On this very sunny, very cold Sunday I have decided to do nothing. Of course, you know this means I will do too much of the one thing I shouldn’t: LeFou, I’m afraid I’ve been thinking (a dangerous pastime, I know). Here are some of the random thought I had today:
1) In Canada, houses without garages are dumbest things ever. Buying a house in Canada that doesn’t have a garage? Well, that makes you one of the dumbest people. Ever. I think this as I clean my car for the third time this morning. No, I’m not actually going anywhere, but if I don’t clean it periodically, it will take me an hour to find it tomorrow. I cannot wait to move. And I will never – I repeat, never – live in Canada in a place without a garage. Not as long as I own car. Screw the bragging rights.
2) I don’t know how accelerated mortgage payments really work. All I know is that it can’t be cheaper for you to hoard your money in your bank account waiting to pay something bi-weekly when you could stick it in there right away and save interest immediately.
3) If I claim bankruptcy in my first year as a homeowner, how long until I can try to buy another house? No life doesn’t stop just because you bought a place – get over it – but it sure does take a nice, deep, long pause. It has to. And I, as the responsible person that I am, need to learn to take nice, deep, long pause along with it.
4) While packing my books today, I discovered that if I stuff my stuffed animals in there, it stops the books from shifting about. How did i discover this? I was too lazy to go downstairs and get yesterday’s newspaper; instead, I looked around my bedroom, thinking, what can I use instead...
5) I can’t type and play WoW at the same time.
6) If you are going to silently stalk someone on Messenger (or a Messenger-type service), try not to be so obvious as to go “away” less than a minute after they do; or, worse, come back online less than a minute after they do. It’s weird. Stalk with some sense of stealth.
7) The only thing worse than packing for a big move is packing for a big move that you’ve been anticipating for over two years. I want to feel happy and excited; instead, I am deliberately tamping down all these joyous feelings with thoughts of yet another push-back, maintenance fees, the $18,000 I’ve wasted in rent over the last three years, painting 627 square feet of walls, unpacking (ugh), dusting and taking out garbage. And why? Why am I doing this? Because the worst feeling in the world is the anticipation of something and then that something being put out of your reach yet again.
8) Elle’s hopelessness is something I’m so familiar with, I want to take up the habit.
9) I hate living at home more and more with each waking moment; it’s still hours before bedtime.
10) What was life like before Air? I've looped Talkie, Walkie and Moon Safari all afternoon.
Sunday, March 09, 2008
Friday, March 07, 2008
how I hate thee, let me count the ways
So, I tried to read Jane Austen's Persuasion. I really did. I carried it around with me, lovingly protected in my personal book-bag. I dedicated several lunch hours to it. I even tried to read it at home (where usually, it's a book-free zone, unless it's a trashy romance under my duvet). Nothing worked. I don't know what it is about Victorian Literature that sets my teeth on edge. The Brontes, Hardy, Austen, Dickens... I can't stand any of them. So here, once and for all, is my rant against VicLit. After this, I shall let it rest and refer people to this blog instead of raving like a mad Bertha.
/rant
The people in these stories seem to be utterly unlikeable - they're either snobbish or puling, arrogant or simpering. Never can I find a character to whom I may relate - and when I do, they're either spinsters or dead. I wish to be neither. Also, the sheer amount of characters is almost Russian-esque in nature. But, where Dostoevsky and Tolstoy sometimes have seventeen names for one character (I've counted!), these people seem to always use the same name for seventeen characters. For example, Persuasion has like five Elliots (some first name, some last name), a few Walters, a couple of Marys... I wanted to cry. Surely there were other names? And if not, there should be a cast of characters. Even WillyShakes has those, and he is a genius.
Then, of course, there's the writing style itself. Overly wrought, uppity grammar and diction, taking thirty-six words to say something that could be said in five. It all seems so pretentious. I understand it is a sign of the times - hence why I hate VicLit in general and do not hold anything against these authors in specific. I just find it odd that Victorians tended to be more formal than, say, their Renaissance or even Medieval predecessors. And those modern authors who try to emulate them (Woolf, comes to mind) become just as mired in the muck.
Finally, the overall plots leave a bad taste in my mouth. Jane Eyre is an ambitious tart who falls for the semi-abusive Rochester (who, in turn, has locked his mentally-ill wife in the attic); Heathcliff is a psychotic bastard whose obsession with Catherine turns him into a monster of spite and vindictiveness; Emma Woodhouse is someone only a mother could love, which Austen herself set out to do - in fact, most of Austen's work is merely about how to make a good marriage and how without a proper marriage, one couldn't possibly have happiness or social status... gag me; Bathsheba chooses to marry the arrogant Sergeant Troy while spurning the earnest Gabriel Oak, using him until he can't stand her pettiness any longer and finally consents to put the man out of his misery. And don't even get me started on Dickens and his paid-by-the-word style that leaves much to be desired.
...why would I care about any of these people? they all seem so trivial and shallow, thus making the stories themselves trivial and shallow. I get that this must have been ground-breaking stuff when it all came out - but it hasn't really stood the test of time very well. I still laugh at Chaucer's Tales (esp the Miller's Tale), am in awe of Milton's Paradise Lost, get caught up in Beowulf's adventures and, of course, the genius that is Shakespeare keeps me going back to Stratford every year. This stuff? I fall asleep.
I'm done with VicLit. I know this makes me some sort of bad English major or, at least, not a "literary" person - but if being literary means having the stomach to digest some of the driest literature in English history, I hereby announce myself as illiterate. I am a canonical pagan. I revel in my heathen ways. Take that, high society.
/end rant
/rant
The people in these stories seem to be utterly unlikeable - they're either snobbish or puling, arrogant or simpering. Never can I find a character to whom I may relate - and when I do, they're either spinsters or dead. I wish to be neither. Also, the sheer amount of characters is almost Russian-esque in nature. But, where Dostoevsky and Tolstoy sometimes have seventeen names for one character (I've counted!), these people seem to always use the same name for seventeen characters. For example, Persuasion has like five Elliots (some first name, some last name), a few Walters, a couple of Marys... I wanted to cry. Surely there were other names? And if not, there should be a cast of characters. Even WillyShakes has those, and he is a genius.
Then, of course, there's the writing style itself. Overly wrought, uppity grammar and diction, taking thirty-six words to say something that could be said in five. It all seems so pretentious. I understand it is a sign of the times - hence why I hate VicLit in general and do not hold anything against these authors in specific. I just find it odd that Victorians tended to be more formal than, say, their Renaissance or even Medieval predecessors. And those modern authors who try to emulate them (Woolf, comes to mind) become just as mired in the muck.
Finally, the overall plots leave a bad taste in my mouth. Jane Eyre is an ambitious tart who falls for the semi-abusive Rochester (who, in turn, has locked his mentally-ill wife in the attic); Heathcliff is a psychotic bastard whose obsession with Catherine turns him into a monster of spite and vindictiveness; Emma Woodhouse is someone only a mother could love, which Austen herself set out to do - in fact, most of Austen's work is merely about how to make a good marriage and how without a proper marriage, one couldn't possibly have happiness or social status... gag me; Bathsheba chooses to marry the arrogant Sergeant Troy while spurning the earnest Gabriel Oak, using him until he can't stand her pettiness any longer and finally consents to put the man out of his misery. And don't even get me started on Dickens and his paid-by-the-word style that leaves much to be desired.
...why would I care about any of these people? they all seem so trivial and shallow, thus making the stories themselves trivial and shallow. I get that this must have been ground-breaking stuff when it all came out - but it hasn't really stood the test of time very well. I still laugh at Chaucer's Tales (esp the Miller's Tale), am in awe of Milton's Paradise Lost, get caught up in Beowulf's adventures and, of course, the genius that is Shakespeare keeps me going back to Stratford every year. This stuff? I fall asleep.
I'm done with VicLit. I know this makes me some sort of bad English major or, at least, not a "literary" person - but if being literary means having the stomach to digest some of the driest literature in English history, I hereby announce myself as illiterate. I am a canonical pagan. I revel in my heathen ways. Take that, high society.
/end rant
Thursday, March 06, 2008
hair flips and smiles
Today was the last day of bellydancing. Colour me sad. I couldn't believe we actually had a 3.5-minute routine that we learned in just over 8 hours. That's pretty awesome; I'm psyched for Level II. Yeah, I said psyched. But no Level II until we get back from BC, as we'll be missing 3 classes if we sign up for that right away. I'm also on the hunt for a downloadable copy of Bellydance Superstars Volume One - it has our song (Zeina) on it. Track 12. Need.
In the meantime, for practice: Egyptian walk, right camels, switch, left camels, double hip sits, shoulder punches, butterflies, figures 8's, shimmies, crossovers, hip hits in a circle, circle back, right leg shimmies, left leg shimmies, right pharonic, left pharonic, right hip hits, left hip hits, right camels, switch, left camels, double hip sits, shoulder punches, butterflies, figures 8's aaaaand, pose. Remember: hair flips and smiles, people!
*sigh* Thursday nights just won't be the same.
In other news: Jane Austen sucks. Fallen asleep twice trying to read Persuasion. I think i'm throwing in the towel.
In the meantime, for practice: Egyptian walk, right camels, switch, left camels, double hip sits, shoulder punches, butterflies, figures 8's, shimmies, crossovers, hip hits in a circle, circle back, right leg shimmies, left leg shimmies, right pharonic, left pharonic, right hip hits, left hip hits, right camels, switch, left camels, double hip sits, shoulder punches, butterflies, figures 8's aaaaand, pose. Remember: hair flips and smiles, people!
*sigh* Thursday nights just won't be the same.
In other news: Jane Austen sucks. Fallen asleep twice trying to read Persuasion. I think i'm throwing in the towel.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Helping: a comic essay
(With thanks to the genius that is xkcd.com. This particular comic really resonates with me.)
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
galvanise
Well, hello March. Fancy meeting you here. Weren't you supposed to be arrive much later? No? Goodness, where did the time go...
Today, I turned my agenda to March, cut off the corners for easy flipping and had a mini-heart attack. I have so much to accomplish in the next 27 days, I want to cry. I won't, of course. Instead I will freeze into a statue of inertia. My Flight v. Fight tendencies are very simple: first I will hold very still and hope they don't see me. Camouflage. Deer in headlights. You know the drill. When spotted, I will immediately kick into overdrive, kicking and clawing at the massive to-do list in a frenzy, like a cornered animal. Finally, exhausted, I will simply give up on the things I didn't get to, chalking them up as unimportant, even if that's simply not true.
Currently, I am in freeze mode, though slowly thawing out and starting to make lists. Anyone who knows me will immediately recognise the list-making stage as the beginning of the frenzy. And you, gentle reader, will see the list in its infancy stages.
1) Money Stuff. yuck! okay, so I won't actually be doing them. More like, getting everything organised so that Jadek can do them. And find a nice way to tell my mother that she won't be doing them. Also, taxes related: I need to find out about the GST rebate for people who paid 7% GST when they purchased their houses in 2006, but won't be occupying it until after Jan 1st 2008. Everything is always so much more ocomplicated whenever I seem to embark on an adventure.
2) House stuff: I need to book a truck. I need to pack all my belongings, after going through all my clothes and donating the stuff I don't want to haul to the new place; I need to do laundry before I tackle this project. I need to pack my books and make sure to update my library spreadsheet so I don't lose track of them. I need to re-organise my filing. I need to reorganise my jewellery. I need to make sure I have enough money saved to pay the lawyer, the van rental people and the closing costs. I need to remember that Rome wasn't built in a day so Chez Mandy's can take a few months to look fabulous. I also need to look into Tarion rules and figure out what happens if my phantom mortgage takes months to get settled.
3) Vacation stuff: in possibly my most short-sighted decision ever, I decide to go on a big vacation this year despite having limited time and money to devote to it. I don't know why I just didn't say no - probably because I knew that a) Nish really wanted to go and b) I thought I would be able to handle it,. I'm stupid. Now I have to look into hotels and buy a backpack and go away for 3.5 weeks when I should be saving every penny so I can afford a mattress and spending my time doing all the stuff in the paragraphs above.
4) Somewhere in here I have to make sure to read a book and keep my friends and work as many Sundays as I can. First casualty? Sleep. Second? Sanity.
That's it. I am in lockdown. No going out to spend money. No frivolous expenses (like food and clothes). I am officially pushing the panic button.
Today, I turned my agenda to March, cut off the corners for easy flipping and had a mini-heart attack. I have so much to accomplish in the next 27 days, I want to cry. I won't, of course. Instead I will freeze into a statue of inertia. My Flight v. Fight tendencies are very simple: first I will hold very still and hope they don't see me. Camouflage. Deer in headlights. You know the drill. When spotted, I will immediately kick into overdrive, kicking and clawing at the massive to-do list in a frenzy, like a cornered animal. Finally, exhausted, I will simply give up on the things I didn't get to, chalking them up as unimportant, even if that's simply not true.
Currently, I am in freeze mode, though slowly thawing out and starting to make lists. Anyone who knows me will immediately recognise the list-making stage as the beginning of the frenzy. And you, gentle reader, will see the list in its infancy stages.
1) Money Stuff. yuck! okay, so I won't actually be doing them. More like, getting everything organised so that Jadek can do them. And find a nice way to tell my mother that she won't be doing them. Also, taxes related: I need to find out about the GST rebate for people who paid 7% GST when they purchased their houses in 2006, but won't be occupying it until after Jan 1st 2008. Everything is always so much more ocomplicated whenever I seem to embark on an adventure.
2) House stuff: I need to book a truck. I need to pack all my belongings, after going through all my clothes and donating the stuff I don't want to haul to the new place; I need to do laundry before I tackle this project. I need to pack my books and make sure to update my library spreadsheet so I don't lose track of them. I need to re-organise my filing. I need to reorganise my jewellery. I need to make sure I have enough money saved to pay the lawyer, the van rental people and the closing costs. I need to remember that Rome wasn't built in a day so Chez Mandy's can take a few months to look fabulous. I also need to look into Tarion rules and figure out what happens if my phantom mortgage takes months to get settled.
3) Vacation stuff: in possibly my most short-sighted decision ever, I decide to go on a big vacation this year despite having limited time and money to devote to it. I don't know why I just didn't say no - probably because I knew that a) Nish really wanted to go and b) I thought I would be able to handle it,. I'm stupid. Now I have to look into hotels and buy a backpack and go away for 3.5 weeks when I should be saving every penny so I can afford a mattress and spending my time doing all the stuff in the paragraphs above.
4) Somewhere in here I have to make sure to read a book and keep my friends and work as many Sundays as I can. First casualty? Sleep. Second? Sanity.
That's it. I am in lockdown. No going out to spend money. No frivolous expenses (like food and clothes). I am officially pushing the panic button.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Now Playing: The Other Boleyn Girl
Passable.
Good parts: costumes and scenery were fabulous. Nothing too over-the-top, but with enough opulence and luxury to appreciate the splendour. The supporting cast was stellar: Jim Sturgess as the doomed George Boleyn (Anne and Mary's brother) wrought the most sympathy as a character. You felt genuinely sorry for him. Kristin Scott Thomas in a strong turn as Elizabeth Boleyn (Anne and Mary's mother). David Morrissey drips sinister. And Ana Torrent is a poignant Catherine or Aragon.
Bad parts: the three main actors. I do not enjoy Eric Bana on most days: I find him wooden and shallow. In this case, playing a horny king who balances a country and faith against his lust, he does a fairly good job. You feel no sympathy at all for him, but I guess, who could? Scarlett Johansson and Natalie Portman were well-matched - neither were excellent, but they weren't too horrible either. They should have hired a better accent coach - their nasally American twang peeked through a number of times. Portman did get much juicier lines and actions but Johansson held her own in equally quiet measure. Also: the heavy-handed fawning of Elizabeth? I could have done without it.
3.5 stars out of 5. Wait for the DVD.
The Memory Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards
The Memory Keeper's Daughter (henceforth referred to as TMKD) surprised me. To be honest, I had no idea what this book was about before I picked it up - it was on sale at Chapter's, I needed something to read after giving up on Possession by A.S. Byatt and I began reading it without benefit of so much as a blurb.
First, a few words about Possession: I hated it. I really wanted to like it, but I just couldn't get past the slooooooow buildup. I find myself a patient reader (usually) and this tested even me. So, a hundred pages in and I put it down and went new-book-hunting. The straw that broke this particular book? All the bad poetry was written by a fake author! It's not even like I'm reading Wordsworth and thinking "God, this is bad; at least it contextualises other works." No! This was just... bad for artistic purposes only! Forget this.
I recommend it!
PS: have only recently stumbled upon a French band called "Air" - am in love. I haven't felt this way since first being exposed to Massive Attack. I heard a track on Veronica Mars and have youtubed them to death in the 24 hours since.
First, a few words about Possession: I hated it. I really wanted to like it, but I just couldn't get past the slooooooow buildup. I find myself a patient reader (usually) and this tested even me. So, a hundred pages in and I put it down and went new-book-hunting. The straw that broke this particular book? All the bad poetry was written by a fake author! It's not even like I'm reading Wordsworth and thinking "God, this is bad; at least it contextualises other works." No! This was just... bad for artistic purposes only! Forget this.
TMKD: lovingly written. I actually cared about the characters and how they would end up. No saccharine sweet endings but no pessimistic wrist-slashing either. Just... life. Heartbreakingly normal; upliftingly mundane. Many books ask "what would you do?" - I like that this asks "what could you have done instead?" and "Now that you've done it, can you mitigate it?" It only took me 7-10 hours to read and it was worth every minute. I'll leave you with the quote that hooked me:
"'She's lovely,' Caroline said. Her hands were trembling. Because she was moved by his love and his sorrow, and because no one had ever loved her with that same passion. Because she was almost thirty years old, and yet if she died the next day there would be no one to mourn her like Rupert Dean still mourned his wife after more than twenty years. Surely she, Caroline Lorraine Gill, must be as unique and deserving of love as the woman in the old man's photo, and yet she had not found any way to reveal this, not through art or love or even through the fine high calling of her work."
I recommend it!
PS: have only recently stumbled upon a French band called "Air" - am in love. I haven't felt this way since first being exposed to Massive Attack. I heard a track on Veronica Mars and have youtubed them to death in the 24 hours since.
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