--This post is Day 4 in "The 7 Last Days of Winter"--
See, I got a new phone awhile ago--like six months ago--, but the timing was bad. I headed off to Argentina a week after I bought it, and when I returned home, I started school. This phone has a full keyboard, and is tons better than my other one, but I've had some issues.
Somethings are okay. When I turn the predictive text mode on, it finishes some of the longer words for me--a handy tool. I get halfway through controversy, and there (along with conflagration) it is. I start in with desp- and the phone knows that I'm ready to say "I'm desperately hungry." I write pers- and there is persistence, persisting, persevering, persevere, and randomly, preserves.
My main frustration is that I can't add words to the dictionary. I like words, and I text in full words, but I cannot, no matter how hard I try, train this phone the way I did the other one.
The real problem comes with sports teams names, and family names (pesky proper nouns). In my old phone, within one week of owning it, I had programmed all 32 NFL teams (capital and lowercase), all my family's names, and several of my favorite words that don't appear in a phone's normal dictionary.
I try to type in calvary, and Calgary comes up. Because my texts are so often about Canada.
I type in the Steelers (a regular in my phone conversations) and it always becomes Seekers. What/Who are Seekers? A group of people who turned the ball over three times in their search for aliens on earth? Why would I want to capitalize the word Seekers? The Steelers are part of the NFL--which brings up NFO when typed in--why don't they belong in the dictionary?
I type in one of my teacher's names and it brings up sufferer--only three of those letters are in his name.
I type in a friend's name, and it brings up Elaine. She might shoot me if I called her Elaine; I've seen her gun.
I type in my name, and it brings up Hannah. I would shoot someone who called me Hannah.
I type in tylenol, and it brings up turnip.
I type in Wharton, and it brings up charting. Austen brings up austere. Nabokov is nanak. Dickens is sickene. Sayers is payers, and Keats is heats.
In the past few months/weeks, I have become so frustrated with this non-learning phone that I decided I was going to pull out the instructional manual--something I never do.
I sat down with the box, inserted the handy instructional CD-ROM on how to use your new phone, downloaded the owners manual, and forty-seven minutes later came to the conclusion that there is not a way to add words to your dictionary. I give up.
It's all fun and games until you realize you just called your sister, Bethany, methane.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Wharton Love
--This is Day 3 in "The 7 Last Days of Winter"--
So, House of Mirth and I had a great time together last week. I gave into the urge and wrote all through that book. I wanted to try to express what I thought about it, but I think I could write a graduate thesis on this book, and I don't feel like writing a graduate thesis today. So, here a few, short thoughts, all of which could be expanded heavily through conversation--or a graduate thesis.
Lily Bart:
Lily is the anti-type of heroines in novels about this time period. The heroines in those other novels understand that society is an excuse for actual living, they accept the foibles of society, they look beyond what society tells them is important, and they usually find it. Lily, however, buys into everything that society tells her. I was surprised, initially, that Lily is not an enlightened female, then I started thinking about Archer in Age of Innocence not being truly enlightened either (we can argue about it sometime if you want. I'll win.) and realized Wharton was working her magic once again.
Lily tells of her foolish past, but she does so sincerely. Her father was always to blame since he never brought home enough money; her mother had to spend all of the money the family had on herself and her daughter's appearances, because the correct appearance at one engagement secured the next engagement. When her father goes bankrupt, and her mother dies, Lily is left in the care of an Aunt, who gives Lily enough to live on, but no more. Lily must marry, and she must marry well. And that, my friends, is the goal of the rest of the story. You'd think it would be boring, but it is so unbelievably not.
Types of Power:
One of the themes I tracked throughout the story was the different powers different characters wielded over one another. Each character had a power that had to be refined and used properly to achieve the desired effect; the characters who used their powers ineffectively were, ultimately, the ones who lost.
Lily's power is her beauty and ability to know what society, and more importantly men, expects of her:
"How should she have distrusted her powers? Her beauty itself was not the mere ephemeral possession it might have been in the hands of inexperience: her skill in enhancing it, the care she took of it, the use she made of it, seemed to give it a kind of permanence. She felt she could trust it to carry her through to the end."
Lily discussing her ability to manipulate situations to show her in the best possible light to attract the best candidate:
"The system might at first neccessitate a resort to some of the very shifts and expedients from which she intended it should free her; but she felt sure that in a short time she would be able to play the game her own way."
Lily, having found a man, plotting how long before she wields the full power:
"As she walked beside him, shrinking in every nerve from the way in which his look and tone made free of her, yet telling herself that this momentary endurance of his mood was the price she must pay for her ultimate power over him, she tried to calculate the exact point at which concession must turn to resistance, and the price he would have to pay be made equally clear to him."
I don't have the quote--because it is way too long, but she turns down one candidate because he has knowledge of her being less than what she wants to be perceived as having. He has the power, and she refuses to put herself in a marriage where she isn't seen exactly as she desires.
Men, relations, and Society all have different powers, but let's move on.
Lawrence Selden:
A man comes along--they always do. He is not rich, and he is not titled. He is, instead, a lawyer. He knows her plan/desire/necessity is to marry a rich man, and they discuss that plan. He implies that, having attained her goal, it might not be as fulfilling as she thought. (And this is a conversation, so it doesn't count as a long quote)
"Selden met this appeal with a laugh. 'Ah, my dear Miss Bart, I am not divine Providence, to guarantee your enjoying the things you are trying to get!'
'Then the best you can say for me is, that after struggling to get them I probably shan't like them?' She drew a deep breath, 'What a miserable future you foresee for me!'
'Well--have you never foreseen it for yourself?'
The slow colour rose to her cheek, not a blush of excitement but drawn from the deep wells of feeling; it was as if the effort of her spirit had produced it.
'Often and often' she said, 'But it looks so much darker when you show it to me.'
He made no answer to this exclamation, and for a while they sat silent, while something throbbed between them in the wide quiet of the air. But suddenly she turned on him with a kind of vehemence.
'Why do you do this to me?' She cried. 'Why do you make the things I have chosen seem hateful to me?'
It's an interesting scene because this is the closest Lily gets to admitting that her plan might not be fulfilling. I also thought about the Age of Innocence parallel: the truth being the painful thing (and I'm not referring to that end of the book's truth, but the one at the beginning with Newland where the discussion is about knowledge being painful). Lily admits that she might not end up happy, but her anger is not at herself for wanting the wrong things, but at the person who showed her the shallowness of her wants.
Also, Lily uses the word 'shan't'. Coolest word ever.
If there were time, there would be a huge, huge, huge, huge, huge section on Society, but I decided to skip it. I am, however, going to leave you with one quote that I thought wonderful (Another character, not Lily, says this):
"The people who take society as an escape from work are putting it to its proper use; but when it becomes the thing worked for it distorts all the relations of life."
The End:
The end of the book is powerful--more powerful then the beginning--and that's saying a lot. I have no desire to ruin this book for you, so I'll leave you with a final quote. I think it sums up well what she comes to realize. She prepares perfectly for what society expects of her, of what society expected of women at that time, and then, ah yes, then:
"I have tried hard--but life is difficult, and I am a very useless person. I can hardly be said to have an independent existence. I was just a screw or a cog in the great machine I called life, and when I dropped out of it I found I was of no use anywhere else. What can one do when one finds that one only fits into one hole?
Exactly. What can one do? What else has she been prepared to do? What other options was she given? What other opportunities were made available? When you take away the one thing that a person has been programmed to do, that they've been promised will fulfill them, that they've been told is the only correct option, that you've expected of them their whole life, when you take it away, what else can one do?
Lily Bart has an answer.
So, House of Mirth and I had a great time together last week. I gave into the urge and wrote all through that book. I wanted to try to express what I thought about it, but I think I could write a graduate thesis on this book, and I don't feel like writing a graduate thesis today. So, here a few, short thoughts, all of which could be expanded heavily through conversation--or a graduate thesis.
Lily Bart:
Lily is the anti-type of heroines in novels about this time period. The heroines in those other novels understand that society is an excuse for actual living, they accept the foibles of society, they look beyond what society tells them is important, and they usually find it. Lily, however, buys into everything that society tells her. I was surprised, initially, that Lily is not an enlightened female, then I started thinking about Archer in Age of Innocence not being truly enlightened either (we can argue about it sometime if you want. I'll win.) and realized Wharton was working her magic once again.
Lily tells of her foolish past, but she does so sincerely. Her father was always to blame since he never brought home enough money; her mother had to spend all of the money the family had on herself and her daughter's appearances, because the correct appearance at one engagement secured the next engagement. When her father goes bankrupt, and her mother dies, Lily is left in the care of an Aunt, who gives Lily enough to live on, but no more. Lily must marry, and she must marry well. And that, my friends, is the goal of the rest of the story. You'd think it would be boring, but it is so unbelievably not.
Types of Power:
One of the themes I tracked throughout the story was the different powers different characters wielded over one another. Each character had a power that had to be refined and used properly to achieve the desired effect; the characters who used their powers ineffectively were, ultimately, the ones who lost.
Lily's power is her beauty and ability to know what society, and more importantly men, expects of her:
"How should she have distrusted her powers? Her beauty itself was not the mere ephemeral possession it might have been in the hands of inexperience: her skill in enhancing it, the care she took of it, the use she made of it, seemed to give it a kind of permanence. She felt she could trust it to carry her through to the end."
Lily discussing her ability to manipulate situations to show her in the best possible light to attract the best candidate:
"The system might at first neccessitate a resort to some of the very shifts and expedients from which she intended it should free her; but she felt sure that in a short time she would be able to play the game her own way."
Lily, having found a man, plotting how long before she wields the full power:
"As she walked beside him, shrinking in every nerve from the way in which his look and tone made free of her, yet telling herself that this momentary endurance of his mood was the price she must pay for her ultimate power over him, she tried to calculate the exact point at which concession must turn to resistance, and the price he would have to pay be made equally clear to him."
I don't have the quote--because it is way too long, but she turns down one candidate because he has knowledge of her being less than what she wants to be perceived as having. He has the power, and she refuses to put herself in a marriage where she isn't seen exactly as she desires.
Men, relations, and Society all have different powers, but let's move on.
Lawrence Selden:
A man comes along--they always do. He is not rich, and he is not titled. He is, instead, a lawyer. He knows her plan/desire/necessity is to marry a rich man, and they discuss that plan. He implies that, having attained her goal, it might not be as fulfilling as she thought. (And this is a conversation, so it doesn't count as a long quote)
"Selden met this appeal with a laugh. 'Ah, my dear Miss Bart, I am not divine Providence, to guarantee your enjoying the things you are trying to get!'
'Then the best you can say for me is, that after struggling to get them I probably shan't like them?' She drew a deep breath, 'What a miserable future you foresee for me!'
'Well--have you never foreseen it for yourself?'
The slow colour rose to her cheek, not a blush of excitement but drawn from the deep wells of feeling; it was as if the effort of her spirit had produced it.
'Often and often' she said, 'But it looks so much darker when you show it to me.'
He made no answer to this exclamation, and for a while they sat silent, while something throbbed between them in the wide quiet of the air. But suddenly she turned on him with a kind of vehemence.
'Why do you do this to me?' She cried. 'Why do you make the things I have chosen seem hateful to me?'
It's an interesting scene because this is the closest Lily gets to admitting that her plan might not be fulfilling. I also thought about the Age of Innocence parallel: the truth being the painful thing (and I'm not referring to that end of the book's truth, but the one at the beginning with Newland where the discussion is about knowledge being painful). Lily admits that she might not end up happy, but her anger is not at herself for wanting the wrong things, but at the person who showed her the shallowness of her wants.
Also, Lily uses the word 'shan't'. Coolest word ever.
If there were time, there would be a huge, huge, huge, huge, huge section on Society, but I decided to skip it. I am, however, going to leave you with one quote that I thought wonderful (Another character, not Lily, says this):
"The people who take society as an escape from work are putting it to its proper use; but when it becomes the thing worked for it distorts all the relations of life."
The End:
The end of the book is powerful--more powerful then the beginning--and that's saying a lot. I have no desire to ruin this book for you, so I'll leave you with a final quote. I think it sums up well what she comes to realize. She prepares perfectly for what society expects of her, of what society expected of women at that time, and then, ah yes, then:
"I have tried hard--but life is difficult, and I am a very useless person. I can hardly be said to have an independent existence. I was just a screw or a cog in the great machine I called life, and when I dropped out of it I found I was of no use anywhere else. What can one do when one finds that one only fits into one hole?
Exactly. What can one do? What else has she been prepared to do? What other options was she given? What other opportunities were made available? When you take away the one thing that a person has been programmed to do, that they've been promised will fulfill them, that they've been told is the only correct option, that you've expected of them their whole life, when you take it away, what else can one do?
Lily Bart has an answer.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Gentleman's Agreement
--This post is Day 2 in "The 7 Last Days of Winter"--
We should get a few things out of the way right at the beginning.
The book is not as good as the movie. I don't say that often, but here it's true.
The film is important because before it no one had dealt with this issue in Hollywood. The movies about racism in societies today owe some allegiance to this film. Those films are important because this was important.
It has several truths, but the one that impresses me each time is that staying silent condones the prejudice as much as acting in a prejudicial manner. I feel my circle is silent too much of the time.
Gregory Peck, Dorthy McGuire, John Garfield, Celeste Holm, and Anne Revere all unite under Elia Kazan (so many other good movies!) to produce a strong film. It won Best Picture in 1947, and Celeste Holm picked up a Supporting Actress Oscar while Kazan took one home for directing.
Come on. I haven't told you to watch a movie in months--possibly years. Just go ahead and do it. You won't be sorry.
We should get a few things out of the way right at the beginning.
The book is not as good as the movie. I don't say that often, but here it's true.
The film is important because before it no one had dealt with this issue in Hollywood. The movies about racism in societies today owe some allegiance to this film. Those films are important because this was important.
It has several truths, but the one that impresses me each time is that staying silent condones the prejudice as much as acting in a prejudicial manner. I feel my circle is silent too much of the time.
Gregory Peck, Dorthy McGuire, John Garfield, Celeste Holm, and Anne Revere all unite under Elia Kazan (so many other good movies!) to produce a strong film. It won Best Picture in 1947, and Celeste Holm picked up a Supporting Actress Oscar while Kazan took one home for directing.
Come on. I haven't told you to watch a movie in months--possibly years. Just go ahead and do it. You won't be sorry.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Revulsion / Impression / Discussion
--This post is Day 1 in "The 7 Last Days of Winter"--
Revulsion:
The subject matter is revolting. I have a high gore-ratio, and am normally quite unimpressed by violence. When my peers are cringing, grasping to blankets, and covering their eyes in movies, I am usually sitting there considering whether I want to fall asleep then or later (I try to watch most of my movies with people who are the exceptions to this rule). This book had my stomach coiling. I already knew what it was about, but that obviously didn't make any difference. His simple, straightforward, beautiful--and it was beautiful--prose had me wishing I hadn't eaten such a large meal. I was entranced by how I was sickened at his beautiful words. I couldn't stop reading--even though, when I did stop, I wished I had stopped sooner. Please don't take this to think that I regret reading this book. I don't. I might read it again (10 years from now,) but it wasn't easy to read.
Impression:
The reason people have read this book for the last 60 years, and the reason people will continue to read it, is that it leaves a powerful impression on the reader. Even talking to a friend after reading, I had noticed some of the same things she had noticed, she had thought some of the same things I had thought, and we both looked to Nafisi (I have to re-read her) for some insight.
This book will continue to be around for many more years because when you shut the book, its impression (and please, please, please, note that I did not say "message") stays with you. Not the plot details--although they are there, and not the morality--although it bears thinking about, but the impression of you and that book, you and your mind, you and your body, and you and that book will remain. And, strangely enough, you'll want it to.
Discussion:
This could be the longest section, but I'm not interested in discussing this book with people who haven't read it. There are lots of thoughts and questions that are worth discussing. Next time I read it, I'm going to buy my own copy, and write all through it. I'll also probably journal my way through it. But, so you have a few ideas about what questions are usually raised, and so you read some of this amazing author, I have some quotes from his letter to the reader at the end of the book:
"Teachers of Literature are apt to think up such problems as "What is the author's purpose?" or still worse "What is the guy trying to say?" Now, I happen to be the kind of author who in starting to work on a book has no other purpose than to get rid of that book . . ."
"I am neither a reader nor a writer of didactic fiction, and despite (man who writes the foreward)'s assertion, this book has no moral in tow. For me a work of fiction exists only insofar as it affords me what I shall bluntly call aesthetic bliss, that is a sense of being somehow, somewhere, connected with other states of being where art (curiosity, tenderness, kindness, ecstasy) is the norm. There are not many such books. All the rest is either topical trash or what some call the Literature of Ideas, which very often is topical trash coming in huge blocks of plaster . . . "
"It is childish to study a work of fiction in order to gain information about a country or about a social class or about the author."
"My private tragedy, which cannot, and indeed should not, be anybody's concern, is that I had to abandon my natural idiom, my untrammeled, rich, and infinitely docile Russian tongue for a second-rate brand of English . . ."
He says a lot more, and as you can see, I let most of his statements trail off (only because I'm worried about spoiling it for you, dear reader), but these probably give you a suitable impression of the author (I'm into my second of his books--it's phenomenal).
I highly recommend this book.
Revulsion:
The subject matter is revolting. I have a high gore-ratio, and am normally quite unimpressed by violence. When my peers are cringing, grasping to blankets, and covering their eyes in movies, I am usually sitting there considering whether I want to fall asleep then or later (I try to watch most of my movies with people who are the exceptions to this rule). This book had my stomach coiling. I already knew what it was about, but that obviously didn't make any difference. His simple, straightforward, beautiful--and it was beautiful--prose had me wishing I hadn't eaten such a large meal. I was entranced by how I was sickened at his beautiful words. I couldn't stop reading--even though, when I did stop, I wished I had stopped sooner. Please don't take this to think that I regret reading this book. I don't. I might read it again (10 years from now,) but it wasn't easy to read.
Impression:
The reason people have read this book for the last 60 years, and the reason people will continue to read it, is that it leaves a powerful impression on the reader. Even talking to a friend after reading, I had noticed some of the same things she had noticed, she had thought some of the same things I had thought, and we both looked to Nafisi (I have to re-read her) for some insight.
This book will continue to be around for many more years because when you shut the book, its impression (and please, please, please, note that I did not say "message") stays with you. Not the plot details--although they are there, and not the morality--although it bears thinking about, but the impression of you and that book, you and your mind, you and your body, and you and that book will remain. And, strangely enough, you'll want it to.
Discussion:
This could be the longest section, but I'm not interested in discussing this book with people who haven't read it. There are lots of thoughts and questions that are worth discussing. Next time I read it, I'm going to buy my own copy, and write all through it. I'll also probably journal my way through it. But, so you have a few ideas about what questions are usually raised, and so you read some of this amazing author, I have some quotes from his letter to the reader at the end of the book:
"Teachers of Literature are apt to think up such problems as "What is the author's purpose?" or still worse "What is the guy trying to say?" Now, I happen to be the kind of author who in starting to work on a book has no other purpose than to get rid of that book . . ."
"I am neither a reader nor a writer of didactic fiction, and despite (man who writes the foreward)'s assertion, this book has no moral in tow. For me a work of fiction exists only insofar as it affords me what I shall bluntly call aesthetic bliss, that is a sense of being somehow, somewhere, connected with other states of being where art (curiosity, tenderness, kindness, ecstasy) is the norm. There are not many such books. All the rest is either topical trash or what some call the Literature of Ideas, which very often is topical trash coming in huge blocks of plaster . . . "
"It is childish to study a work of fiction in order to gain information about a country or about a social class or about the author."
"My private tragedy, which cannot, and indeed should not, be anybody's concern, is that I had to abandon my natural idiom, my untrammeled, rich, and infinitely docile Russian tongue for a second-rate brand of English . . ."
He says a lot more, and as you can see, I let most of his statements trail off (only because I'm worried about spoiling it for you, dear reader), but these probably give you a suitable impression of the author (I'm into my second of his books--it's phenomenal).
I highly recommend this book.
The Seven Last Days of Winter
A better blogger than myself would have probably made a New Year's resolution about blogging more.
This is, however, me, and I made no such resolution.
I did feel bad about how abruptly last summer ended. I usually try to placate your future lack of my writing by my annual "7 Last Days of Summer" series, but that didn't happen. (I remember there was a good reason, but it eludes me at the moment) I have decided, instead, to give you the "7 Last Days of Winter." This name is a lot stupider since, unfortunately, even when this week is up, Winter will still be here. But, necessity is the mother of invention, so deal with it.
If it makes you feel better, this is the last time I will ever have this long of a Winter break (student teaching, graduation, begging people to hire me will henceforth interfere), and I'm spending it with you.
If that doesn't make you feel warm and fuzzy, I'm sure nothing will.
This is, however, me, and I made no such resolution.
I did feel bad about how abruptly last summer ended. I usually try to placate your future lack of my writing by my annual "7 Last Days of Summer" series, but that didn't happen. (I remember there was a good reason, but it eludes me at the moment) I have decided, instead, to give you the "7 Last Days of Winter." This name is a lot stupider since, unfortunately, even when this week is up, Winter will still be here. But, necessity is the mother of invention, so deal with it.
If it makes you feel better, this is the last time I will ever have this long of a Winter break (student teaching, graduation, begging people to hire me will henceforth interfere), and I'm spending it with you.
If that doesn't make you feel warm and fuzzy, I'm sure nothing will.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Blurred Lines
I am an incompetent drawer (another one of those pesky words that totally has two meanings with one spelling; I question myself every time I write it). I love looking at lines and shapes, paintings and sculptures, but if it comes to recreating the slightest resemblance to what I'm looking at, then I fail utterly.
I once believed that I simply needed tutoring in the fine art of depth and lighting, shadows and color, but then I realized--to my shame--that I cannot even draw a straight line. I literally cannot do it. (I can trace a straight line, but so can everyone). My hand, while steady throughout other daily pursuits, has no desire to remain straight. What is frustrating is that a straight line is supposedly simple. It is a line of demarcation, a separation of two areas, a delineation of space. Why can't I draw a straight line?
Plato says that no one has ever seen a perfect circle or a perfectly straight line. He is using it to express his theories about form (everyone knows what a "perfect" circle looks like, even though they've never seen one), but that's not important here. His argument is that every circle/line/triangle is made up of a series of infinitely small dots or lines, and no artist can create each of those small dots or lines perfectly. This theory comforted me, not just in my artistry, but in my life.
I listened to someone try to draw a line for me the other day. (I could do this whole part as he/she, but I'll save us both some time: it was a he. My telling you his sex (problem of universals, anyone? It must be a Platonian day) is not meant to draw any abject generalizations on that sex; I have seen/heard multiple women try to convince me of the same position some with less and some with more logic--neither, however, with more success)
He started off simply. By the end, however, his line which was made by a rigid, fat marker on white paper, veered and dipped, and zigged and zagged. He then had the gall to conclude that this line--these beliefs--was/were the only logical answer to his original premise. I sat in horror (and a little awe,) and thought about Plato's belief. I thought about how many individual lines went into the drawing of this fat line. For this to be a perfect line, (like he promised) each one of his individual lines had to be perfect, and they weren't. His individual, minuscule lines lacked depth, wisdom, exceptions, and frankly, thought.
I silently begged him to sit down and visually draw this line of reasoning. Had he done so, he would have been shocked to see the childlike scrawl that it resembled. No one would consider that line as making any sense, or being aesthetically pleasing (It might even resemble modern art, a style which every good member of this man's group despises). I would then hand him an eraser and tell him to use it, to revise where revision is called for, to be willing to smudge the unnecessary areas, to think about each one of his individual lines, and then make each of those lines perfect.
Straight lines are never as simple as they appear.
I once believed that I simply needed tutoring in the fine art of depth and lighting, shadows and color, but then I realized--to my shame--that I cannot even draw a straight line. I literally cannot do it. (I can trace a straight line, but so can everyone). My hand, while steady throughout other daily pursuits, has no desire to remain straight. What is frustrating is that a straight line is supposedly simple. It is a line of demarcation, a separation of two areas, a delineation of space. Why can't I draw a straight line?
Plato says that no one has ever seen a perfect circle or a perfectly straight line. He is using it to express his theories about form (everyone knows what a "perfect" circle looks like, even though they've never seen one), but that's not important here. His argument is that every circle/line/triangle is made up of a series of infinitely small dots or lines, and no artist can create each of those small dots or lines perfectly. This theory comforted me, not just in my artistry, but in my life.
I listened to someone try to draw a line for me the other day. (I could do this whole part as he/she, but I'll save us both some time: it was a he. My telling you his sex (problem of universals, anyone? It must be a Platonian day) is not meant to draw any abject generalizations on that sex; I have seen/heard multiple women try to convince me of the same position some with less and some with more logic--neither, however, with more success)
He started off simply. By the end, however, his line which was made by a rigid, fat marker on white paper, veered and dipped, and zigged and zagged. He then had the gall to conclude that this line--these beliefs--was/were the only logical answer to his original premise. I sat in horror (and a little awe,) and thought about Plato's belief. I thought about how many individual lines went into the drawing of this fat line. For this to be a perfect line, (like he promised) each one of his individual lines had to be perfect, and they weren't. His individual, minuscule lines lacked depth, wisdom, exceptions, and frankly, thought.
I silently begged him to sit down and visually draw this line of reasoning. Had he done so, he would have been shocked to see the childlike scrawl that it resembled. No one would consider that line as making any sense, or being aesthetically pleasing (It might even resemble modern art, a style which every good member of this man's group despises). I would then hand him an eraser and tell him to use it, to revise where revision is called for, to be willing to smudge the unnecessary areas, to think about each one of his individual lines, and then make each of those lines perfect.
Straight lines are never as simple as they appear.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Under the Wire--Again
I think I have a unique ability to post on the last day of the month. Since school, and my current life, do not usually require any other skills that I would be interested in developing (sleep, movies, music, quiet drives, and piles of interesting books) then I guess I should cultivate the skills that I already have--namely, getting posts in on the last day of the month. See, I succeeded in that. Yay.
Speaking of under the wire, I wish the summer hadn't finished when it did. I had 10 more episodes--one season--and summer decided to be done. How unfair is that?
I wrote a paper about justice and fairness. I was surprised by how it went and by how much I enjoyed it. I got a 99. I hate Turabian.
I just heard that ottobib.com is the single best way to have the computer generate your bibliography. It's friends with "Library Thing." I should have known it would be good. Apparently you type in the ISBN number of the book, and it formats it for you. You don't even type in information. Seriously, why didn't I hear of this before that paper?
I heard yesterday that Hathaway and Franco are hosting the Oscars. I don't know about you, but I think that's pretty cool. I like them both. Hathaway has indisputable charm, and I once listened to Franco read some of his poetry on NPR.
Last week, I listened to people birdwatch on NPR. It was so fascinating I couldn't turn it off.
"What are we coming up on Sue?"
"I don't know Greg, I think we've definitely got one at a little to your left, yes that's right."
"That looks like a beautiful bird. We need to get a bit closer before we can identify it though."
"Well Greg, I'm pretty sure . . . wait . . . it's definitely gray . . . with a white . . ."
"A white beak? You're right, Sue. That's a insert-quickly-forgettable-name-of-bird-here. Wow. I've never seen one in this part of Wisconsin before. I wonder if its migrating habits have been thrown off by the weather fluctuation"
"Greg, you know that this type of bird has a higher amount of . . . "
I had arrived at my destination and, subsequently, shut off the car. Do they sit in a studio and birdwatch? Or, are they out in the field observing wildlife with microphones next to their binoculars? It's questions like these that keep me fascinated.
Why would "pretentious" be the number one searched word on Merriam-Webster online dictionary? Don't you think that had you been called pretentious that you would probably actually already know what that word meant? I mean, I might be wrong, but acting in a pretentious manner is not something that is usually picked up overnight--it takes years of practice.
My brother, in the past week, had his years of practice in witticisms/irony/fun/etc. pay off. He wrote this fantastic stalker note--complete with letters cut out of magazines (Good Housekeeping was the main magazine used with National Geographic taking a close second)--to Heloise. This letter, lovingly glued on orange construction paper with the words carefully framing a picture of Heloise, is a masterpiece in all I could have ever hoped to teach him. The high moments are when he talks about his love for her sweaters, her love for her chubby hubby, and, of course, their combined efforts for world domination. I loved him even more. Seriously, I hope you all can see it someday.
Someday, and it's growing closer, I have to look for a job. I had a long conversation today about how impossible it is going to be to find a job; that conversation wasn't needed. I've had a hard time focusing tonight on the literal piles of homework due next Monday because resumes, portfolios, references, job applications, grad school applications, and apartment options keep swirling around. I know this isn't the time to worry about this, and I know I don't have to worry about this, but still round and round it goes and where it stops, nobody knows.
"Mr. James Joyce, now where would you put him?" "Would you mind repeating that question?" "I said where would you put James Joyce. In what category?" (Points to everyone who understood that last line in connection with the entire post.)
Speaking of under the wire, I wish the summer hadn't finished when it did. I had 10 more episodes--one season--and summer decided to be done. How unfair is that?
I wrote a paper about justice and fairness. I was surprised by how it went and by how much I enjoyed it. I got a 99. I hate Turabian.
I just heard that ottobib.com is the single best way to have the computer generate your bibliography. It's friends with "Library Thing." I should have known it would be good. Apparently you type in the ISBN number of the book, and it formats it for you. You don't even type in information. Seriously, why didn't I hear of this before that paper?
I heard yesterday that Hathaway and Franco are hosting the Oscars. I don't know about you, but I think that's pretty cool. I like them both. Hathaway has indisputable charm, and I once listened to Franco read some of his poetry on NPR.
Last week, I listened to people birdwatch on NPR. It was so fascinating I couldn't turn it off.
"What are we coming up on Sue?"
"I don't know Greg, I think we've definitely got one at a little to your left, yes that's right."
"That looks like a beautiful bird. We need to get a bit closer before we can identify it though."
"Well Greg, I'm pretty sure . . . wait . . . it's definitely gray . . . with a white . . ."
"A white beak? You're right, Sue. That's a insert-quickly-forgettable-name-of-bird-here. Wow. I've never seen one in this part of Wisconsin before. I wonder if its migrating habits have been thrown off by the weather fluctuation"
"Greg, you know that this type of bird has a higher amount of . . . "
I had arrived at my destination and, subsequently, shut off the car. Do they sit in a studio and birdwatch? Or, are they out in the field observing wildlife with microphones next to their binoculars? It's questions like these that keep me fascinated.
Why would "pretentious" be the number one searched word on Merriam-Webster online dictionary? Don't you think that had you been called pretentious that you would probably actually already know what that word meant? I mean, I might be wrong, but acting in a pretentious manner is not something that is usually picked up overnight--it takes years of practice.
My brother, in the past week, had his years of practice in witticisms/irony/fun/etc. pay off. He wrote this fantastic stalker note--complete with letters cut out of magazines (Good Housekeeping was the main magazine used with National Geographic taking a close second)--to Heloise. This letter, lovingly glued on orange construction paper with the words carefully framing a picture of Heloise, is a masterpiece in all I could have ever hoped to teach him. The high moments are when he talks about his love for her sweaters, her love for her chubby hubby, and, of course, their combined efforts for world domination. I loved him even more. Seriously, I hope you all can see it someday.
Someday, and it's growing closer, I have to look for a job. I had a long conversation today about how impossible it is going to be to find a job; that conversation wasn't needed. I've had a hard time focusing tonight on the literal piles of homework due next Monday because resumes, portfolios, references, job applications, grad school applications, and apartment options keep swirling around. I know this isn't the time to worry about this, and I know I don't have to worry about this, but still round and round it goes and where it stops, nobody knows.
"Mr. James Joyce, now where would you put him?" "Would you mind repeating that question?" "I said where would you put James Joyce. In what category?" (Points to everyone who understood that last line in connection with the entire post.)
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