i hum when i rinse my hair

I'm noticing a big trend in the books I've been required to read for class. The protagonists have no idea who they are. They may think that they do, but they don't. And most never will. They continue to make mistakes and refuse to learn from them. It would be depressing if they weren't fictitious.

Unfortunately, this week's book strikes a little too close to home. As a female, I can't help but identify with some of Isadora's philosophies. Thankfully I can identify what mistakes she made, and I intend to learn from them.

mel gibson wasn't in this one

This week's book is The Crying of Lot 49, and it was a fun one. The main character is obsessed with discovering the answer to a mystery. It's an old story, but it is one well-told. It reminds me of J.J. Abrams' shows for some reason. I guess because there are so many questions throughout the entire book and with every small answer comes new questions. The reader is forced to hypothesize until the end, and after the end if they so choose (or are obsessed with). In the end, the story isn't so much about finding the answers as exploring the effect of the search on the main character. It's a bit frustrating. Unresolved endings aren't the most popular of stories, just ask David Fincher and the cast of Zodiac. But if the story is well-told, who should care about the answers?

Tumblin' Mumblin' Jumblin' Rumblin' Travelin' Thru

Road trip movies. There are just so many of them. The Muppet Movie, The Wizard of Oz, Elizabethtown, Joyride, No Country for Old Men, Transamerica, Star Wars. Each one is different, but they all are kind of the same. The characters set off searching for something (whether they know it or not) and by the end of the film they find it.

Maybe that's why Kerouac's On the Road has yet to be adapted into a film. I know people have tried, scripts have been written, but nothing has ever been shot. The book is the ultimate road trip novel, but it doesn't seem to fit the conventions of the road trip film genre. I feel unsatisfied at the end of this story, and that is a road trip movie no-no.

As I am attempting to adapt a novel into screenplay myself, I can see where a producer would smell trouble. First of all, this book is kind of a big deal. It's like asking someone to remake Citizen Kane or film the Bible. It has to be done to perfection, or not at all. Second, there are a lot of characters to keep up with. You can do it, but it's not the easiest thing in the world to tackle. Finally, there's that whole "it can't be a road trip if he doesn't find what he's looking for" conundrum.

All of which make it a completely fascinating story.

If I Were Invisible

This week's dead author is Ralph Ellison  and his book Invisible Man. The invisible man is the narrator, with whom the reader is supposed to relate to.

Considering I'm white and female, it would shock some (mostly my friends...to whom I gripe to) that I identify with the invisible man at all. But art is a reflection of self, and it requires the application of the viewer. And this week there was no better time to be "viewing" Invisible Man. There's a passage in the prologue that spoke to me in particular:

I am one of the most irresponsible beings that ever lived. Irresponsibility is part of my invisibility; any way you face it, it is a denial. But to whom can I be responsible, and why should I be, when you refuse to see me?...Responsibility rests upon recognition, and recognition is a form of agreement.

Maybe it's just because school kind of knocked me on the ass with all of its responsibility. Maybe I really did slack off this summer. But I viewed the entire novel as the narrator's discovery of his visibility. Acknowledging his responsibility to the community. Using his gifts to finally reveal himself again after forcing his invisibility by ignoring his responsibilities.

it's back

School is back in session, oh goody goody. My life will finally be back on schedule after derailing over the summer. Not that it wasn't fun, but some structure is necessary.

I'm bringing back ye ole blog for a few reasons:

• I have to for class
• I've grown attached to the name
• I'm too lazy to come up with something else clever

Hopefully the cleverness will return with the schoolwork.

For those interested, I have another (non-school but everything-else related) blog. It's nothing special, just a place for pondering. 

Quips & Sentences

door number one or number two?

This week we finished reading Mrs. Dalloway. One of our discussion questions was about the choice Clarissa makes between Richard and Peter. Whether we thought she made the right choice or not.

Are all choices right or wrong? Is it really that black and white?

I think back at the many many choices I have made in my journey to where I am now - what college, what major, even what computer to type on. Those are big. There are smaller ones too - white or red wine? sneakers or sandals? air-conditioning or fan? The small ones aren't exactly going to impact my life in any great way (although having flip-flops on when it rains could be argued to be a good decision). Then there are the bigger ones, the ones that I possibly feel regret about - letting love walk out of my life, cutting people off because they were slowly making me a terrible person, not having the gas immediately turned on when I moved into my first apartment.

But years later, who's to say if I wouldn't regret chasing that love and ending up miserable, or continuing an unhealthy relationship just to have a person to talk to, or paying the gas bill for those days that I would have otherwise frozen through (but lived to type about)?

You can't beat yourself up about the choices you make. You just learn from them, good or bad.

...can you read my mind?

Even if you could, I doubt that you would want to. If it's anything like what Virginia Woolf presents in Mrs. Dalloway, you definitely want to stay clear.

I know that I do ramble and ... my way to death, but at least I don't do huge paragraphs that start with "For Bob Lablaw..." and go on for an eternity without a break and jump from here to there on a whim.

Or word associate everything to death.

Death...it's a part of the circle of life.

The Lion King, a Disney animated film, features songs by Alan Rice and Elton John.

Elton John sang about a rocketman.

I am watching Firefly.

Okay, so I don't do it often. But it would get annoying. At least I double-spaced.