine, and it has been so spring-like since I got back! I swear, when the sun shines on England, any part of England, you just feel in your heart that God is smiling on you. It is even supposed to get up to 60°F this week, which is crazy-excellent. I only need like, a t-shirt and one jacket when I go out. I know, know for a fact, that in a matter of days the sky will dump ice on my head, because that is the way spring is in this part of the world. But dammit, I will enjoy this while I can.
A final bit of news - last night I watched the movie Penelope, with Christina Ricci and James McAvoy, and I have decided that it is the cutest movie in the world, and life-affirming to boot. Sometime soon I am going to buy it for myself, and meantime I must encourage all of you to watch it. So sweet, so nice, like a combination of Shrek 2 and Pushing Daisies. Next time you're in a bad mood, scamper off and rent it; you won't regret it.
I know, I missed a week again. But this time, my excuse is that I was on a train up to Stratford to do a research project. I couldn't update from a train. No, honestly, I couldn't. It was sad.
Stratford, though, was not sad. We caught a showing of The Tempest while we were there, and it was just gorgeously, gorgeously done. Antony Sher as Prospero was fairly magnificent, and John Kani as Caliban was very affecting, although I have mixed feelings about the face he presents in interviews. (I haven't read any interviews with Sir Antony, but he was perfectly charming when I met him.) And Ariel and Ferdinand were very attractive and took their shirts off a lot, so that was nice too.
The interpretation was post-colonial and almost purely African, and it was bright and beautiful and interesting. Everyone we talked with beforehand said things like "It's certainly a very interesting production," so I was prepared for rather the worst, but actually, I thought the whole thing worked beautifully. In practical terms, it was very creative: there was a monstrous puppet Sycorax, and the disappearing banquet was the best I'd ever seen it; plus the way Prospero summoned Ariel was clearly authentic. And on an interpretive level, both Prospero and Caliban became so much more interesting. Prospero, especially, I think, since we got to see his much darker side, and so many character flaws that most productions just ignore.
So that was moo-velous, and my research went just fine, and it has been so spring-like since I got back! I swear, when the sun shines on England, any part of England, you just feel in your heart that God is smiling on you. It is even supposed to get up to 60°F this week, which is crazy-excellent. I only need like, a t-shirt and one jacket when I go out. I know, know for a fact, that in a matter of days the sky will dump ice on my head, because that is the way spring is in this part of the world. But dammit, I will enjoy this while I can.
A final bit of news - last night I watched the movie Penelope, with Christina Ricci and James McAvoy, and I have decided that it is the cutest movie in the world, and life-affirming to boot. Sometime soon I am going to buy it for myself, and meantime I must encourage all of you to watch it. So sweet, so nice, like a combination of Shrek 2 and Pushing Daisies. Next time you're in a bad mood, scamper off and rent it; you won't regret it.
1.3.09
And So the Whirligig of Time...
I know, I know, I missed last Sunday. *Hangs head* I'm sorry. I'd just returned from London, I'd just had an interview for a job I didn't get, I was living in squalor, and no update happened. I was a little burnt out and tempted not to update today, but then, you know, it becomes a habit, and before you know it, I'm all back to never update at all.
So I finally am NOT living in squalor anymore, and I'm kind of shocked at the state I allowed my room to come to. For serious, you guys, it was icky. I only cleaned it today, and I was like, I can't even believe this is where I live. I'm not significantly happier that I live here now - it's still pretty depressing - but I am no longer embarrassed that I live here, and sometimes that's the best you can get.
At some future date I will be sharing all the gory details of our annual Shake In A Day, but I'm saving the details of the idea up, so I can tell them to my ducks when I get home and help them organize their own. Suffice to say, that was some messed up, but hilarious, crap.
In other news ... well, I don't have a ton of other news, since most of last week was me lounging around in my squalor, recovering from the craziness that was London and relishing being the only person in my room. Sharing with nice people is still sharing, and not getting enough sleep still makes you tired, even when you're doing exciting stuff during the day.
What I can tell you is that Merlin continues its cute-but-stupid hijinks (much like Robin Hood, which I eventually gave up on, because I had to watch it online, and pretty people are less pretty in lo-def) and I really love watching it, as long as I focus on looking at the pretty people and completely ignore whatever they're saying. But they are very, very pretty. Life on Mars, in contrast, has very few pretty people (or if they are pretty, you can't tell through the bad seventies hair) but very interesting storylines and I'm enjoying it quite a bit. And I'm back on the moderately dopey Sookie Stackhouse mysteries, but I am tired and they clip along nicely (though I do wish she'd quit dating vampires and start dating werewolves, who are nearly always sexier).
And yeah, that's been my week. Not so exciting, but there it is.
So I finally am NOT living in squalor anymore, and I'm kind of shocked at the state I allowed my room to come to. For serious, you guys, it was icky. I only cleaned it today, and I was like, I can't even believe this is where I live. I'm not significantly happier that I live here now - it's still pretty depressing - but I am no longer embarrassed that I live here, and sometimes that's the best you can get.
At some future date I will be sharing all the gory details of our annual Shake In A Day, but I'm saving the details of the idea up, so I can tell them to my ducks when I get home and help them organize their own. Suffice to say, that was some messed up, but hilarious, crap.
In other news ... well, I don't have a ton of other news, since most of last week was me lounging around in my squalor, recovering from the craziness that was London and relishing being the only person in my room. Sharing with nice people is still sharing, and not getting enough sleep still makes you tired, even when you're doing exciting stuff during the day.
What I can tell you is that Merlin continues its cute-but-stupid hijinks (much like Robin Hood, which I eventually gave up on, because I had to watch it online, and pretty people are less pretty in lo-def) and I really love watching it, as long as I focus on looking at the pretty people and completely ignore whatever they're saying. But they are very, very pretty. Life on Mars, in contrast, has very few pretty people (or if they are pretty, you can't tell through the bad seventies hair) but very interesting storylines and I'm enjoying it quite a bit. And I'm back on the moderately dopey Sookie Stackhouse mysteries, but I am tired and they clip along nicely (though I do wish she'd quit dating vampires and start dating werewolves, who are nearly always sexier).
And yeah, that's been my week. Not so exciting, but there it is.
16.2.09
Good Old Wooden O
Obviously, I missed my update day yesterday. My excuse is that I'm staying in London and getting on the net in 15 minute increments at 50p each.
Plus, my Globe stuff is very exciting to me, but may be less so to others. I'm having a total blast -- they take us up on the stage to say lines and move around; we're doing text work on Hamlet and Julius Caesar; we have movement, and voice, and stage combat with big swords - it's fun.
It's also stressful, of course, and not a lot of private time in a hostel and very expensive food and stressful things like that. Exhausting. That's the word.
In other news, not unreleated, I caught the musical stage version of Sunset Boulevard last Saturday. I regret to inform the general public that whatever Andrew Lloyd Webber may or may not once have had (that is up for debate), he has now lost it. Which is sad, because I enjoy several, though not all of his musicals. But whatever it was, it's gone now; the music (and lyrics) were by far the worst element of this particular musical. Story - good; concept - interesting; acting - fantastic; songs - toilet. Sad but true.
I've been buying loads of books, but instead of writing about them, I have to sign off.
Plus, my Globe stuff is very exciting to me, but may be less so to others. I'm having a total blast -- they take us up on the stage to say lines and move around; we're doing text work on Hamlet and Julius Caesar; we have movement, and voice, and stage combat with big swords - it's fun.
It's also stressful, of course, and not a lot of private time in a hostel and very expensive food and stressful things like that. Exhausting. That's the word.
In other news, not unreleated, I caught the musical stage version of Sunset Boulevard last Saturday. I regret to inform the general public that whatever Andrew Lloyd Webber may or may not once have had (that is up for debate), he has now lost it. Which is sad, because I enjoy several, though not all of his musicals. But whatever it was, it's gone now; the music (and lyrics) were by far the worst element of this particular musical. Story - good; concept - interesting; acting - fantastic; songs - toilet. Sad but true.
I've been buying loads of books, but instead of writing about them, I have to sign off.
4.1.09
That's Entertainment...
"It might be a fight like you seen on the screen / a swain getting slain for the love of a queen / some great Shakespearean scene / where a ghost and a prince meet, and everyone ends in mincemeat..."
Dude, you guys, I saw Hamlet last week! The RSC Hamlet. With Patrick Stewart. I KNOW!
Seriously, it was incredibly exciting. I was in the very back row, so my view wasn't spectacular or anything, but it didn't matter. Either they had the best mic-ing system I've ever heard, or the acoustics were fantastic, because I could hear everything brilliantly. Both the design and the acting were top-notch, and while I wish I could have seen Tennant's Hamlet, his understudy did just fine and has nothing to be ashamed of. The best actors by far, however, were Stewart as Claudius and Oliver Ford Davies as Polonius. (Both of them were also very nice and gave me autographs, and Davies especially was a total sweetheart about the whole thing. I'm going to buy his book now.)
The design also just blew me away. The stage and back wall were reflective, which was used to great effect, making the lights bounce and managing to look both like a symbol of wealth and like something is terribly wrong. Which, you know, fits the play well. The costumes were gorgeous, and the sets hovered just on the edge of being too high budget to make an impact, but didn't cross over it. In fact the whole production was like that; if things had been just a little more done, it would have been too overdone to be interesting, but everything stayed just the right side of the line. I can honestly say it was the first time I've read or seen Hamlet and actually enjoyed it, except for perhaps season one of Slings & Arrows. The only piece that I didn't like was Ophelia, whose sanity was unimpressive and whose madness even more so. But I've never liked her, and anyway you can't have everything.
In other news, they have just cast the new Doctor Who, and I am pleased to announce that he is both young and gorgeous. Listen, I'm going to have a mad crush on whoever plays the Doctor, because I totally love the Doctor in all his forms except Colin Baker. So it's nice when they throw me a bone by casting someone who is not far from my own age and empirically good looking... it makes my obsession easier to explain to my friends.
Finally, to round this out: everyone should go to the library and get a copy of Alan Bennett's The Uncommon Reader, because it rocks. It'll take you maybe an hour to read and it will improve your outlook on life dramatically. This PSA brought to you free of charge.
Dude, you guys, I saw Hamlet last week! The RSC Hamlet. With Patrick Stewart. I KNOW!
Seriously, it was incredibly exciting. I was in the very back row, so my view wasn't spectacular or anything, but it didn't matter. Either they had the best mic-ing system I've ever heard, or the acoustics were fantastic, because I could hear everything brilliantly. Both the design and the acting were top-notch, and while I wish I could have seen Tennant's Hamlet, his understudy did just fine and has nothing to be ashamed of. The best actors by far, however, were Stewart as Claudius and Oliver Ford Davies as Polonius. (Both of them were also very nice and gave me autographs, and Davies especially was a total sweetheart about the whole thing. I'm going to buy his book now.)
The design also just blew me away. The stage and back wall were reflective, which was used to great effect, making the lights bounce and managing to look both like a symbol of wealth and like something is terribly wrong. Which, you know, fits the play well. The costumes were gorgeous, and the sets hovered just on the edge of being too high budget to make an impact, but didn't cross over it. In fact the whole production was like that; if things had been just a little more done, it would have been too overdone to be interesting, but everything stayed just the right side of the line. I can honestly say it was the first time I've read or seen Hamlet and actually enjoyed it, except for perhaps season one of Slings & Arrows. The only piece that I didn't like was Ophelia, whose sanity was unimpressive and whose madness even more so. But I've never liked her, and anyway you can't have everything.
In other news, they have just cast the new Doctor Who, and I am pleased to announce that he is both young and gorgeous. Listen, I'm going to have a mad crush on whoever plays the Doctor, because I totally love the Doctor in all his forms except Colin Baker. So it's nice when they throw me a bone by casting someone who is not far from my own age and empirically good looking... it makes my obsession easier to explain to my friends.
Finally, to round this out: everyone should go to the library and get a copy of Alan Bennett's The Uncommon Reader, because it rocks. It'll take you maybe an hour to read and it will improve your outlook on life dramatically. This PSA brought to you free of charge.
14.9.08
Another Obsession is Born
Thanks, Short Stuff.
I'm not sure how it works, but the same person who regularly watches Gossip Girl and America's Next Top Model is also the one who introduced me to both Slings & Arrows and Dr. Who. How does she do that without her brain exploding? For real.
Okay, okay, obviously I am a snob. But Dr. Who is really good!
I'm not sure how it works, but the same person who regularly watches Gossip Girl and America's Next Top Model is also the one who introduced me to both Slings & Arrows and Dr. Who. How does she do that without her brain exploding? For real.
Okay, okay, obviously I am a snob. But Dr. Who is really good!
26.8.08
One Step Forward, Six Steps Back
I had two feminist moments today. And, you know, this isn't a feminist blog -- I should know, I read plenty of legitimate feminist blogs -- but it is my personal blog and I am a feminist, so today you get to read about my feminist moments.
I've been watching old X-Files DVDs, borrowed from The Store -- and you all can just shut up, because that show rocks, even if it is dated now, only ten years later. But although the government conspiracy stuff clearly shows its age, in some ways it is incredibly current. I was watching a season three episode, "2Shy", when the following scene jumped out at me (no youtube video, so a transcript will have to do):
[Scully enters the morgue; local detective is already there]
Local Detective: Oh, it's you.
Scully: That's not a problem, is it?
Local Detective: No, it's just that Dr. Kramer didn't tell me that you were observing the autopsy.
Scully: I'm not observing. I'm performing it myself.
Local Detective: You're a medical doctor?
Scully: You sound surprised.
Local Detective: I don't know. I guess maybe I am.
Scully: Why?
Local Detective: It's nothing personal, Agent Scully. I'm just . . . old-fashioned in certain regards.
Scully: Old-fashioned?
Local Detective: The truth is, I question the wisdom of assigning female law-enforcement officers to certain types of cases.
Scully: Like this one?
Local Detective: Whoever killed Lauren Mackalvey has a definite attitude toward women, right? So this has to be affecting your judgment.
Scully: I appreciate your concern, Detective. But it's not necessary. All I want to do is solve this case, just like you.
Local Detective: Look, I'm not being sexist, here, I'm just being honest.
Scully: Where would you like the autopsy report sent?
Local Detective: You can fax it to my office.
So my apologies for quoting at such length, but, for serious? That's awesome. I don't remember this particular scene -- although I know I watched the episode at some point when I was a teenager -- but, for real, that's just fantastic. She doesn't engage. She doesn't get angry. She doesn't let it affect her. She just reacts, politely and firmly, to everything he says, letting him hang himself. And it's really -- almost a throwaway scene. Like I said, although I remember the fat-sucking villain of this particular ep, I don't specifically remember this or any other scene that dealt so directly with sexism. It doesn't have bearing on the plot, not really. And yet I'm so happy it's there. This is why Scully was a feminist icon, before Buffy, or Veronica Mars, or Kima, or Laura Roslin. Like any other compelling character, Scully gets into dangerous situations and must be rescued, and spends a fair amount of time rescuing Mulder from similar situations. Gillian Anderson is lauded -- rightly -- for her charisma, her acting chops, and the air of complete competence and unflappability which she imbues in Scully, and of course this sort of scene wouldn't work without that background.
But watching it, I was just so pleased that they put this scene in the show at all -- that they showed young women (like me! in my impressionable years) a role model who not only had the chops, but had the self-confidence to stand up for herself against this sort of thing, directly, publicly, out loud, on screen.
I love me my Buffy, and I love Veronica Mars, too, and the women on BSG. And in all those shows, people are confronted with sexism and deal with it intelligently and forthrightly. But it surprised and pleased me to note that for all the ways the X-Files has aged badly (and in many ways, it has) there remain some aspects that still resonate really powerfully.
Compare this to my other "feminist moment" of the day -- rather the opposite context. Now, obviously, there has been a lot of press about Hillary Clinton, and her speech, and her delegates, and all that. I find that I have nothing more to add on this topic -- clearly the coverage is overtly sexist, clearly the woman cannot win even the smallest bit of respect from her peers regardless of what she says, and clearly she is doing some amazing work in the face of those odds. But while that is all current, and supports my point, I would instead like to fight pop culture with pop culture, and note how far we haven't come by a different comparison.
It's not a secret that I have a certain amount of contempt for Stephanie Meyer and her Twilight Saga -- in which I am not alone. Oh, I've read the first few chapters of book one, and definitely flipped through parts of number four, since it sits on the counter at The Store, and all. (Hey, counterwork is boring when there's no one in the store.) Anyway, I had read enough, both of the books and of the publicity to know that a) I am not the target demographic for this book -- I am not nearly misunderstood enough and b) I am in fact so far out of the target demographic that I am actively repulsed by the concept.
Today I was talking to my old friend Algy, who also now works at a bookstore, and she was telling our group (moi, Short Stuff, and The Fable) about how she'd read the whole series. From what she said, and what I'd read myself, I am appalled. These are the lessons that the pop teen "classic" Breaking Dawn puts forth. (I know it would be much more fair and balanced to include quotations, rather than summaries. But I do not have a copy of that particular title.)
1) It's okay to have steamy sex with your undead lover, who likes to drink blood, and following that, allow him to turn you undead as well, but only if you get married to him first.
2) Should you have sex with aforementioned undead lover-turned-husband, and you come away covered in bruises from how roughly he has handled you, that is okay too, as long as you are "in love."
3) It is your undead husband's decision, not yours, whether or not to abort the half-undead baby you are carrying.
4) Should someone approach you, and offer to let you have sex with his wife, with whom you are in love and respect on her own merits, without her prior knowledge (or, one assumes, consent), the correct response is, "Ummm... sure!"
5) Nothing is more romantic than having your undead husband chew through your own (now undead) flesh into your womb and give you a personal, bite-by-bite C-section.
Call me old-fashioned, but give me Scully any day of the week. I mean... really those two lists speak for themselves, and I should shut up, but I honestly can't believe this. I didn't have the highest standards for my entertainment when I was in my teens, for sure, but I'm really glad that what I ended up drawn to was something like The X-Files rather than like Twilight. I'm glad my mom steered me (gently) in that direction, and I'm glad my little Sis is following those steps too. It's easy to forget what a difference it makes, until days like today, when it just slaps you in the face.
I've been watching old X-Files DVDs, borrowed from The Store -- and you all can just shut up, because that show rocks, even if it is dated now, only ten years later. But although the government conspiracy stuff clearly shows its age, in some ways it is incredibly current. I was watching a season three episode, "2Shy", when the following scene jumped out at me (no youtube video, so a transcript will have to do):
[Scully enters the morgue; local detective is already there]
Local Detective: Oh, it's you.
Scully: That's not a problem, is it?
Local Detective: No, it's just that Dr. Kramer didn't tell me that you were observing the autopsy.
Scully: I'm not observing. I'm performing it myself.
Local Detective: You're a medical doctor?
Scully: You sound surprised.
Local Detective: I don't know. I guess maybe I am.
Scully: Why?
Local Detective: It's nothing personal, Agent Scully. I'm just . . . old-fashioned in certain regards.
Scully: Old-fashioned?
Local Detective: The truth is, I question the wisdom of assigning female law-enforcement officers to certain types of cases.
Scully: Like this one?
Local Detective: Whoever killed Lauren Mackalvey has a definite attitude toward women, right? So this has to be affecting your judgment.
Scully: I appreciate your concern, Detective. But it's not necessary. All I want to do is solve this case, just like you.
Local Detective: Look, I'm not being sexist, here, I'm just being honest.
Scully: Where would you like the autopsy report sent?
Local Detective: You can fax it to my office.
So my apologies for quoting at such length, but, for serious? That's awesome. I don't remember this particular scene -- although I know I watched the episode at some point when I was a teenager -- but, for real, that's just fantastic. She doesn't engage. She doesn't get angry. She doesn't let it affect her. She just reacts, politely and firmly, to everything he says, letting him hang himself. And it's really -- almost a throwaway scene. Like I said, although I remember the fat-sucking villain of this particular ep, I don't specifically remember this or any other scene that dealt so directly with sexism. It doesn't have bearing on the plot, not really. And yet I'm so happy it's there. This is why Scully was a feminist icon, before Buffy, or Veronica Mars, or Kima, or Laura Roslin. Like any other compelling character, Scully gets into dangerous situations and must be rescued, and spends a fair amount of time rescuing Mulder from similar situations. Gillian Anderson is lauded -- rightly -- for her charisma, her acting chops, and the air of complete competence and unflappability which she imbues in Scully, and of course this sort of scene wouldn't work without that background.
But watching it, I was just so pleased that they put this scene in the show at all -- that they showed young women (like me! in my impressionable years) a role model who not only had the chops, but had the self-confidence to stand up for herself against this sort of thing, directly, publicly, out loud, on screen.
I love me my Buffy, and I love Veronica Mars, too, and the women on BSG. And in all those shows, people are confronted with sexism and deal with it intelligently and forthrightly. But it surprised and pleased me to note that for all the ways the X-Files has aged badly (and in many ways, it has) there remain some aspects that still resonate really powerfully.
Compare this to my other "feminist moment" of the day -- rather the opposite context. Now, obviously, there has been a lot of press about Hillary Clinton, and her speech, and her delegates, and all that. I find that I have nothing more to add on this topic -- clearly the coverage is overtly sexist, clearly the woman cannot win even the smallest bit of respect from her peers regardless of what she says, and clearly she is doing some amazing work in the face of those odds. But while that is all current, and supports my point, I would instead like to fight pop culture with pop culture, and note how far we haven't come by a different comparison.
It's not a secret that I have a certain amount of contempt for Stephanie Meyer and her Twilight Saga -- in which I am not alone. Oh, I've read the first few chapters of book one, and definitely flipped through parts of number four, since it sits on the counter at The Store, and all. (Hey, counterwork is boring when there's no one in the store.) Anyway, I had read enough, both of the books and of the publicity to know that a) I am not the target demographic for this book -- I am not nearly misunderstood enough and b) I am in fact so far out of the target demographic that I am actively repulsed by the concept.
Today I was talking to my old friend Algy, who also now works at a bookstore, and she was telling our group (moi, Short Stuff, and The Fable) about how she'd read the whole series. From what she said, and what I'd read myself, I am appalled. These are the lessons that the pop teen "classic" Breaking Dawn puts forth. (I know it would be much more fair and balanced to include quotations, rather than summaries. But I do not have a copy of that particular title.)
1) It's okay to have steamy sex with your undead lover, who likes to drink blood, and following that, allow him to turn you undead as well, but only if you get married to him first.
2) Should you have sex with aforementioned undead lover-turned-husband, and you come away covered in bruises from how roughly he has handled you, that is okay too, as long as you are "in love."
3) It is your undead husband's decision, not yours, whether or not to abort the half-undead baby you are carrying.
4) Should someone approach you, and offer to let you have sex with his wife, with whom you are in love and respect on her own merits, without her prior knowledge (or, one assumes, consent), the correct response is, "Ummm... sure!"
5) Nothing is more romantic than having your undead husband chew through your own (now undead) flesh into your womb and give you a personal, bite-by-bite C-section.
Call me old-fashioned, but give me Scully any day of the week. I mean... really those two lists speak for themselves, and I should shut up, but I honestly can't believe this. I didn't have the highest standards for my entertainment when I was in my teens, for sure, but I'm really glad that what I ended up drawn to was something like The X-Files rather than like Twilight. I'm glad my mom steered me (gently) in that direction, and I'm glad my little Sis is following those steps too. It's easy to forget what a difference it makes, until days like today, when it just slaps you in the face.
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