And I knocked this time!
I really wish I could stop walking in on my roommate having sex.
Thursday, April 08, 2004
Speculations Upon the Nature of Eden: a Movement in Three Parts
The Walters Art Gallery in Baltimore has the Della Robbia sculpture from Renaissance Florence featured quite prominently as a dramatic device in "The Birth of Venus" (the recently published novel, not the Botticelli painting), the one where the snake that tempts Adam has a woman's head. I went to see it last Thursday, with Jeremy, but it was something of a disappointment.
---
On Saturday, I went to New York City for a wedding in a ratty, Azn part of Flushing. I personally didn't find it to be that great a wedding; why anyone would have a combination traditional Chinese/nightclub themed wedding afterparty I don't understand. (Presumably the actual ceremony had more decorum; I wasn't there.) You can go to a nightclub for $5 any time you want, but you only get married (hopefully) once in your life. If you ask me, in my fluffy pink thought bubbles where logic and laws of physics do not apply, I'd get married with ribbons woven through my hair, on a wooded island in a glassy lake accessible only by swan-shaped boats and fairy dust, and because my husband will be handsome, rich, intelligent, kind, and perfect in all ways, his smile would bring out the sun itself, so it'd never rain, (it may mist at worst, but that's atmospheric). Or, I'd get married in an Italian villa and ride away in a horse-drawn carriage festooned in garlands. At some point there will be soap bubbles, and ballroom dancing of the kind in which your satin dress rustles across the floor (and it doesn't matter that I can't dance, I'd take lessons six months before, with my husband, who, because he is perfect, is already an amazingly talented, yet infinitely patient, lord of the dance). And then I'd be in a loving relationship, become independently wealthy, well-rounded, good-natured, travel the world beloved by all for my meritorious contributions to society, and live a life of effortless luxury. And then after I die people will look at my gravestone and think, "Damn, she was cool."
Or something like that.
In the event that the above, by some horrendous tragedy, shall not come to pass, I should at least like to declare an edict that there will be no moronic fratboy-esque games at my wedding after-party, with flashing lights and a DJ yelling things in one of those car advertisement voices: "Now everyone on the left side cheer! What's that??? Louder! I can't hear you!!!"
There will be no Eminem or Ludacris at my wedding.
---
If I ever think about getting married, or raising children, or living somewhere or going places in my hazy pastel daydreams of the future, I inevitably find myself inserting Jeremy into the place of what previously was just some nebulous, idealized male figure. That doesn't mean though that I have anything planned, or even marginally intended. I think Jeremy finds it a bit hurtful that I make no long-term statements. It's not that I can't see myself with him in five years or so, it's just that I refuse to say anything, almost like avoiding a jinx. The thought of committment doesn't, say, make me recoil with a jolt of horror, it's simply that I fear to trust to hope as the armor against heartbreak.
The Walters Art Gallery in Baltimore has the Della Robbia sculpture from Renaissance Florence featured quite prominently as a dramatic device in "The Birth of Venus" (the recently published novel, not the Botticelli painting), the one where the snake that tempts Adam has a woman's head. I went to see it last Thursday, with Jeremy, but it was something of a disappointment.
---
On Saturday, I went to New York City for a wedding in a ratty, Azn part of Flushing. I personally didn't find it to be that great a wedding; why anyone would have a combination traditional Chinese/nightclub themed wedding afterparty I don't understand. (Presumably the actual ceremony had more decorum; I wasn't there.) You can go to a nightclub for $5 any time you want, but you only get married (hopefully) once in your life. If you ask me, in my fluffy pink thought bubbles where logic and laws of physics do not apply, I'd get married with ribbons woven through my hair, on a wooded island in a glassy lake accessible only by swan-shaped boats and fairy dust, and because my husband will be handsome, rich, intelligent, kind, and perfect in all ways, his smile would bring out the sun itself, so it'd never rain, (it may mist at worst, but that's atmospheric). Or, I'd get married in an Italian villa and ride away in a horse-drawn carriage festooned in garlands. At some point there will be soap bubbles, and ballroom dancing of the kind in which your satin dress rustles across the floor (and it doesn't matter that I can't dance, I'd take lessons six months before, with my husband, who, because he is perfect, is already an amazingly talented, yet infinitely patient, lord of the dance). And then I'd be in a loving relationship, become independently wealthy, well-rounded, good-natured, travel the world beloved by all for my meritorious contributions to society, and live a life of effortless luxury. And then after I die people will look at my gravestone and think, "Damn, she was cool."
Or something like that.
In the event that the above, by some horrendous tragedy, shall not come to pass, I should at least like to declare an edict that there will be no moronic fratboy-esque games at my wedding after-party, with flashing lights and a DJ yelling things in one of those car advertisement voices: "Now everyone on the left side cheer! What's that??? Louder! I can't hear you!!!"
There will be no Eminem or Ludacris at my wedding.
---
If I ever think about getting married, or raising children, or living somewhere or going places in my hazy pastel daydreams of the future, I inevitably find myself inserting Jeremy into the place of what previously was just some nebulous, idealized male figure. That doesn't mean though that I have anything planned, or even marginally intended. I think Jeremy finds it a bit hurtful that I make no long-term statements. It's not that I can't see myself with him in five years or so, it's just that I refuse to say anything, almost like avoiding a jinx. The thought of committment doesn't, say, make me recoil with a jolt of horror, it's simply that I fear to trust to hope as the armor against heartbreak.
Monday, March 29, 2004
Journals from Spain
(I found these on an old clipboard. They are only a three day record of a 10 day trip in 7th grade. Please forgive the bad writing. All mispellings, bad Spanish, bad grammar, inadequate descriptions, and aspects of my personality as a twelve year-old are, as they say in the computer business, features, not bugs. All linked photos are not mine, but included to enrich my otherwise inadequate text. The paragraphs in italics are my account of the journey on the plane, which I noted for some reason. It is terribly irrelevent in retrospect and is included for completeness' sake only. You may skip if you so wish.)
---
Day 1: Madrid
Remind me never to fly Spanair again. I usually find flying pleasant, but this was not the case. It might have helped if my overhead light and air vent had been working. In the middle of the night, it was unbearably hot, and I couldn't get to sleep. My headphones didn't work so I couldn't watch the movies.
I decided to take my watch off because the strap was making me hot. I put it on the arm rest, but it kept falling off. Finally, I attached it to the hook that holds the table in place. I went to the door to look out the window, like I usually do, but there was no window. I went to the W.C. to change and took off my shirt, but I had nothing to change into, so put it on again.
However, I did get little blue slippers that were fun to slide around in. At fist I had no idea what they were. I thought they were night caps or something. I asked one of the flight attendants, who like much of the crew, didn't speak a word of English. Regadless, I didn't get far. I found out they were slippers after seeing someone slide around in them. It was still very hot, so I went to the front of the plane and back. Just because you like to know these things, here is the food I ate on the plane: fish with rice and veggies (eggplants!), crackers with cheese, cheesecake, and some grey round stuff that tasted disgusting. I fell asleep soon after.
When I woke up, we were prepared to land. We could see the sun rising throuh the window. When we landed, we had to go down the stairs, instead of through a gate so I got to see the sun rise. It was 12 degrees C, probably the perfect termperature, and my first view of Madrid was of a sunrise over the hills. (Despite the fact that my ears hurt.) After customs, and upon exiting the airport, we waited for the bus. It dawned upon me that Madrid looked very much like Hong Kong, with the same climate and vegetation. After heading to our hotels, we toured Madrid. There seemed to be an unusual nmber of motorcyclists willing to run me down. There were too many cars smokers, and beggars, which made it hard to breathe. We went into a little bakery to seek refuge and breakfast. "Er, pan for favor?" asked Jacob, the same boy on the plane sliding around in slippers. "You want this?" the person asked in English. It was very funny and we got away from speaking more Spanish.
We went to the Royal Palace. In front of it, were several mounted guards. (Personally, I wonder if they like their jobs.) After awhile, the rode away, and I was able to get a close up photo. They were chased by a bunch of kids who wanted autographs. Later, they changed the standing guard. After a series of military salutes, they finally changed.
We had to meet behind the Royal Palace and between a church which I do not know the name of, at 12:00. In that area, was a statue of Felipe II This statue was flanked by 4 obelisks, which were flanked by 4 balls. Behind the statue was a gate, from which one could see Toledo, a neighboring city. This place is my favorite in Madrid because when you lie down, the stone is cool, the sun is warm, and every hour, the nearby church tolls its bells.
Passing the front of the palace again, we saw a guard on a motorcycle with a machine gun in camaflage uniform. He looked strange next to the ceremonial guard with their blue uniforms and bayonets. The modern guard seem to be everywhere.
We headed to the park, where there was a maze made out of bushes. The bushes were short and could easily be seen over, but it was fun chasing people around. I get tired easily, so I sat by the fountain and splashed the water. Nearby were many statues of Greek and Roman people that I have never heard of. Madrid looks and smells like Hong Kong except that Madrid has Greco-Roman influences. The park is my second favorite place. (It always seems that I always take the most pictures of my favorite place.) We ate lunch at Museo de Jamon (literally, Museum of Ham). I ate limon helado, or lemon ice-cream. It was ice cream inside a lemon. (Try new things. I wonder what orange ice-cream is.) We then went back to the palace. Christine got rubbings. We went back to our hotel for siesta, then went to dinner. It was very greasy chicken. I think the Pepsi made me hyper, because I am REALLY HAPPY AND HAPPY AND HAPPY AND TIRED.. zzzzzz...
Day 2: Villa Nueva de Canada.
I met my host family today. My "sister", Lucia Monserrat, had made me a Welcome sign. She also gave me a little blue teddy bear that plays music when you squeeze it's paw.
We went to Segovia, the city where she and her mother were born. It has a castle and a (scribbled in the margin of the page: "811-7310 Don Angel".. I have no idea what this is) cathedral, and was built by the Romans. It even has an aquaduct running through it. I bought a book in Segovia. We had lunch at a small cafe. I had orange ice cream this time. It tasted like lemon ice-cream, except orange. After lunch, we went to another part of Segovia and saw the fountains near another royal palace. It was winter, so the fountains were off, but I bought some post cards which I probably will never bother to send home. Wen we got home, my family had a stange conversation with Teresa, Lucia's friend, and I hopped into her car and got driven to Maria's house. There, we dropped off Teresa's brother to play soccer in the middle of the road with his friends and I was introduced to Maria. Her American is my friend, Anne. We walked to the house of Julianna, and her "sister" Anne. We played soccer in the middle of the road and were occassionally scattered by a passing car or motorcycle. Many people would sit on the front steps and talk. We went home after dark and ate dinner at about 10:00. We watched a soccer game, then I went to sleep.
Day 3: Home Stay.
I had cereal for breakfast. I didn't know that eating cereal could be so hard. For example, which goes in first, the milk or the cereal? How much milk or cereal do I put in? What do I do with this little packet chcolage? I learned after a while. Afterwards, we went to the Prados Museum of Art in Madrid with Blanaca, another friend of Lucia's, and Christine. I got 2 brochures; 1 on Goya, 1 on Velazquez, and 1 on the Museum itself. Then, we went to Toledo. It has two beautiful cathedrals. In one, I saw a painting, the burial of Count Orgaz. It is the only painting that a certain artist is admired for. I forgot his name, but the painting is so famous that I'll find it soon. After lunch, we went to an observatory on the outskirts of Toledo near the top of a mountain. I took a couple pictures from there. The parents were having coffee, so we played hide and seek and hiked to the top of the mountain. I took a picture from the top. I am going to school tommorow, so I have to go to sleep early. Bye.
Day 4: Homestay
---
The journal ends. Dammit! I wish I'd written more. Or at least taken more pictures, but I, like Rob, who was also in Spain, am camera shy.
(I found these on an old clipboard. They are only a three day record of a 10 day trip in 7th grade. Please forgive the bad writing. All mispellings, bad Spanish, bad grammar, inadequate descriptions, and aspects of my personality as a twelve year-old are, as they say in the computer business, features, not bugs. All linked photos are not mine, but included to enrich my otherwise inadequate text. The paragraphs in italics are my account of the journey on the plane, which I noted for some reason. It is terribly irrelevent in retrospect and is included for completeness' sake only. You may skip if you so wish.)
---
Day 1: Madrid
Remind me never to fly Spanair again. I usually find flying pleasant, but this was not the case. It might have helped if my overhead light and air vent had been working. In the middle of the night, it was unbearably hot, and I couldn't get to sleep. My headphones didn't work so I couldn't watch the movies.
I decided to take my watch off because the strap was making me hot. I put it on the arm rest, but it kept falling off. Finally, I attached it to the hook that holds the table in place. I went to the door to look out the window, like I usually do, but there was no window. I went to the W.C. to change and took off my shirt, but I had nothing to change into, so put it on again.
However, I did get little blue slippers that were fun to slide around in. At fist I had no idea what they were. I thought they were night caps or something. I asked one of the flight attendants, who like much of the crew, didn't speak a word of English. Regadless, I didn't get far. I found out they were slippers after seeing someone slide around in them. It was still very hot, so I went to the front of the plane and back. Just because you like to know these things, here is the food I ate on the plane: fish with rice and veggies (eggplants!), crackers with cheese, cheesecake, and some grey round stuff that tasted disgusting. I fell asleep soon after.
When I woke up, we were prepared to land. We could see the sun rising throuh the window. When we landed, we had to go down the stairs, instead of through a gate so I got to see the sun rise. It was 12 degrees C, probably the perfect termperature, and my first view of Madrid was of a sunrise over the hills. (Despite the fact that my ears hurt.) After customs, and upon exiting the airport, we waited for the bus. It dawned upon me that Madrid looked very much like Hong Kong, with the same climate and vegetation. After heading to our hotels, we toured Madrid. There seemed to be an unusual nmber of motorcyclists willing to run me down. There were too many cars smokers, and beggars, which made it hard to breathe. We went into a little bakery to seek refuge and breakfast. "Er, pan for favor?" asked Jacob, the same boy on the plane sliding around in slippers. "You want this?" the person asked in English. It was very funny and we got away from speaking more Spanish.
We went to the Royal Palace. In front of it, were several mounted guards. (Personally, I wonder if they like their jobs.) After awhile, the rode away, and I was able to get a close up photo. They were chased by a bunch of kids who wanted autographs. Later, they changed the standing guard. After a series of military salutes, they finally changed.
We had to meet behind the Royal Palace and between a church which I do not know the name of, at 12:00. In that area, was a statue of Felipe II This statue was flanked by 4 obelisks, which were flanked by 4 balls. Behind the statue was a gate, from which one could see Toledo, a neighboring city. This place is my favorite in Madrid because when you lie down, the stone is cool, the sun is warm, and every hour, the nearby church tolls its bells.
Passing the front of the palace again, we saw a guard on a motorcycle with a machine gun in camaflage uniform. He looked strange next to the ceremonial guard with their blue uniforms and bayonets. The modern guard seem to be everywhere.
We headed to the park, where there was a maze made out of bushes. The bushes were short and could easily be seen over, but it was fun chasing people around. I get tired easily, so I sat by the fountain and splashed the water. Nearby were many statues of Greek and Roman people that I have never heard of. Madrid looks and smells like Hong Kong except that Madrid has Greco-Roman influences. The park is my second favorite place. (It always seems that I always take the most pictures of my favorite place.) We ate lunch at Museo de Jamon (literally, Museum of Ham). I ate limon helado, or lemon ice-cream. It was ice cream inside a lemon. (Try new things. I wonder what orange ice-cream is.) We then went back to the palace. Christine got rubbings. We went back to our hotel for siesta, then went to dinner. It was very greasy chicken. I think the Pepsi made me hyper, because I am REALLY HAPPY AND HAPPY AND HAPPY AND TIRED.. zzzzzz...
Day 2: Villa Nueva de Canada.
I met my host family today. My "sister", Lucia Monserrat, had made me a Welcome sign. She also gave me a little blue teddy bear that plays music when you squeeze it's paw.
We went to Segovia, the city where she and her mother were born. It has a castle and a (scribbled in the margin of the page: "811-7310 Don Angel".. I have no idea what this is) cathedral, and was built by the Romans. It even has an aquaduct running through it. I bought a book in Segovia. We had lunch at a small cafe. I had orange ice cream this time. It tasted like lemon ice-cream, except orange. After lunch, we went to another part of Segovia and saw the fountains near another royal palace. It was winter, so the fountains were off, but I bought some post cards which I probably will never bother to send home. Wen we got home, my family had a stange conversation with Teresa, Lucia's friend, and I hopped into her car and got driven to Maria's house. There, we dropped off Teresa's brother to play soccer in the middle of the road with his friends and I was introduced to Maria. Her American is my friend, Anne. We walked to the house of Julianna, and her "sister" Anne. We played soccer in the middle of the road and were occassionally scattered by a passing car or motorcycle. Many people would sit on the front steps and talk. We went home after dark and ate dinner at about 10:00. We watched a soccer game, then I went to sleep.
Day 3: Home Stay.
I had cereal for breakfast. I didn't know that eating cereal could be so hard. For example, which goes in first, the milk or the cereal? How much milk or cereal do I put in? What do I do with this little packet chcolage? I learned after a while. Afterwards, we went to the Prados Museum of Art in Madrid with Blanaca, another friend of Lucia's, and Christine. I got 2 brochures; 1 on Goya, 1 on Velazquez, and 1 on the Museum itself. Then, we went to Toledo. It has two beautiful cathedrals. In one, I saw a painting, the burial of Count Orgaz. It is the only painting that a certain artist is admired for. I forgot his name, but the painting is so famous that I'll find it soon. After lunch, we went to an observatory on the outskirts of Toledo near the top of a mountain. I took a couple pictures from there. The parents were having coffee, so we played hide and seek and hiked to the top of the mountain. I took a picture from the top. I am going to school tommorow, so I have to go to sleep early. Bye.
Day 4: Homestay
---
The journal ends. Dammit! I wish I'd written more. Or at least taken more pictures, but I, like Rob, who was also in Spain, am camera shy.
Saturday, March 27, 2004
Madness in the Dark
Lauren recommended to me an excellent Trigun fanfic. V. short but v. powerful. Spoilers.. duh. You know which one.
Lauren recommended to me an excellent Trigun fanfic. V. short but v. powerful. Spoilers.. duh. You know which one.
Friday, March 26, 2004
You PETA People Are Gonna Kill Me For This
Senate Passes Fetus Protection Bill
I'm vaguely pro-choice but I'm not against this at all. If you can get prosecuted for killing a cat, you should be prosecuted for killing an unborn child, for God's sake. This is a no-brainer. I don't consider it murder on the same degree as killing a full-grown person but it should still be a criminal offense. I mean, compared to offenses like parking tickets, pulling the tag off of mattresses and pirating music... After all, even if for the sake of argument a fetus doesn't have rights (which I think it has at least as much as any animal*), isn't the assault of a pregnant woman, as well as being an assault on her person, a violation of her right to choose? The criminal is essentially attempting to make an abortion for her, which anyone on either side of the argument can agree is a heinous deed.
*My opinion on animals is that they can be killed for the utilization of a resource, as a preservation of a cultural tradition, or to euthanize them. They should not be killed because someone enjoys the suffering, or if they are someone elses' property. However, the intention is more important than the act in this case. A butcher who kills not because he must provide meat, but because he enjoys watching the animals squirm, is to be condemned. A matador (whose vocation encompasses centuries of unique tradition and is the social glue of an entire community) who performs not because he likes killing, but for the love of grace and precision in his movements and respects the bull as an honorable enemy, is to be applauded.
Fetuses should be given at least this much protection, and for goodness sakes, a lot more. A sense of ethics, if not the government, should say that an unborn child should not be killed after it has developed a heart and brain, unless the mother is in grave danger or it is so deformed, handicapped or severely retarded that it would be a mercy to the child not to bring it to term.
Full human rights, for fully-formed human beings, go as follow: Among other things, they should not be killed for any reason except self-defense, should not be euthanized unless requested, and even then, probably not. I don't care if the guy is retarded or deformed or handicapped after he's born, you can't kill him. Can you really look a retarded person in the eye and say that all those years he's been alive were a waste, and then drill a hole in his head and vacuum out his brains? Didn't think so.
Therefore fetal rights lie somewhere in between, deserving of more than animals with no sentience or nor souls, but not a human with moral, spiritual, emotional and mental capabilities yet.
Senate Passes Fetus Protection Bill
I'm vaguely pro-choice but I'm not against this at all. If you can get prosecuted for killing a cat, you should be prosecuted for killing an unborn child, for God's sake. This is a no-brainer. I don't consider it murder on the same degree as killing a full-grown person but it should still be a criminal offense. I mean, compared to offenses like parking tickets, pulling the tag off of mattresses and pirating music... After all, even if for the sake of argument a fetus doesn't have rights (which I think it has at least as much as any animal*), isn't the assault of a pregnant woman, as well as being an assault on her person, a violation of her right to choose? The criminal is essentially attempting to make an abortion for her, which anyone on either side of the argument can agree is a heinous deed.
*My opinion on animals is that they can be killed for the utilization of a resource, as a preservation of a cultural tradition, or to euthanize them. They should not be killed because someone enjoys the suffering, or if they are someone elses' property. However, the intention is more important than the act in this case. A butcher who kills not because he must provide meat, but because he enjoys watching the animals squirm, is to be condemned. A matador (whose vocation encompasses centuries of unique tradition and is the social glue of an entire community) who performs not because he likes killing, but for the love of grace and precision in his movements and respects the bull as an honorable enemy, is to be applauded.
Fetuses should be given at least this much protection, and for goodness sakes, a lot more. A sense of ethics, if not the government, should say that an unborn child should not be killed after it has developed a heart and brain, unless the mother is in grave danger or it is so deformed, handicapped or severely retarded that it would be a mercy to the child not to bring it to term.
Full human rights, for fully-formed human beings, go as follow: Among other things, they should not be killed for any reason except self-defense, should not be euthanized unless requested, and even then, probably not. I don't care if the guy is retarded or deformed or handicapped after he's born, you can't kill him. Can you really look a retarded person in the eye and say that all those years he's been alive were a waste, and then drill a hole in his head and vacuum out his brains? Didn't think so.
Therefore fetal rights lie somewhere in between, deserving of more than animals with no sentience or nor souls, but not a human with moral, spiritual, emotional and mental capabilities yet.
Excerpts from Things My Girlfriend And I Have Argued About:
So, as I was saying, 'insomnia'. The thing with insomnia is you never know when to give in. Do you stay there, trying to get to sleep, or do you give in and say, 'Well - not going to get to sleep anyway, might as well get up and do something.' It's a tricky one and no mistake. When I get insomnia, I generally try all the standard things: I try to relax, I try to clear my mind, I try to think of something pleasant (often this turns out to involve Courteney Cox and, in the 'encouraging a condition where sleep is likely' stakes, backfires massively). If none of these works, I'll quietly get up, go downstairs and read Pinter until insomnia's spirit breaks. What I don't do is turn to Margret and, at intervals precisely judged to be 'just long enough to have allowed the other person to have got to sleep again', keep saying, 'I can't sleep' and, 'I can't sleep' and, 'Really, I just can't sleep' and, 'I'm still awake, I just can't sleep' and, 'Pheeeeeeeeeeeeee - I can't sleep' and, 'I don't know what it is; I'm tired, but I can't sleep' and, 'I can't sleep' and, 'I can't get to sleep' and, 'I'll be so tired in the morning - look at the time. But I can't sleep'. Because that's the kind of behaviour that can lead... to... someone... snapping.
I do this. I bounce up and down on the bed and pound the mattress in a tantrum with my wimpy little fists. "Jeremyyyy! I can't sleeeeep!" *whine, mope*
..
(When his roommate's not there, of course.)
So, as I was saying, 'insomnia'. The thing with insomnia is you never know when to give in. Do you stay there, trying to get to sleep, or do you give in and say, 'Well - not going to get to sleep anyway, might as well get up and do something.' It's a tricky one and no mistake. When I get insomnia, I generally try all the standard things: I try to relax, I try to clear my mind, I try to think of something pleasant (often this turns out to involve Courteney Cox and, in the 'encouraging a condition where sleep is likely' stakes, backfires massively). If none of these works, I'll quietly get up, go downstairs and read Pinter until insomnia's spirit breaks. What I don't do is turn to Margret and, at intervals precisely judged to be 'just long enough to have allowed the other person to have got to sleep again', keep saying, 'I can't sleep' and, 'I can't sleep' and, 'Really, I just can't sleep' and, 'I'm still awake, I just can't sleep' and, 'Pheeeeeeeeeeeeee - I can't sleep' and, 'I don't know what it is; I'm tired, but I can't sleep' and, 'I can't sleep' and, 'I can't get to sleep' and, 'I'll be so tired in the morning - look at the time. But I can't sleep'. Because that's the kind of behaviour that can lead... to... someone... snapping.
I do this. I bounce up and down on the bed and pound the mattress in a tantrum with my wimpy little fists. "Jeremyyyy! I can't sleeeeep!" *whine, mope*
..
(When his roommate's not there, of course.)
You Are No Longer Welcome In the Homer Reading Group
I know people like this. This is also, sadly, an aspect of roleplaying groups as well.
I know people like this. This is also, sadly, an aspect of roleplaying groups as well.
More excerpts from "The Birth of Venus" (which is an quite interesting with some really memorable dialogues. This is not one of them but I thought I should note):
"Then move your black snatch out of the way," he shouted, shoving her back. "Slut. We don't need women of the Devil's color on our streets. Watch your step or you'll be next for his knife."
"Not before your balls are hanging alongside the Medici crest," she muttered, as she started to push me out through the back of the crowd.
This is one of those things that are only funny to me. The Medici crest consists of a few pallae (pills), which are symbolized by a set of spheres or balls.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
"Then move your black snatch out of the way," he shouted, shoving her back. "Slut. We don't need women of the Devil's color on our streets. Watch your step or you'll be next for his knife."
"Not before your balls are hanging alongside the Medici crest," she muttered, as she started to push me out through the back of the crowd.
This is one of those things that are only funny to me. The Medici crest consists of a few pallae (pills), which are symbolized by a set of spheres or balls.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
Thursday, March 25, 2004
Malnutrition in Developing Countries
While I admire our good intentions, should I be just a whee bit concerned that the government is putting stuff in our food without our knowledge? (Or it could be with our knowledge and I'm just uninformed..)
While I admire our good intentions, should I be just a whee bit concerned that the government is putting stuff in our food without our knowledge? (Or it could be with our knowledge and I'm just uninformed..)
Just so you know, I'm on spring break. It's very boring. Because it coincides with my Rennaissance Art class, I've been reading "The Birth of Venus" by Sarah Dunant, a novel which is quite visibly displayed front and center in hardback in every Barnes and Noble all over America. You can't miss it. If I ever become an author I'd die to have publicity like that. It's currently #24 in Amazon.com's sales rank. Dear Lord! I'm reading a popular novel!
*faint*
It angles towards the "Girl With a Pearl Earring" crowd, except it's a bit more feminist and a bit more erotic. It's about this girl, Alessandra who's the daughter of a rich merchant and has a passion for painting which apparently is not proper for a girl of her station. She's intelligent, spirited and stubborn but not very graceful, modest or obedient, unlike her older sister (if life was like novels, older sisters through some phenomenon of medical science would always be prettier), which I guess is supposed to be a character flaw of some sort. The operative word here would be "spunky" or "plucky" or something eye-rollingly campy like that. Then she gets sent off to her arranged marriage*... blah blah... and I should mention that there's a young, sensitive and spiritual painter of few words who is employed at her house.
--
"So you think he is impervious to women?"
She snorted. "If he is, he'll be the first one I've ever met. He's just rigid with purity."
---
(sounds like a boy I know)
Chick factor on a scale of 1-10... 11.
The main character is a lot more vivid than Griet from "Girl With Pearl", but also is a lot more cliched and the product of an anachronistic "girl power" mind set imposed on another era. It's among the most politically correct books I've ever read, and this is coming from an ardent reader of fantasy, a genre that's basic appeal is historical revisionism without the pretense of accuracy.
Reviewers say "Birth of Venus" is "well-researched," (wow, that's a lot of quotes) but I'm taking an introductory Renaissance Art class and I know all this stuff already. It's not giving me any more insights into Renaissance Florence than my professor and his fifty minute narrated slide show three times a week (though admittedly he is a very good professor and it is a very good slide show.) Maybe "Birth" is well-researched for a casual read, but it doesn't seem like this woman spends her life working on this stuff, which is what separates the greatest period writers from the kinda good. My first thought goes to Mary Renault who sets the standard for Ancient Greek historical fiction, but since you guys have never heard of her (illiterate heathens!), I'll use Tolkien as an example. I know he's not a historical fiction writer, but my point still stands. I mean, these people eat and sleep and probably shit history. They're in it for a living. If you're just a "hobby historian," though there's nothing to say you can't write a good novel, in terms of richness of detail and thoroughness of research, you really can't compete.
But anyway, Birth of Venus is pretty good anyhow. It's very fast paced and not boring anywhere, and though the protagonist is cliched, she's at least very likeable. Some of the theological points are quite profound, and yes, some moments are very poignant. The author could have just pulled some cheap and easy plot or dramatic devices and she doesn't, and I respect her for that. Also, I'm halfway through and it's suddenly gotten very interesting and quite unconventional...
*An arranged marriage sounds a lot like college. As a rite of passage into adulthood, leaving your family for a strange home where you don't know anyone. Okay, without that.. having sex with a random stranger part. .. Oh yeah, and without AIM.
*faint*
It angles towards the "Girl With a Pearl Earring" crowd, except it's a bit more feminist and a bit more erotic. It's about this girl, Alessandra who's the daughter of a rich merchant and has a passion for painting which apparently is not proper for a girl of her station. She's intelligent, spirited and stubborn but not very graceful, modest or obedient, unlike her older sister (if life was like novels, older sisters through some phenomenon of medical science would always be prettier), which I guess is supposed to be a character flaw of some sort. The operative word here would be "spunky" or "plucky" or something eye-rollingly campy like that. Then she gets sent off to her arranged marriage*... blah blah... and I should mention that there's a young, sensitive and spiritual painter of few words who is employed at her house.
--
"So you think he is impervious to women?"
She snorted. "If he is, he'll be the first one I've ever met. He's just rigid with purity."
---
(sounds like a boy I know)
Chick factor on a scale of 1-10... 11.
The main character is a lot more vivid than Griet from "Girl With Pearl", but also is a lot more cliched and the product of an anachronistic "girl power" mind set imposed on another era. It's among the most politically correct books I've ever read, and this is coming from an ardent reader of fantasy, a genre that's basic appeal is historical revisionism without the pretense of accuracy.
Reviewers say "Birth of Venus" is "well-researched," (wow, that's a lot of quotes) but I'm taking an introductory Renaissance Art class and I know all this stuff already. It's not giving me any more insights into Renaissance Florence than my professor and his fifty minute narrated slide show three times a week (though admittedly he is a very good professor and it is a very good slide show.) Maybe "Birth" is well-researched for a casual read, but it doesn't seem like this woman spends her life working on this stuff, which is what separates the greatest period writers from the kinda good. My first thought goes to Mary Renault who sets the standard for Ancient Greek historical fiction, but since you guys have never heard of her (illiterate heathens!), I'll use Tolkien as an example. I know he's not a historical fiction writer, but my point still stands. I mean, these people eat and sleep and probably shit history. They're in it for a living. If you're just a "hobby historian," though there's nothing to say you can't write a good novel, in terms of richness of detail and thoroughness of research, you really can't compete.
But anyway, Birth of Venus is pretty good anyhow. It's very fast paced and not boring anywhere, and though the protagonist is cliched, she's at least very likeable. Some of the theological points are quite profound, and yes, some moments are very poignant. The author could have just pulled some cheap and easy plot or dramatic devices and she doesn't, and I respect her for that. Also, I'm halfway through and it's suddenly gotten very interesting and quite unconventional...
*An arranged marriage sounds a lot like college. As a rite of passage into adulthood, leaving your family for a strange home where you don't know anyone. Okay, without that.. having sex with a random stranger part. .. Oh yeah, and without AIM.
Thursday, March 18, 2004
At the recital hall, a beautiful sound emanated from the stage. The richness of violin, flute, clarinet and cello swelled in full and mellow notes, in subtlely textured harmony. Then the musicians stopped tuning their instruments, and the concert for contemporary chamber music began.
Contemporary music is terrible. At worse it sounds like a bunch of autistic kids who found the key to the band room; at best you can tell there's something like rhythm and notes, but it isn't anything. It's empty. If music is nourishment for the soul then this is just nothing at all.
I left (in the rain) during Intermission, while the table for the post-concert reception was set up. Lemon merangue triangles are among my favorite desserts, but I wouldn't for love nor money sit through the second half.
I did, however, pick up the pamphlet for the entire music program for this semester. There's some Bach and Beethoven to be had in April.
Thank the Lord.
Contemporary music is terrible. At worse it sounds like a bunch of autistic kids who found the key to the band room; at best you can tell there's something like rhythm and notes, but it isn't anything. It's empty. If music is nourishment for the soul then this is just nothing at all.
I left (in the rain) during Intermission, while the table for the post-concert reception was set up. Lemon merangue triangles are among my favorite desserts, but I wouldn't for love nor money sit through the second half.
I did, however, pick up the pamphlet for the entire music program for this semester. There's some Bach and Beethoven to be had in April.
Thank the Lord.
I went to listen to the seminar in the library gallery on housing prices in the U.S, because I'm an econ major and feel like bettering myself. There were many graphs in shiny ink on glossy paper. I understood the principles of supply and demand in relation to the market. The speaker finished, and opened the floor for questions, and while faculty members asked questions that I didn't understand about things like tax deductions and refinancing mortgage and monthly payments, I walked around looking at the walls of the gallery, at an art exhibition with black and white photographs from the Cuban Revolution. For being black and white photographs, these were tremendously moving, full of so much hope and exuberance of a bygone era. They're such frail and ephemeral things, and not a little sad for it since we all know how that revolution under the Havanna night and Che Guevera's pen turned out. It made me wonder who the people in it were; who they are now, who that little girl laughing under the light of the sun in a little white dress lifted and swung up in Fidel Castro's arms is, whether she's still laughing. There's a sequential pair of photos, the first one showing maybe half a dozen members of a crowd waiting for the arrival of Castro to make a speech, wearing expressions of anxious anticipation, and the next photo, taken right as Castro arrives, when such joy breaks out on the people's faces it's like the surging of a wave. There's just that moment of a temporary dream that makes it so beautiful and sad. In the meantime the seminar concluded and the audience converged on the reception table for coffee, fruit, and lemon merangue triangles.
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
Kay made his first anime music video for Hellsing, to E.S. Posthumus' "Pompeii" (apparently an opera of some sort). It's badass, and he's going to show it at Otakon. Go download it. Now.
Tuesday, March 16, 2004
Wherein Angie Reverts to Fall Semester, Freshman Year
Niall and Paul have kicked me out of Jeremy's room, after staying there for five months, without any advance notice to either me or Jeremy. We didn't know there was any sort of problem but apparently we didn't deserve to be told what it was.
Yes, I technically have a place to live, but I'm not quite sure how I'm to call it home, and in the meantime I have no cash and I've got to get myself some soap and shampoo and toothpaste because I haven't used my own bathroom since September.
Niall and Paul have kicked me out of Jeremy's room, after staying there for five months, without any advance notice to either me or Jeremy. We didn't know there was any sort of problem but apparently we didn't deserve to be told what it was.
Yes, I technically have a place to live, but I'm not quite sure how I'm to call it home, and in the meantime I have no cash and I've got to get myself some soap and shampoo and toothpaste because I haven't used my own bathroom since September.
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