ok I'm a doof
I keep doing that! Saving as a draft instead of publishing as a post. I guess I assume that the first button is the primary one. Also, blue is much more appealing to me than orange. Either way.
I've read Bartleby the Scrivener about 600 times now and although I love the main chunk of the story, the first few pages seem completely useless to me, even now.
I also find it interesting the way poetry works. (I'm just looking at classic poems for a moment now.) If you hear a few lines, you can usually tell it's a poem. Something about the flow, or the choices of words just screams POEM! POEM! at you. For some reason, I can't find that flow or that choice of words.
I'm also having trouble with my next workshop piece...I'm trying to start early because I have a million other commitments (prelims/papers/etc.) that week and I don't want to get swamped. I know what I want to write about, but I'm not sure how to go about it to make it as effective as possible. Oh writing. How you wound me.
psychoanalysis is so much fun
I know that I rarely seem to directly write about the readings...I feel like if there's anything to say, someone will say it during class, and there's no reason to clog up perfectly good webspace with something that has already perforated the air.
Today was fantastic in nearly every way. I don't think I've laughed so hard in staff meeting (RA staff meeting!!) EVER. Staff meetings are meant to be boring, stiff, something you want to get over with. A resident must have left some marijuana roasting in the corner or something because we had the giggles for a full 90 minutes (or maybe that was just me...). Then at night, my friend Tim came over and we watched
Eternal Sunshine for the Spotless Mind after a hefty discussion of it not 3 days prior. (Fabulous movie, by the way, if you haven't seen it yet.) For some reason, we just started laughing about puns on the word "crap" (real mature, I know) for about 45 minutes. It's amazing how fun punning can be.
Point being, despite how wonderful today has been, I still sit here, somewhat miserable. More to add tomorrow.
Crystal what?
That Crystallography piece was insane. I don't think I've seen so many words I don't know in one place within the span of seven pages. Of the ones I at least recognized, there's not much "getting meaning out of context" to be done. Not surprisingly, I wasn't a huge fan, although it was interesting and creative. I especially enjoyed the matrices made out of the names of the elements (and I assume that those elements make up some substance when put together as he did).
Not surprisingly, I loved the Bishop piece. I tend to love most of her work. (A book of her poetry was featured in the movie "In Her Shoes" that I just saw recently. Cameron Diaz reads it out loud to an old blind dude. But I digress.) If I were to pick out a poet who constantly propels you and never makes you feel like poetry is boring, I'd pick her. I loved the "five-haired beard of wisdom" and the fish's physical description makes you envision the nastiest looking beast (at least, it did for me). He's infested with lice, has gunk all over and fish hooks protruding bloodily from his mouth. I imagine that it had to be somewhat bloody, even if she didn't specify it. This also reminded me of the movie "Big Fish," talking about the largest fish ever caught and how he returned it to the ocean because "some fish were just never meant to be caught." I feel like I'm on a "relate everything in my life to a movie or TV show" streak.
Haven't read the Borges yet, but I will right after I publish this entry.
nothing today
I kind of forgot that we didn't need a blogpost last week...so I'll count that as this week's post. Is anyone else getting bugged by those annoying auto-comments? They're so deceiving! >:o
Also, tabbing within the box does nothing. Disappointing, but not entirely unexpected.
Like being Queer?
First, 2 random comments:
1. I've learned that you can tab within the box. Cool.
2. Snuggled up in bed with a great book and warm milk provides the most satisfying feeling I've had all week.
I was watching an episode of Queer as Folk (my most recent TV addiction) and at one point, a character named Ben states that he prefers writing with pen and paper to using a computer because the beauty of longhand lies in just that - having the time to think while you write. Sure it's slower, but the process almost seems to work better that way. I think he's ignoring those creative bursts where your "pen can't keep up" with the words that are pouring out, but in a way, isn't that experience - the thrill of that rush - incredible in itself?
When you begin writing on a clean sheet of paper, it's remarkable how much that first sentence or doodle or line of a letter/character matters. Suddenly, the integrity of the page seems to disappear, marred by this blasphemous ink that dares to make its mark. If you're going to ruin a perfectly pristine page, you'd better damn well have something good to say. Once your pen hits the page, it's all over. Kind of like how a crease in a paper never goes away, no matter how many times you try to roll it straight over a table edge. And it's especially a pain in the ass when that page is something important - say, your resume (of course, in a resume's case, it's printed, but even so, just stay with me here). And you have to print it all out AGAIN on that obscenely pricy "resume paper." What is it that we have to prove to people how "professional" we are? It seems so unnatural.
Sitting here amonst stacks of books, I hope we never stop publishing. Scientifically, it's already been established that reading from paper is easier on the eyes than reading off a computer (reflection vs. illumination). Besides that, books are just so...beautiful. I miss the way books used to be made, leather bound with gold inlaid letters, borders and symbols. They smell like knowledge.
On a completely unrelated note, I love having someone sing me to sleep. It feels so intimate and comforting.
No internet!
Who knew - no internet until just now! *fumes* I thought I'd have wireless where I was, but apparently not. Anyways. Here's the book review.
*****
I'd been meaning to read Arthur Golden's
Memoirs of a Geisha for some time now, considering I bought it at the bookstore about 6 months ago, but haven't gotten around to reading it til now. You can't bring me to a bookstore - I'll inevitably buy something (if not many somethings). So really, the reading of this book has been going on for quite some time now.
I knew very little about Japanese culture before I read this novel and although it only hit on one particular aspect, it gave such a rich description of geisha life that I didn't feel like I'd ever have to research it myself, ever. What really compelled me to keep reading was how connected I felt toward Sayuri, the protagonist and author of the memoirs. Halfway through, you forget that both Sayuri and her "memoirs" are works of fiction, fabricated by a middle-aged white guy. Arthur Golden's descriptions of the exquisite kimonos, ceremonies at the teahouses and fantastic representations of characters completely immerse you.
Perhaps I'm just a typical girl who loves a good romance, or maybe it's because I like to play soothing, candlelight music when I'm reading, but I was close to tears at the end. I think that every woman knows what it's like, to spend a life pining over the perfect man - someone handsome, rich, intelligent, compassionate, classy - and in Sayuri's case, the Chairman of one of Japan's most profitable and successful companies. Sayuri did not limit herself to pining; in fact her fascination and infatuation motivated her to become one of the most highly sought after geishas in Gion. Golden allows you to feel her elation, her hope, her stabbing disappointment when she believes that the Chairman's best friend was planning to take her as a mistress instead of the Chairman himself. I've known many people for years and years, but rarely have I felt so close to a character in a mere book. I think the gushy background music and my own Oriental ethnicity helped.
Even though Golden uses many Japanese names and phrases, somehow, they never distract from the dialogue and flow of the story. Each moment still captivates you as if Sayuri's name was "Sarah" or something else "American." He explains everything so well, from the design on a painted fan to the type of makeup a geisha wears. You'd think the language barrier would detract from the storyline, but it doesn't at all.
I can't wait for the movie. I just hope it doesn't destroy the magic of the novel.
