AAAAAAAnd..... 20!

I have met a certain goal and I'm all the better for it.

Despite having no time over the last month because of constant rehearsals for 3 Sisters until each rehearsal was a cup of my blood drained... Oh lord... Would you look at that. I've quoted the play (sort of. More of a reference, really). Quite unintentionally, I promise, but that gives me something to actually type, other than "Hallelujah! Freedom! Freeeedoooooom!"

The unintentional quoting is one of the major downsides to working on a play. Even though I wasn't actually IN the play, and I didn't HAVE to learn lines... I did learn those lines. It's funny the way time does pass. Here we are. One year later. And the anniversaries. Irina's birthday and the day of father's death. Which now will always be linked.

See? I could keep going. Ooooooh yes. I could keep going.

God, I'm going to miss the theater. This was my last theater class. I'm done with my minor. And it saddens me. Very much so. At least I will have the memories... and this photograph.

See Chris Domanski's set design? The man's a genius, and every play I've been to see where he did the set design has been visually astounding. Too bad you couldn't see all the neat lighting effects, because Angela's a genius too. And another genius, Kate, she did the costuming.

These wonderful, artistic people... God, I'm going to miss these wonderful, artistic people.

But! C'est la vie!

Ich habe rasende Kopfschmerzen!

Honestly. I do indeed have a splitting headache. I think I should go home and go to bed.

But first I shall discuss the Kaleidoscope dancers.

My God, I envy the talent of those dancers. How they can all move in the exact same moment, perfectly in sync with the choreography. I did feel rather disappointed that no one decided to do "Thriller" but I understand that they have to make up their own dances - which I don't understand.

"Thriller" made sense, oddly enough. Come on. Zombie monster things. What's not to get? The meaning is entirely obvious. A dance to "Dead and Gone," however... I turn my head to the west! I turn my head to the east! (This is a good point to say that I also envy the talent of the stage manager. His call sheet was quite clever and efficient. I think I shall do the exact same format, if I ever have to call a dance show.) No, the tune is catchy and the rhythms of the dancers are fun, but the meaning? What on earth. They're each wearing white hoodies underneath black jackets, and they're dancing their hearts out. Then, one by one, they stop dancing and walk forward to the edge of the stage. They kneel at a row of little lamps, they pick one up, and they turn it off as they flip up the hood of their hoodie and turn away from the audience. Then they end up standing silent and immobile upstage, behind the other dancers, who are still grooving away. Apparently, according to the choreographer, they begin at a funeral, and they die off one by one. (Of natural causes, sadly. No zombies here.)

At least for that one I was able to overhear the meaning. During all the other dances, although I enjoyed the actual dancing, thinking about what it might mean, I just sat there going, "Whaaaaa?"

I take that back. One song I understood, because they acted out a little story to the music. It was adorable. A little redneck, in all honesty, but adorable. A girl is dancing on stage alone, reading a book. Then two of her friends (or sisters, I'm not sure) come onstage and they dance with her. Then she picks up a suitcase and leaves. It isn't sad, though, because then she meets a guy during a really cute country tune. They get themselves hitched, all right, an' have them some young'ns. Beg pardon, no offense. You'd understand had you heard the music. So twangy and fun. And the choreography was very well done. At one point the girl had to shake her finger, quickly, in an instant, you hardly notice it. Yet she shook it exactly the same way all three times they ran through it.

Very talented, these people. The envy is palpable.

Zombies!

So I went to see Zombieland with my dad. Fun stuff. Not a great movie, but highly entertaining. Bill Murray had a pretty good cameo. They ask him, "Any regrets?" And he replies, "Maybe Garfield." Funny!

Someone recently started a debate, Who would win in a battle between zombies and vampires? I argued for the vampires, and here's why.

As both vampires and zombies are undead, killing each other becomes a problem. Zombies, sure, could swarm a vampire and rip him apart. Edward, nooooo! But, in the more real and ancient vampire tales, the vampire can become a wolf or a bat. Thus, when the zombies begin to converge,all the intended victim would have to do would be a quick morph. Suddenly, he's flying, out of reach of the entirely earth-bound zombies.

Vampires would be naturally immune to the zombie disease, as all viruses deal with living cells. The vampire, having no living cells, would naturally have no reason to fear accidental infection. Even drinking zombie blood, which I doubt they would do in the first place, would not have an infectious effect because vampires just aren't human enough to get infected.

Also, vampires retain some semblance of humanity. At least, the cold logic part. Count Orlock, Count Dracula, and yes, let's go ahead and mention the Cullen clan, they all have the ability to behave normally and think rationally. Surely they would figure out that pesky bullet-to-the-brain technique. Zombies would never understand the stake thing (Maybe the zombies from Zombieland might.) And I know I have seen a movie where a vampire decapitates someone. I can't think of where, exactly, but somewhere, the supernaturally strong vampire ripped the head off of an opponent or victim. You may have seen this.

So, once the vampires killed off all the zombies, and the land purged itself of all zombie bacteria, the zombiepocalype would be over, and the humans would once again have seeming reign over all creation. This would give the vampires room to feed once more, not having to fight over territory or prey.

Happy for vampires. Either way, we regular humans are doomed.

Gestern habe ich ein Handy gekauft.

I bought a paygo from the Cricket place. It's like a dollar a day for the days I use. But it's also 10 cents a minute for long distance, and I phoned my grandparents in Texas today, so I should still have two dollars or so on there. I don't know how to check my balance on the stupid thing. I'll have to read the instruction manual.

You know, this really is an inane little update. Who among you cares? Why should I care? Cell phone, big whoop. Everybody has one nowadays.

Which is why Stephen King can write a book about a deadly cell phone. I haven't read the book, so I can't talk about it. But I have read "Misery" so I can talk about that.

It's one of the freakiest books I have ever read. Eee, and Kathy Bates was so insanely perfect as Annie Wilkes. I would describe some of the things she does to poor James Caan, but I don't want to give anything away. See the movie, people. It's wiggy.

I love Kathy Bates. I want her to be in one of my movies. She's so fun.

Anyway. End ramble.

This One is Actually Untitled! Bwa-ha!

Ich habe nichts zu sagen, ja?
Ja oder nein! Ich habe nichts.
Ich verstehe mich nicht.
Kennst du nie? Wissen Sie nicht?
Was denke ich? Was sage ich?
Vielleicht, wirklich,
Alles ist unglaublich!
Ich habe viele Personen gewesen.
Meine viele Leben... Ach, mich.

Ich würde auf Deutsch fluchen...
Wenn ich konnte.

"Bittersweet" --- a Rondeau

"It must be nice," the serpent sighed
Unto the young and guiltless bride,
"That though your tender skin is bare
As is your mindscape, you don't care!
But don't you hate your lack of pride?

Insist that you be dignified!
For what's the use of truth untried?
So ripe and juicy, hanging there...
It must be nice."

This foul advice the snake supplied.
It made the maiden turn aside,
Away from His despairing stare,
To bittersweet, enticing fare,
And reaching for the pome, she cried,
"It must be nice."

Vampire tourism has gotten rather big out in Forks, judging by the souveniers my sister and mother brought back. A t-shirt saying "Twilight Lounge." A roadsign saying "Welcome to Forks. Population 3562 Vampires 8.5." A magnet shaped like a ruby red apple with the word Seattle emblazoned across it. Okay, perhaps that last one is actually just for Seattle and the connection is entirely coincidental. But you never know.

I tell you what, this Edward vs Jacob thing may be getting just a wee bit out of hand. You're either on Team Edward or Team Jacob. Daph came back from having visited La Push, and she called it "stinky werewolf land" on her Facebook. This, by itself, seems rather innocuous, but the rivalry is getting somewhat vicious. I can just see it. The movie theater has two separate lines so no one starts anything. Hisses and taunts fly through the air. Team Edward throws an apple. Stuff gets started.

Sure, this all sounds insane. But when it happens, remember that I foretold it.

Frustrated Rage

Rage metaphysical, rage undeniable,
Rage wracking reason through,
Rage within and rage without,
Anger, ire, neon blue.

Psyche solid, psyche silk,
Psyche slipping the mental scene,
Psyche stagnant, psyche sick,
Slick psychosis, putrid green.

Useless hues, useless dudes,
Useless yammering fellow,
Useless, unyeilding. Useless, yuck,
Yelling yawp, I vomit yellow.

Cannot crawl and cannot climb,
Cannot counter, cannot flee,
Cannot call a cad a creeper,
Cannot reconcile "he" with "me."

Rage, unravel, rend and rue.
Yellow-green-insanity-blue.

You ever have one of those totally blank moments?

I'm having one right now.

I need to post something. Anything, really. I'm only at 11 and I need 20 at least before the end of this semester. I can't just leave it when I've got a wee bit of writer's block.

So! What to talk about? Hmmmmmm...

I suppose I'll talk about "Twilight." My mother and my sister are flying out today. Guess where they're going? You'll never guess. Well, I'll give you a clue. They are flying to Seattle, Washington. Take that, add it to the Meyers vampire novel, and what do you get?

My sister and mom are visiting Forks. The little nothing town in which "Twilight" is set. I refrain from passing judgement. I will say that I am jealous because I have always wanted to see the Pacific Northwest. Oregon, mostly, though I could never tell you just why. I suppose the Redwoods are a key factor. That, or the Native Americans from that area. I love the trickster Raven. And Coyote, though he's from a different area of North America. And Loki, though he's not from America at all. And Anansi... well, you get the drift. I love trickster characters.

Which is probably why I love Bruno Walton.

If you've never read the Bruno and Boots books, I would definitely suggest you do it before you get too old to appreciate the humor.

Perhaps I Should Get More Sleep...

I walked past the rehearsals of "Antigone" yesterday. They are going to put that on in Pegasus Theatre (I'm not sure if they spell it with the "re" or the "er" ending, but does it really matter? We all just call it Pegasus.) I know a few of the people in it, working on it, doing the lighting and so on. I almost wanted to go in and snoop, but I let them do their thing uninterrupted.

I tell you what, I was on the crew for the opera UCO put on a while back, "Perichole," and seeing some of those people (my sister'll know eXACTly who I mean) brought me right back to the fun-filled days of hefting potted plants and maneuvering the houses. Oh God the houses, remember that? Well, sorry, more than likely you don't, because only the crew called them that. They were the big set pieces that looked on one side like the outside of buildings, and on the other side like the inner walls of a dungeon. We had to make a very quick set change, we only had a few minutes, where we had to turn the houses completely around and get them into position before the curtains opened. It was delicate. It was tricky. It was aggravating. And then it was beautiful, genius, like clockwork.

The people that work at Mitchell Hall are brilliant. The set designs are just unbelievable. You should have seen what they did for "Metamorphosis" a few semesters ago, when I was taking my Scene Shop class. Good Lord. They built a pool. On stage. Under a gigantic chandelier. Which we put together. Tiny little bits of wire threaded through thousands of tiny little holes in the metal rings which held all the little glass diamond chandelier bits. We spent two hours in shop. Two hours, nonstop. And I got maybe fifty little wires put in. Maybe.

And then they took it apart. Sigh.

Oooooh, bevor ich gehe! Es war sehr interessant! Gestern, vor meiner Screenwriting Kurse, ein Mann sprach im Flur mit einem Handy, und er hat DEUTSCH gesprochen! Ich liebe das! GUT Deutsch. SCHNELL Deutsch. Sehr ausgezeichnet. Sagen Sie ihm nichts! :D

A Weary Scholar's Pantoum

Such typing - typing! - all day long...
Sore dactyls worn down to the nub...
Technology's incessant song!
It can't be helped, and there's the rub...

Sore dactyls worn down to the nub...
Alas, alack, it is my fate...
It can't be helped, and there's the rub...
A poem's due, it can't be late...

Alas, alack, it is my fate...
I'm stuck in here until I'm done...
A poem's due, it can't be late...
I wish to God I had a gun...

I'm stuck in here until I'm done...
Technology's incessant song!
I wish to God I had a gun...
Such typing - typing! - all day long...

Logically Speaking...

A bunch of random thoughts (which happen to travel in a bit of a train...)

If anyone should wear pants, it should be women, and if anyone should wear skirts, it should be men. Think about it. Who has less to squish into pants, hmmm? Men seem rather masochistic to me.

It's just not fair that men can go shirtless and women can't. The same rules should apply for both, considering that nipples abound either way and women can be just as attracted to men's chests as vice versa.

Why do the rules of virginity apply more to girls than boys? This society expects the girls to remain pure until marriage but guys are somehow less guy if they don't give it up in their teens. To keep both of these rules would mean that the guys would have to only have sex with already married women, or divorcees, or widows. And wouldn't that be a cultural taboo as well?

I'm sorry, Twilight fans. Vampires drink blood. This is their sustenance. Blood comes from mammals, usually. A deer, though not a human, is most definitely not a vegetable. Thus, Edward's vegetarian comment? No.

Also, vampires can't be good at heart. They're undead. Soul, gone. This is fairly much universally agreed upon, even by the vampires.

Werewolves can be good at heart as humans, but as wolves they're just surviving.

The movie "Madagascar" is idiotic. The lion is the villain because he wants to eat meat. He's a lion. That's what they do. And how is eating a fish any less villainous? Oh my god he's gonna eat the zebra... Oh, no, okay, we're good, he's just eating stupid fish. Who cares about the fish?

I feel bad for fish. Especially salmon. They wear themselves out just trying to get to the place they can procreate, and then all they do is eject stuff into the water. No fun at all, is it?

Thank God I'm not a porcupine. Do you know about their mating dance? It's effed up.

Val Kilmer's Bruce Wayne spent his Batman life "helping strangers [he] never met." Isn't that the definition of stranger? Someone you haven't met? Come on, man.

The scene in "Top Secret" in the bookshop is fantastic, and more people ought to see it.

Spoof movies generally suck. "Top Secret" is fun. "Loaded Weapon" is fun. "Airplane" is fun. But all the others I can think of are lame. There was ONE good joke in "Epic Movie" and ONE good scene in "Superhero Movie" and let's not get to the "Scary Movie" franchise.

And I think that's enough random thoughts for now.

Villainous Villanelles

Dr. Rice had us try and write one in class today. We got fairly far. We'd come up with our two lines that repeat incessantly, and we'd gotten half of the poem written down before class was over and we had to stop. Each line of each stanza is in iambic pentameter, which is the simplest thing about it. The rhyme scheme is almost impossible to explain in AB format. I'll do it like this...

toe
tree
grow

foe
me
toe

blow
knee
grow

know
glee
toe

show
sea
grow

no
fee
toe
grow

Notice how darn often the words toe and grow are used. Those are the exact same lines every time. If I'd written the whole thing out, let's just make something insane up right now and say the lines are "Today I found a bunion on my toe" and "I watched the stupid thing just grow and grow."

That means that every stanza will say one or both of those lines. Goodness.

The good thing is, the poem my group was constructing was actually kind of cute. We used "down" and "frown" as our two that kept repeating, and for the middle lines that all rhyme we used "elle". It was working, I tell you.

You just try and write a good Villanelle. It's not easy.

An Unsolicited Rant

I hate shoes.


I know this is an insane topic. I should be spending my time talking about art, literature, schoolwork in a pinch... But no. Today I shall be cursing the need for footwear.

It would not be half as bad if stores sold cute shoes in my size. But no, cute tops out at nine or ten at best. This week, I have discovered, purely from necessity, that I can manage to wear a ten. It is illegal, understandably so, to wear open-toed shoes at the library where I work. I love my job, and most definitely do not want to create problems. Unfortunately, open-toed were all I had. My choice was either go home for the day and lose two hours (which I most definitely could not do, as I already lost the hours of this upcoming Sunday and Monday because of the holiday, and that is 25% of my entire paycheck) or I could, during my break, run downtown and buy a pair of shoes. The shoes cost me $12. I only earned $18 for the two hours I would have otherwise lost. Worth it? Yes, I'd say so, for I had to work yesterday as well (again, with closed-toed shoes) and that earned me $40 or so. Had I not purchased those shoes I would have lost $50 dollars, which is one seventh of my rent, and quite necessary to earn.

The shoes are black velvet, with pinstripes, and a bow on the toe. They have a solid heel, about two inches tall. They are, most importantly, closed-toed. The problem with them is this: the back isn't open. I would be fine with these if my heel were free, and could give my toes some respite. But alas, I felt akin to Roald Dahl's witches. Quite frankly, pointy shoes that crush the toes... ooh, ich ärgere mich darüber! Und, leid leid leid, ich habe mich mit diesen Schuhen verletzt. Yes, 'tis too true. Toes were turning pink... going numb... just general badness. It's my own damn fault for not buying a pair of shoes that actually fit. And yet, on break, I had fifteen minutes. I went to three stores in ten minutes. No one had shoes big enough. The first two stores did not even have closed-toed shoes. Darn summer fashions. I found myself in a big ol' fix. The good thing? I worked yesterday with none of the problems that so plagued me Friday. I do not have such an affinity for shoes that I will care about sparing it any wear and tear. I bent the backs underneath my heel and worked. The heel was free, dammit, whether or not the designer had intended it so.

Would that I could go around barefoot! I most definitely prefer the freedom of bare feet. I like the feeling I get when walking across grass or cool tile. I like how I feel graceful. I loved performing for FUBAR, because they required an absence of shoes and my movements felt smooth and elegant. Without footwear, I move more openly; I don't worry about tripping over my own feet.

The most important thing: when my feet are bare, my soul feels free.

My Brain Runneth Over

I just came from Stage Management.

There, does that explain the title I typed? What kind of joke is that? Is that a pun? Either way, it's rather lame, but I'm leaving it. Like I said... My brain runneth over.

Seriously. The new information being uploaded has broken the surface tension in my mind's mental capacity and has resulted in one heck of a headache. Even thinking about it now, I'm groaning (inwardly, of course, as I'm surrounded by a bunch of college students in the Library lab, and I'm sure they'd rather not hear wailing moans as they IM their BFFs).

So, to distract myself from the pain, nausea, and general unease that comes with being scared out of one's pants, I shall talk instead about the ten minute play that I am to turn in to my Playwriting class.

As of right now, this very moment, I have just over eight pages. This is close, but no cigar. I'd take the cigar, too, if I won it. I'd give it to my dad. What would my daddy say? I'll tell you what my daddy'd say. He'd thank his girl for the cigar, is what my daddy'd say. But, to return to reality and get away from any and all "Little Mermaid" references, I do not know if these eight pages are sufficient to allow me to earn an A in this course. Perhaps, at least, it will show promise. Of course, you realize that "to show promise" is not quite a compliment. Loosely translated, it means "Well, this is crap, but you could maybe write something good someday."

I think perhaps I got a wee bit philosophical. There is not very much movement, as the whole ten minute play is set in a jail cell in what used to be Poland. I only have three characters, one of whom is practically unimportant. Necessary for reality's sake, but I think perhaps I could leave that guard out of the play (although I never say if the guard is a guy or a girl, so in theory a girl could play this part. She'd have to be one tough woman, though, if she's going to guard a jail cell. A Spartan, Amazon, Drill Sergeant Duck kind of woman. And if you don't know who Drill Sergeant Duck is, well, let's just say my sister will never poke fun at you for watching children's programming. That show is adorable, thank you very much. Bill in his little bow tie... Anyway!

I don't know a word of Polish. Wait, no, I take that back. The word małpa (the ł makes a wuh sound) means monkey or ape. Which is funny because now I know how to say monkey in five languages. Scimmia Affe Monkey Singe Małpa. Why do I need to know this stuff? Sigh. But the fact is, I couldn't make a sentence in Polish. I can barely pronounce małpa, thanks to the ever so wonderful International Phonetic Alphabet. So I took the same sounds as we have in the English language (we have quite a darn few, many more than we have symbols for) and simply switched them around a little. Now I have a fictional language that sounds very foreign and hopefully rather Polish. The heavy use of the letter ž makes that more likely. I love the letter ž. It's so exotic. It is the sound "zh," the voiced "sh," the sound we have in words like treasure and garage. I believe they're spelled [trɛžər] and [gərɔž] in the IPA. I could be wrong now... but I don't think so! Sorry, another reference. Anybody else like that show? I used to, before Sharona left, but Natalie's just not as fun and not as good for Monk. No offense to those who think the Natalie character's just awesome. (My goodness I spelled it "offence." I do that sometimes, too, I'll spell things the British way, like manoeuvre, isn't that great?! Okay, I'm done now.) In either case, I have my characters speak back and forth a little in a language that is most definitely not English. It's most definitely not a language. I hope I'm not inadvertently cussing in Polish or something... But if I am, who's really going to know? The Polish, yes, but I doubt they'll see my play performed.

I just realized that I've been typing for the last hour. I don't think I'm supposed to devote that much time to this particular endeavor. Part of it was looking up the IPA symbols, which took a little while to copy and paste. I think the only notation on pronunciation I'll need to make is something about the "zh" sound, because the rest of it is very phonetic. But I should stop now, and so I will. This was a nice diversion and I have entirely forgotten about all the stuff I have to do to get ready for "Three Sisters"... Believe you me, when October comes, THAT'S what you'll be hearing about. Chekhov this and Costumes that. I get to be the Associate Stage Manager Costume Liaison... I could honestly hurl... I don't know nothin' 'bout makin' costumes, Miss Scarlett! Okay, that was lame. I know it was. And now I go - but first we play! Okay, okay, that was less lame. I love Danny Kaye. And so we drink! Noooo! The pellet with the poison's in the chalice from the palace! That's a line from another Danny Kaye movie, in case you didn't know. But they connect, which is fun.

Wait... Wait... I cannot leave just yet... For my friend Juliet (that's really her name, don't go thinkin' I'm makin' things up just because I mentioned her and Romeo a post ago) has just come in, and is reading my script. You shall be informed momentarily...

She has read it. I believe she liked it. I'm not sure... She smiled a few times, chuckled once, and then got quite serious as the play went on. It does get kind of dark, so maybe that's the reaction I'm shooting for. She brought up a few good ideas, which I will incorporate, and then Tuesday I might read this thing with the class. I'll have to ask whether anyone can try to do a European/Polish/German type accent, because without that, two of my three characters won't be quite right. It is now 9 pm, and I have been in this lab since 7 typing on this blog. The last thirty minutes were reading and discussing my script, but still, I stop now. For real this time.

At Least I'm In Good Company

I have been informed, sadly, that the previous poem (or rather, the one posted just below this) is not good. Yes, I suppose it isn't. I reluctantly but assuredly accept this diagnosis. In fact, it's somewhat embarrassing to know that I posted the stupid thing. I could delete it, but as my father says, even Shakespeare wrote crap once in a while. More at the beginning, when he was just getting the hang of it, so no offense to Bardolators.

Speaking of which, to make a quick aside, type the word "bardolator" into a search engine (I almost used the word "google" as a verb, but I thought perhaps some might want to Ask Jeeves instead). It's amazing how many people take pride in calling themselves one. I admire the man, yes, but in all honesty, not to that extent. And I come into problems when people gush about the greatness of "Romeo and Juliet." Did those two have to make everything so complicated? Just run off together, if it's that awful to tell your families the truth. Or even if you still want to fake your deaths, why do it so cloak-and-dagger? The simpler things are, the less that'll go wrong. And I can't quite understand Juliet, who's portrayed as calmer and more rational than the impetuous Romeo, and then stays with him even after he kills her cousin - who at that point was Romeo's cousin too. She's very forgiving - much more so than I would be.

But in regards to my own meager work, at least I know that someone (who shall remain nameless here but who I'm incredibly thankful for) understands what I was trying to do. In retrospect, I suppose I should have picked a more European god for my reference, but I figured, wolf... dog... Anubis... It connects, it gets there.

I had another idea for a poem, but I think I'll spare y'all that for right now. It's a reference poem anyway, and I'm not at all sure of all the words to the "Good King Wenceslas" song. I've just looked it up, out of curiousity. Perhaps I shan't use this tune as a reference after all. Out of respect for an assassinated man. "Betrayed by [his] own brother," to (sort of) quote the movie "Mousehunt". I shall think about it, and you shall be notified if I decide to go ahead with my poem.

The site didn't say if he was a good king. But, then again, good is subjective, isn't it?

Taking My Own Advice (I Hope)

Apparently, I started connecting my thoughts about Lovecraft to a poem we read called "The Mill" by Edwin Arlington Robinson. Here's a poem that I jotted down today between classes. With some minor editing, if I'm being honest. I'm hoping the ending works like I intended. Enjoy!

Morning Musings

I sit and see the shadows of an oft-remembered night
Slide soft as silk away from me, as I from silver's sight.
A shaft of shining Summer sun comes hither from the East
And brings with it the silence of nocturnal callings ceased.
At once I hear a strutting singer's greetings to the day,
And feel all fear and trepidation melt and fade away.
When Ra returns, I know at once my ship has come alee.
I sink down in mah easy chair. Ah drink a cuppa tea.
It might could help me stop a-thinkin', 'bout them things Ah done,
To sit an' sip mah icy tea. Ah never did care none
About that Chaney feller, from them mangy monster films.
Ah'd like to know how he would act if they'd've chewed on him.

Loving Lovecraft's Craft

What a title, huh? I'm thinking about deleting it, honestly, but that probably won't happen. I have to think of something else to put in its place, and quite frankly, I'm not going to do that. Despite its innate corniness, I think it says just what I intend to say.

I have just finished reading two short stories by H.P. Lovecraft. The titles of these particular two were "Pickman's Model" and "Cool Air." You may be familiar with them (I am almost positive I've read Pickman once before, from a collection book I own, but this was my first encounter with the other). To come out and say what I'm dying to say, the man's a genius. The twists at the end of his stories are superb, even ausgezeichnet, although some of the punch was lost when I understood what had happened to Dr. Muñoz (from "Cool Air") before he got around to explaining in the letter he left for the narrator. The reason for this was probably because I had just finished reading Pickman, and just kept right on going. When you read enough of Lovecraft's works in a row, you begin to notice patterns and become able to predict the twists (rather like watching movies by M. Night Shyamalan, nicht wahr?).

I think Lovecraft's method in writing must have been to come up with the ending first. Surely it must be so. Everything leads up to that one glorious moment when everything... I can't really say that everything becomes clear, as some of them still confuse me. I can't quite come to grips with "The Music of Erich Zann." I can't explain my quiet confusion without giving away the ending. I can't even explain my theories for fear of hinting at the conclusion. Let's just say I think that "portal" as a synonym for "window" is incredibly accurate. But even then, everything rises in a crashing crescendo. Lovecraft almost delights in destruction. Though you can almost always find a theme, or an underlying metaphor, that final cataclysm that happens with the shocking revelation seems like it's the focal point of the story. Even though it can be boiled down to a simple sentence like... It's a mirror... It's a photograph... It's his father... He's been dead this whole time: a theme both Lovecraft and Shyamalan used - that's a coincidence I hadn't expected... the discovery still seems to be somehow profoundly unexpected.

The ending is the most important thing.

A Difficulty Solved in One Fell Swoop

The problem, as I see it, is posting something that can keep a person's attention until the end of the post Did Wednesday's little ramble do that? More than likely... no. In this particular day and age of instant gratification, if new and interesting material isn't presented within five seconds, the discerning reader will simply move on. If a person can't think of anything interesting to say, well, so much the worse. The daunting, looming question one begins to ask is, "Dear Lord, is there nothing in my life worth chronicling?"

But! A ray of hope! One begins to forget that a journal is not a diary. Ah, semantics! You save me yet again! An ocean of possibility opens up in front of me, and I decide (what the hell) let's dive right in.

You're getting a poem.

When the Well Runs Dry

You try one thing... You try another... Nothing seems to gel.
The only words that come to mind are "bat right out of hell."
You know that you can't publish that, since someone (Meatloaf) did.
You're second horse out of the gate. Your eBay's been outbid.
And that is when you start to think that maybe you should try
Some free association, or you stop and wonder why.
Why do you put yourself through this...this STRUGGLE day by day
When you can't seem to think of something really new to say...
When at the sight of type or ink your mind turns into mud...
When every rhyme or tale or thought turns out to be a dud...
When each impending plan dissolves before it's half begun...
You say it's 'cause you love to write... But you're not having fun.

The Beginning of "The Beginning of the End"

It seems that I've only been in college for... what... it can't have been more than three or four decades, right? Surely I shouldn't be practically graduated, not yet... I've got so much more learning to do. But, alas, the hours have indeed accumulated, and - according to my calculations - I should graduate next May.

The point of this blog? Quite frankly, I think you might find it hard to find one. I don't plan on trying to make my posts relevant to one another. There's a fair chance some things on here won't make sense to anyone but me. I am, unfortunately, a very random person, as you will find out if you stick around. I have many reasons to start this up (which, if you'd like one, let me make an allusion that only some of you will understand: I've got a 3.97 GPA and I'm not willing to let that fall just because I might be somewhat averse to starting a blog).

I did start a blog once before, back when I was still in highschool, and it didn't last long. Most folks find other people's dreams are fairly boring - so no wonder no one seemed to care too much about that night I dreamt I used a wand to hurl spells at my enemies from the castle parapet, or the dream when I was involved in that high speed chase after the policeman thought I had stolen a box of oranges (I didn't... I promise).

So, let me just finish up this post by actually beginning to start writing... writing something akin to the kind of thing the rest of this blog is supposed to contain.

Here is a sudden little thought I had today and I wanted to share. Wait a second, I need to set this up. I promised the AWS (the Association for Women's Studies) that I would sit at their table and hand out information during this, Stampede Week. The Fall semester is here, bringing with it an influx of Freshmen, and we here at UCO are the Bronchos (I can almost hear you going, "oh, that's why they call it Stampede Week... I got ya.") The campus, quite frankly, is crowded already - nothing compared to some of the bigger colleges in this state (I'm told buses take you to classes from the parking lots) - but they are constructing another additional building right next to Liberal Arts (my home base). This blocks off the rest of the campus, and to say the least, I'm somewhat displeased. But I tell myself the building might be interesting, and that takes away some of the pain. I see that I've tangented. This is good. Now you know how a post from me might behave. Back to the thought I had today. I was walking through the stampede, headed for the table which I didn't have exact coordinates for, but was told could be found in der Nähe von Broncho Lake. Oh, yes, before I forget... I might type in German every now and then. If I hear German in my head, that's what you'll see on the screen. My brain likes doing that, and I'm almost a hundred percent sure it's unconscious. Good news... It is the unconscious part of my brain that I intended to talk about originally, so we've come full circle! I walked through a swarm of the newest additions to our gorgeous campus (Am I being sarcastic? You may never know), and suddenly a line from the Disney film Aladdin popped into my head.

"Fresh fish! We catch 'em, you buy 'em!"

Yep, that's what I heard in my head. Looking around at all the Freshman fish (get it now?), I discovered I was grinning like mad. No one else on this campus would have thought that. Okay, maybe my sister might have. Very often, she's the only one who gets my reference jokes.

And that's my story for today. I know. Gripping! Stay tuned for next time, when I'll be extolling the many virtues of choosing a Prada-free existence.