Bloglet, the gentleman's mock turtle soup -- Moss made it sweeter than myrrh ash and dhoup
HOW THE #*&^#& DID THAT HAPPEN?!! I go to sleep at about four in the morning... I set my alarm for 8:30, 'cause I have Music at 9:00, and practica at 10:30, and art at 1:00... I wake up suddenly by myself and look at my watch -- 8:10. "Oh good," I think "I have twenty more minutes", so I roll over and go back asleep. Then I wake up for no apparent reason again, after a series of complicated dreams involving women with no-good husbands living in attics and pages falling out of paperback books and me tying my paddleball elastic into knots and my nephew screaming around the road in a black convertible and getting chewed out for it by my brother and right at the end, a little song that went "We ate stoats. You ate stoats. We eat stoats. You eat stoats." -- anyway, I look at my watch, and it's THREE FREAKING THIRTY IN THE AFTERNOON. I didn't hear my bastard screeching alarm clock, or it didn't go off, but it always goes off, and it was set right; I checked it. I just listened to this one horror story on tape about a guy who keeps falling asleep on the couch and when he wakes up he realizes he's just commited murder and arson and all sorts of horrible things. That's what I feel like. Goddamnit.
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(16)
05:30:00 PM,Wednesday 30 January 2002
So, I've got this strategy, see? I say to myself: "I don't feel like working... I feel like pissing around... I know! I'll just piss around really intensely for a little while, and get it out of my system all at once! Then, when I'm sick of pissing around, I'll want to work, and I will work, and everything'll get done! What a great idea!" I've been perfecting this technique for about, oh, twelve years now, and I can tell you on good authority that it SUCKS BIG SLIMY DONKEY SNOUT. Don't. Ever. Do it this way. God. Damnit.
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(1)
12:06:32 AM,Wednesday 30 January 2002
I guess it's not any odder than Hellgate, but still... it's not the first thing I would think to name a school.
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(1)
07:36:27 PM,Tuesday 29 January 2002
It's a happy fact of solitary life that you can fall asleep in the bathtub for three hours and no one will notice.
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(1)
06:19:20 PM,Tuesday 29 January 2002
I just saw this quote on the web:
"When Gazza was dribbling, he used to go through a minefield with his arm, a bit like you go through a supermarket." - BOBBY ROBSON
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(2)
05:54:28 PM,Tuesday 29 January 2002
T.I.A.I.L.W.:Mehitabel. Toujours gai, toujours gai, toujours gai...
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03:03:24 PM,Tuesday 29 January 2002
"I'm out of my head. Oh, hurry, or I may be dead. They mustn't carry out their evil deeds -- Aieeeeeee!"
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(3)
12:25:22 AM,Tuesday 29 January 2002
"Yes, I finished The Vegetarian Baby. and yes,
nightingales'teeth sprout in August. You are sleep depraved, my child, or
just depraved, I cannot really tell. I want to be like you!!I am going to
watch Alo-Alo and Mr prime Minister, and then a weird adaptation of
Ohtellho.Tha is not spelled right, is it?"
-- my mom, in the email she just sent which made me all happy again
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(8)
10:16:46 PM,Monday 28 January 2002
Things that irk:
* my sheets coming off the corners of my bed and forming themselves into a crumply elastic mess every frigging morning for the last two weeks.
* mezzo-sopranos who play trouser roles but can't be bothered to cut their hair 'cause they're hoping to understudy for Carmen later in the season and they can't afford to compromise their sultry beauty so they're trying to be Julius Caesar or Xerxes or something and they wind up looking like flouncy-ass nancy boys.
* when the last-read entry line on blt is still on top after thirty eight successive clicks, especially if it's four in the morning.
* aramark food that looks really good and sounds really good and smells really good but tastes like stewed nettles in glue
* no internet access in my dorm room goddamnit I hate this bastard world why am I such a pathetic weakling etc. etc.
* people who kvetch about their petty sour problems on their bloglet instead of writing something thoughtful and uplifting
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(6)
09:53:47 PM,Monday 28 January 2002
I wish I was in Antarctica.
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07:58:35 PM,Monday 28 January 2002
HA!! Here I was, doing my absolute damndest to avoid picking up my junk food and going back to work... I think to myself "well, I'll just read one more bloglet entry, just one... but nobody's updating, damnit. Well, there's always rbl... yeah, just one more...", so I hit rbl, and what's the entry I get? this one! They're all after me! Nowhere's safe! Arrrrgh!
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11:43:30 PM,Sunday 27 January 2002
Eight vending-machine-sized bags of chips. Lots of seniors in here. I'll go to my room instead, though the click-clack sound is comforting. Makes me think it's me typing, but it isn't.
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09:43:50 PM,Sunday 27 January 2002
Tuckets. Alarums.
Step one: Decipher all the cryptic passages. Find out how the authorities read them; decide on the best meanings.
Step two: Put all the literal, comical, and metaphorical meanings of those passages down, and connect them to ideas in the play at large. Keep undecipherable passages in mind, and don’t miss their importance as obscured sense – a joke, once it’s explained, isn’t funny anymore, so its truest form is its original one, not its transparent one. Same with the madness. Especially in this case, form is important, and is sometimes at odds with meaning.
Step three: Try to get a wide reading of the text, which the new analyses of the passages make significant and consistent. Discuss it in terms of what Shakespeare wants to say, what drama requires, the characters’ overt and subconscious intentions, and the sound of the poetry itself.
Step four: Then a miracle happens.
Step five: Write up what’s been discovered from all this as an argument. Make it progressive, within the play’s time, or in order of discovery, or through some other natural line of thought. The conclusion should actually say something that’s not immediately obvious, but shouldn’t strangle any of the play’s baffling force.
Goddamnit, I missed Mozart's birthday. It was yesterday. (the 26th). Happy birthday, wolfleading goldenmouth godlover from saltcity.
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(2)
06:57:55 AM,Sunday 27 January 2002
T.I.A.I.L.W.: this chick. I typed "Merkin" into google image search, and found only violinists, fishermen, and Finns. I suppose it's for the best. I love this random Finnish cartoon lady, whoever she is, because she's very very happy about exotic fruits, and that's only just. And the guy with her reminds me of Neil, only... well, a few alterations here and there would do it. Oho!
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(7)
04:58:51 AM,Sunday 27 January 2002
In the library, they have a book of _Hamlet_, with extensive annotations and commentary by George MacDonald, the one who wrote the best fairy tale I've ever read.
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(5)
04:25:03 AM,Sunday 27 January 2002
I'm sitting here, slouched in a chair in the empty computer lab, staring blearily into the monitor, and sucking my thumb. Things have come to a pass.
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04:18:28 AM,Sunday 27 January 2002
T.I.A.I.L.W.:La Fornarina... goddamn. This babe's been looking out at me from my computer for two weeks, and she keeps getting mo' and mo' succulent. Mmm-hm.
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(15)
06:54:17 PM,Saturday 26 January 2002
You guys have to help me. I'm doing Lust and Nonsense in King Lear. Now, I guess I'm satisfied about the nonsense... all sorts of people say it belongs in this play in particular because it's about unrest and authority being thrown over and the bonds of the normal order being severed, so putting in characters that talk crazy, or are crazy, or make lots of oblique jokes and jabs makes sense, pretty much. But there's this lust. A whole lot of the jokes are dirty jokes. Lots of the raving is about sex. I don't understand why... we've got a little actual lust; between Edmund and Regan and Goneril, and I guess the Edmund's bastard birth out of Gloucester. But it doesn't seem to lie in the middle of the play the way that Nothing and Gratitude and Sight and Feeling do... I don't get it. This is the one puzzle I gotta figure out before I can write this thing for good. You have to help me. The only two buds of thoughts I have are that, well, you can see it either way. Maybe Shakespeare wanted to use all his double-entendres and filthy ideas and just put lots of sex in the play (for lord knows what reason), and so he had to camouflage it with nonsense so it wouldn't shame the public. And maybe there's something more satisfying in uncovering a riddle and finding a naughty answer than a neutral one. That's a little stretched, though. The other way is if somehow sex is just at the bottom of things, I mean, you can't avoid hitting it once you get down into the place where nonsense and madness come from, and if he wanted to put nonsense and madness in, it would always burble up with sex tinging the edges, even if it wasn't looked after in the sane world, or in the big drama. I don't know if that's true, though. That's the problem. I know that some lunatics are obsessed with sex, but is the sex there to begin with, and only comes out in such swathes 'cause they're not watching their tongue like the sane types, or is some madness sex-madness -- maybe even caused by lust, but at least interdependent with it -- and that's the only type that'll make these particular kinds of ravings, and other madnesses will be just as chaste as the sane folks? If the second one's true, why is Lear's (and Edgar's fake) madness a sex-madness? What does it mean to the story? If the first one's true, how are the sane ones and the crazy ones alike and different? Or is the sex just played up for the story, and it doesn't rebound on the truth of us? HELP! PLEASE!
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(5)
06:37:59 PM,Saturday 26 January 2002
Oh yeah, and yesterday I got to play recorder with Mr. Stickney (who played fiddle, with a graphite bow) and another recorder playing chick, some Irish and Old-Time music. It ain't my favorite, but it's easy, and it's nice to play in the sun. But this guy came by, who said his name was Simon -- he had one of those accents which is either British or fake-British (like Scott Larson)... but it's pleasant to listen to, either way. American accents suck monkey balls. Anyway, he's a violist, and after essay writing's over, if we can find a first violin, the long-awaited string quartet might come together!! Only for a semester, but still. I wanna play Haydn! And Sara says some clarinet player at CSF wants a bassoon player, so I can get that maybe too. And some tutor wants to play trumpet, and Mr. Carl said maybe with me -- though maybe she could join the Esaki Bombs. That would be sweet. And when I finally finish writing Jeannie's Looking-Glass Songs, Mr. Stickney says he can lend me a mandolin to record them with. I need five singers, too... well, maybe four. Still dunno whether Haddock's Eyes should be for tenor or baritone.
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06:28:15 PM,Saturday 26 January 2002
