I forgot to mention this earlier, which is perfect seeing as how I wanted that 11th entry for the month- I found this notebook at work a week ago or so, and it's some kind of music class journal that this little girl has written, but it's entirely in french. So the cover has stars and scribbles all over it and a drawing of what I originally thought was some kind of sunflower but in context is a microphone with a kind of rectangular energy emanating from it. Or to it, I guess.
My french skills are pretty basic, but that's what makes reading this so fun, evertime I get to a phrase I understand, usually the same thing over and over again, there's a breathe of relief and an emphatic exclamation in the words. The best example being the phrase "Spectacle Du Talents".
The narrative progresses like this I think: The little girl and her friends (aka les Peuples Populaire) will be singing together at the talent show (Spectacle Du Talents!) but is certainly distracted by the best something (I'm pretty sure it's "looking") boy in the world, who just so happens to be in her music class.
But no- she won't be singing with the collective peuples populaire because of some kind of falling out, it's something to do with Devan I guess. It makes sense if he's as awesome as I hear- some one else may have called dibbs.
But in the end our heroine focuses on what's important- that regardless of the "Spectacle du Talents" she's going to the party afterwards with Devan, so she wins. (wins=gagne, right? that's what my breakfast cereals have been teaching me all these years "win a free something, details inside")
Anyway, the writing is awesome, the pencil was pressed so hard into the paper that you can clearly see and feel the words imprints on the back- I did that too when I was little. I can't say I drew my exclamation marks as little hearts over top even smaller hearts. That must be that verdana font right there.
It's a nice little stand alone story, but I hope that Devan kid gets his own spinoff book. I bet it'd be an exciting tale of his rock star life style.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Lasagna and it's composite parts
Coming home late after a long day, waiting for the microwave to reheat my lasagna, and in the meantime gnawing at the cheese stuck to the protective foil covering. It's a goofy sight, but a pleasant one.
With a lot of time to spare between the end of work and the show at the Velvet Underground I found myself sauntering up Dufferin street and as I approached Joe Shuster Way I was thinking about taking a detour along it to make sure that's what it was really called. For the longest time the street sign at the Dufferin corner has been absent- and yes, I have looked- but after enough time you do start to doubt your own memories. Naturally, the second you have a spare moment for adventuring up a street to confirm its identity is the day that they replace the sign.
I took that sign as a sign that I didn't need to take that detour (today anyways).
Immediately past Joe Shuster Way an older-ly-esque man was biking up the incline- the slow, sure struggle of it struck me. Contained within that bikes ascent was the history of humanity. More or less.
Concerned that I wouldn't have enough food for the day, I stopped on the way to work and got not one (1) but two (2!) swanson microwave dinners. I don't usually go that all out, tending to stick to the granola bar route until getting home at night, but it was pretty sweet- AND I got a free slice of pizza AND a free rice krispie square. It feels like a long time since I've gone out and grabbed a slice. Not so long since I've grabbed a free slice. That was today.
So I'm pretty sure I got through today without making myself sound like a big jerk, which is nice... I wonder if maybe that's just how I see it after a nice bit of food stuffs. That definitely has an effect on mood.
It's a little early to tell the results, but I'm pretty pleased thus far with my running on the balls of my feet/toes/front part experiment, the result hasn't tremendously slowed myself down, I'm getting more calloused thereabouts (I consider that a good thing) and I can feel the newness of the workout on my calves.
Plus, let's be honest here, since switching back to my non boot shoes- these heels are toast. If I were to run abouts in the regular style there'd be shocks a plenty. They're worn thin is what I'm saying.
Before my friends show started this evening I was trying to do some reading, but I kept re-reading the same paragraph in my tired state. However, they had a cool Clint Eastwood film on the tv's. No, I couldn't make out most of the closed captioning from where I was seated, but come on! Clint Eastwood! That guys the best.
Oh, yes, then I was introduced to a very nice gentleman who didn't seem to want to hold up his end of the conversation. I call myself a good conversationalist in jest (in fact I say I'm great at a ton of things in jest) but I'm wondering if I may actually be good at conversations... or then again, maybe this guy wasn't holding up his end because of something I was doing wrong, so we're back to square one.
But yes, I was downtown late, and super tired, for my friends show- she's always a lot of fun, if destructive, and it makes me glad to see her.
AND I chatted up my pal Jimmy on the cell phone.
and I really didn't get too sad
Pretty good day.
P.S.- I noticed a while ago that I have so far magically done 11 entries for all of my previous months, excluding February when I started, and now I'm doing it consciously for this month. Should be one more entry after this one- can he make it?!?! I'm pretty sure I can come up with some inane thing to prattle on about for a decent amount of time.
P.P.S.- I may have taken too much lasagna
With a lot of time to spare between the end of work and the show at the Velvet Underground I found myself sauntering up Dufferin street and as I approached Joe Shuster Way I was thinking about taking a detour along it to make sure that's what it was really called. For the longest time the street sign at the Dufferin corner has been absent- and yes, I have looked- but after enough time you do start to doubt your own memories. Naturally, the second you have a spare moment for adventuring up a street to confirm its identity is the day that they replace the sign.
I took that sign as a sign that I didn't need to take that detour (today anyways).
Immediately past Joe Shuster Way an older-ly-esque man was biking up the incline- the slow, sure struggle of it struck me. Contained within that bikes ascent was the history of humanity. More or less.
Concerned that I wouldn't have enough food for the day, I stopped on the way to work and got not one (1) but two (2!) swanson microwave dinners. I don't usually go that all out, tending to stick to the granola bar route until getting home at night, but it was pretty sweet- AND I got a free slice of pizza AND a free rice krispie square. It feels like a long time since I've gone out and grabbed a slice. Not so long since I've grabbed a free slice. That was today.
So I'm pretty sure I got through today without making myself sound like a big jerk, which is nice... I wonder if maybe that's just how I see it after a nice bit of food stuffs. That definitely has an effect on mood.
It's a little early to tell the results, but I'm pretty pleased thus far with my running on the balls of my feet/toes/front part experiment, the result hasn't tremendously slowed myself down, I'm getting more calloused thereabouts (I consider that a good thing) and I can feel the newness of the workout on my calves.
Plus, let's be honest here, since switching back to my non boot shoes- these heels are toast. If I were to run abouts in the regular style there'd be shocks a plenty. They're worn thin is what I'm saying.
Before my friends show started this evening I was trying to do some reading, but I kept re-reading the same paragraph in my tired state. However, they had a cool Clint Eastwood film on the tv's. No, I couldn't make out most of the closed captioning from where I was seated, but come on! Clint Eastwood! That guys the best.
Oh, yes, then I was introduced to a very nice gentleman who didn't seem to want to hold up his end of the conversation. I call myself a good conversationalist in jest (in fact I say I'm great at a ton of things in jest) but I'm wondering if I may actually be good at conversations... or then again, maybe this guy wasn't holding up his end because of something I was doing wrong, so we're back to square one.
But yes, I was downtown late, and super tired, for my friends show- she's always a lot of fun, if destructive, and it makes me glad to see her.
AND I chatted up my pal Jimmy on the cell phone.
and I really didn't get too sad
Pretty good day.
P.S.- I noticed a while ago that I have so far magically done 11 entries for all of my previous months, excluding February when I started, and now I'm doing it consciously for this month. Should be one more entry after this one- can he make it?!?! I'm pretty sure I can come up with some inane thing to prattle on about for a decent amount of time.
P.P.S.- I may have taken too much lasagna
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Once again, taking forever to write something. The title came surprisingly quick.
It's hot, surprising no one.
Over the course of the long weekend I worked, which for the most part meant standing all day and being hilarious for my staff- it's an easy ego boost, and I don't trust things that are easy.
I don't feel awesome right this second. I keep erasing sentences that may be true but don't add up how I want them to.
Uh, I'm just staring at a computer screen. At least my current posture leans back into the padded chair, as opposed to hunched over the keyboard, which I often do while thinking about how I don't like that posture.
Of the many school groups visiting Ontario Place today one was a school from Collingwood- I used to live there, in fact just down the street from the school in question. I still remember my old phone number, but not the street address and that's bothering me. I guess 15 years is a long time ago? The house doesn't even exist anymore. Nor does the treehouse with the abundance of sap. How are you supposed to run away when you don't have a treehouse anymore?
On the dufferin bus this morning a random guy turned to me to start a random conversation. It was awesome and hilarious. He told me his mother no longer suffered from allergies because of pure, warm honey. Apparently there's a Bee Guy at St. Lawerence Market(place?) that has a booth and is maybe only there himself on weekends. Or weekdays. He's not there some of the time, as I understand it. Also, by the way, the real money is in cleaning work.
When the guy got off the bus I shared a laugh with the stranger across the aisle from me, acknowledging the delightful weirdness of the encounter. I said to her "it feels like a cut scene from a video game. Now I know I need to get some honey for the boss fight."
I read through my collection of Scott Pilgrim today, all 5 volumes. There're very few occasions when the characters express themselves with any articulation or feeling- it's mostly just glib statements stammered out for continuous laughs. Which is fine for a comedy book held between my hands, it's less fine that it's an accurate representation of real life interaction.
Here I was feeling better talking about a wide eyed honey enthusiast and then I go ahead and ruin it by talking about Scott Pilgrim. Which makes it sound like I don't like the series, but that isn't true.
So the poster for "Get Him To The Greek" says "Aaron Green has 72 hours to get a Rock Star from London to L.A. Pray for him." with a worried looking Jonah Hill standing in front of the Rock Star as played by Russell Brand.
I would much rather it said "Aaron Green has 72 hours to get this guy from London to L.A."
I suppose it's naive to want to hold a positive association with the term rock star as someone who questions and challenges the status quo. This may be another case of a personal definition being incompatible with that of the general public- I guess rock star is generally taken as one who is famous for the sake of fame and is devoted to personal excess and narcissism. And busting up hotels.
If that's the case, why do we care again?
I'm completely uninterested in this movie, but apparently it looks good to people?
I like how the poster is a goofy guy standing there and looking at the camera. It's a nice change of pace from the posters for The 40-Year Old Virgin and Knocked Up. In that it's exactly the same. What was the poster for She's Out Of My League like? I think it was similarly creative, but I didn't really notice it enough to be able to tell you for sure.
If I may sound adorable for a moment: I've had a tummyache all day. Just a little one.
"Tummyache". What a word.
Well, anyways, maybe I'll do better tomorrow. Help out, or do something nice or something. Take a step forward.
Over the course of the long weekend I worked, which for the most part meant standing all day and being hilarious for my staff- it's an easy ego boost, and I don't trust things that are easy.
I don't feel awesome right this second. I keep erasing sentences that may be true but don't add up how I want them to.
Uh, I'm just staring at a computer screen. At least my current posture leans back into the padded chair, as opposed to hunched over the keyboard, which I often do while thinking about how I don't like that posture.
Of the many school groups visiting Ontario Place today one was a school from Collingwood- I used to live there, in fact just down the street from the school in question. I still remember my old phone number, but not the street address and that's bothering me. I guess 15 years is a long time ago? The house doesn't even exist anymore. Nor does the treehouse with the abundance of sap. How are you supposed to run away when you don't have a treehouse anymore?
On the dufferin bus this morning a random guy turned to me to start a random conversation. It was awesome and hilarious. He told me his mother no longer suffered from allergies because of pure, warm honey. Apparently there's a Bee Guy at St. Lawerence Market(place?) that has a booth and is maybe only there himself on weekends. Or weekdays. He's not there some of the time, as I understand it. Also, by the way, the real money is in cleaning work.
When the guy got off the bus I shared a laugh with the stranger across the aisle from me, acknowledging the delightful weirdness of the encounter. I said to her "it feels like a cut scene from a video game. Now I know I need to get some honey for the boss fight."
I read through my collection of Scott Pilgrim today, all 5 volumes. There're very few occasions when the characters express themselves with any articulation or feeling- it's mostly just glib statements stammered out for continuous laughs. Which is fine for a comedy book held between my hands, it's less fine that it's an accurate representation of real life interaction.
Here I was feeling better talking about a wide eyed honey enthusiast and then I go ahead and ruin it by talking about Scott Pilgrim. Which makes it sound like I don't like the series, but that isn't true.
So the poster for "Get Him To The Greek" says "Aaron Green has 72 hours to get a Rock Star from London to L.A. Pray for him." with a worried looking Jonah Hill standing in front of the Rock Star as played by Russell Brand.
I would much rather it said "Aaron Green has 72 hours to get this guy from London to L.A."
I suppose it's naive to want to hold a positive association with the term rock star as someone who questions and challenges the status quo. This may be another case of a personal definition being incompatible with that of the general public- I guess rock star is generally taken as one who is famous for the sake of fame and is devoted to personal excess and narcissism. And busting up hotels.
If that's the case, why do we care again?
I'm completely uninterested in this movie, but apparently it looks good to people?
I like how the poster is a goofy guy standing there and looking at the camera. It's a nice change of pace from the posters for The 40-Year Old Virgin and Knocked Up. In that it's exactly the same. What was the poster for She's Out Of My League like? I think it was similarly creative, but I didn't really notice it enough to be able to tell you for sure.
If I may sound adorable for a moment: I've had a tummyache all day. Just a little one.
"Tummyache". What a word.
Well, anyways, maybe I'll do better tomorrow. Help out, or do something nice or something. Take a step forward.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
It's 1:10 in the morning, and I still need to brush my teeth. I'm tired.
Twelve hours on my feet at work, okay, I sat a bunch of times, but still, it was a long day.
And unfortunately in five hours I've got to get up and do it mostly over. Not for as long though. Only nearly as long.
This morning I saw a clip of that Bieber kid walk into a glass door, and it made me laugh, but then I felt bad, especially when he was cool enough to talk to the camera guy about doing something stupid, as opposed to trying to ignore the fact that it happened.
It's hard to hate on the kid too much when you realize that everything he's presented as is a carefully selected package for mass market appeal, the end result being something he can't possibly have much say in.
But it's not only carefully groomed tween sensations that this happens to, it's everbody. I saw this kid this evening, and my first thought was "what a tool" purely based on the conformist pick-and-choose-buy-into-a-genre clothing line, but again- I noticed his face that had this lost expression to it, and I felt bad for him.
The world really does its best to mold us along these lines, and sometimes I can't be upset with the people who have succumbed to those forces. Besides, maybe someday I'll "get with it".
What is "it"?
Get off my lawn!
***
there's an excellent satisfaction in the lone good deed, the existence of which need never escape my lips. Or in other words: virtue is its own reward.
but take that with a grain of salt, this is coming from a guy who reads far too many superhero comics. assuming that's possible.
And unfortunately in five hours I've got to get up and do it mostly over. Not for as long though. Only nearly as long.
This morning I saw a clip of that Bieber kid walk into a glass door, and it made me laugh, but then I felt bad, especially when he was cool enough to talk to the camera guy about doing something stupid, as opposed to trying to ignore the fact that it happened.
It's hard to hate on the kid too much when you realize that everything he's presented as is a carefully selected package for mass market appeal, the end result being something he can't possibly have much say in.
But it's not only carefully groomed tween sensations that this happens to, it's everbody. I saw this kid this evening, and my first thought was "what a tool" purely based on the conformist pick-and-choose-buy-into-a-genre clothing line, but again- I noticed his face that had this lost expression to it, and I felt bad for him.
The world really does its best to mold us along these lines, and sometimes I can't be upset with the people who have succumbed to those forces. Besides, maybe someday I'll "get with it".
What is "it"?
Get off my lawn!
***
there's an excellent satisfaction in the lone good deed, the existence of which need never escape my lips. Or in other words: virtue is its own reward.
but take that with a grain of salt, this is coming from a guy who reads far too many superhero comics. assuming that's possible.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
In fact, it's no wonder my legs are sore
I don't feel like I accomplished much today, I walked to the old comic book store instead of driving or even running, so the whole trip lasted over two hours.
The first half of the trip was almost entirely consumed with thoughts of a silly comic strip idea- but I was too tired to doodle it out when I got back, so maybe I can do that tomorrow or friday. I'll almost certainly post the drawings here (facebook too, but it's hard to get excited about that) and they should get a chuckle. I basically wrote 5 strips in my head, and I'll draw them out in order of descending goodness - best to worst.
To avoid the sun I picked up my 8 year old tilly hat, thus feeling like a cowboy for the whole trip. My mind kept going back and forth between thoughts of "this looks silly" and "this looks awesome" like I was a live example of those miniwheats commercials.
The one with the adult that appreciates the healthy wheat side before turning into the kid who likes the sugared side. Yes, I spelled out the commercial for you, I'm not happy about it.
But yes, don't think a cowboy setting is what I was thinking of for that comic strip I just mentioned- because then you'd ruin part of the surprise..
I was going to say it wasn't yesterday, but it was... I was heading over to my friends place for that Ninja Turtles screening and so had 4 hours of time to just do whatever.
I exchanged nods and smiles with many people (though I gave more than I recieved) and spent some time in a No Frills just mentally tasting everything in the store before settling on a bag of trail mix (nuts and dried fruits, that kind of thing). As ever, the salt and vinegar chips were a serious temptation, and I bought a bag of porkrinds because they get referenced in the Turtles movie and I wanted to be cute.
I succeeded in being cute, but as expected the pork rinds were pretty grossesque. They tasted like rice cakes, but the kinds with that hint of flavour to them. And this flavour was a negative.
Anyways I just spent my time walking north along gladstone, munching on trailmix (I was determined to eat the whole bag so I wouldn't have to hold on to it any longer than needed). I saw a crazy front lawn with an assortment of plastic critters and had the impulse to just stand there, pretending to feed them, pretending like I didn't realize they were fake, until the owners came back. I didn't do that though.
I passed by the Cadbury factory and now I want to take a tour of the place.
I passed by this cool tucked away "Vintage Clothes" place, and I wanted to go in and ask the owner what vintage meant to them. Like, personally.
When I reached Dufferin Grove Park I was blown away by it- I've run past this park dozens of times on my way to work, and it always looked like just a bit of grass, and bit of trees, a bit of hills- but from where I was now they had an earthen kitchenette like something out of a Zorro picture, right next to a wading pool-to-be (in the summer) and a weird shack that had the history of the park right on it (did you know the Dufferin Mall was built on an old horse race track? well I didn't) AND working water fountains.
It was all pretty amazing to me, this is what I think of when I think "park" or "playground" and I didn't think Toronto could deliver like this.
Then I checked out the Bloor/Gladstone library, and it was really cool too- I read "The End League" which was a mostly lame Dark Horse comic book, and a "Goon" collection (also Dark Horse produced, by the acclaimed Eric Powell) but came pretty close to falling asleep.
I would have tried to rest a bit, but it was finally 6:30, and I was supposed to be at my friends at 7!
So, in retrospect, it's no wonder today feels a little less substantial.
I did finish "Scoop" today though, it was a great read, but I would've ended it differently. Or rather I would have ended it earlier, there were a couple great moments that would have been an hilarious punchline to go out on, but instead the final paragraph was more wistful (to my mind anyways) and didn't fit the rest of the book in that sense.
Ah, I was supposed to be working on comic reviews, but instead came here. Gotta be careful, that's the kind of slipshod attitude that results in poor quality articles that justifiably don't see print. Not that that happened to me recently. Of course!
The first half of the trip was almost entirely consumed with thoughts of a silly comic strip idea- but I was too tired to doodle it out when I got back, so maybe I can do that tomorrow or friday. I'll almost certainly post the drawings here (facebook too, but it's hard to get excited about that) and they should get a chuckle. I basically wrote 5 strips in my head, and I'll draw them out in order of descending goodness - best to worst.
To avoid the sun I picked up my 8 year old tilly hat, thus feeling like a cowboy for the whole trip. My mind kept going back and forth between thoughts of "this looks silly" and "this looks awesome" like I was a live example of those miniwheats commercials.
The one with the adult that appreciates the healthy wheat side before turning into the kid who likes the sugared side. Yes, I spelled out the commercial for you, I'm not happy about it.
But yes, don't think a cowboy setting is what I was thinking of for that comic strip I just mentioned- because then you'd ruin part of the surprise..
I was going to say it wasn't yesterday, but it was... I was heading over to my friends place for that Ninja Turtles screening and so had 4 hours of time to just do whatever.
I exchanged nods and smiles with many people (though I gave more than I recieved) and spent some time in a No Frills just mentally tasting everything in the store before settling on a bag of trail mix (nuts and dried fruits, that kind of thing). As ever, the salt and vinegar chips were a serious temptation, and I bought a bag of porkrinds because they get referenced in the Turtles movie and I wanted to be cute.
I succeeded in being cute, but as expected the pork rinds were pretty grossesque. They tasted like rice cakes, but the kinds with that hint of flavour to them. And this flavour was a negative.
Anyways I just spent my time walking north along gladstone, munching on trailmix (I was determined to eat the whole bag so I wouldn't have to hold on to it any longer than needed). I saw a crazy front lawn with an assortment of plastic critters and had the impulse to just stand there, pretending to feed them, pretending like I didn't realize they were fake, until the owners came back. I didn't do that though.
I passed by the Cadbury factory and now I want to take a tour of the place.
I passed by this cool tucked away "Vintage Clothes" place, and I wanted to go in and ask the owner what vintage meant to them. Like, personally.
When I reached Dufferin Grove Park I was blown away by it- I've run past this park dozens of times on my way to work, and it always looked like just a bit of grass, and bit of trees, a bit of hills- but from where I was now they had an earthen kitchenette like something out of a Zorro picture, right next to a wading pool-to-be (in the summer) and a weird shack that had the history of the park right on it (did you know the Dufferin Mall was built on an old horse race track? well I didn't) AND working water fountains.
It was all pretty amazing to me, this is what I think of when I think "park" or "playground" and I didn't think Toronto could deliver like this.
Then I checked out the Bloor/Gladstone library, and it was really cool too- I read "The End League" which was a mostly lame Dark Horse comic book, and a "Goon" collection (also Dark Horse produced, by the acclaimed Eric Powell) but came pretty close to falling asleep.
I would have tried to rest a bit, but it was finally 6:30, and I was supposed to be at my friends at 7!
So, in retrospect, it's no wonder today feels a little less substantial.
I did finish "Scoop" today though, it was a great read, but I would've ended it differently. Or rather I would have ended it earlier, there were a couple great moments that would have been an hilarious punchline to go out on, but instead the final paragraph was more wistful (to my mind anyways) and didn't fit the rest of the book in that sense.
Ah, I was supposed to be working on comic reviews, but instead came here. Gotta be careful, that's the kind of slipshod attitude that results in poor quality articles that justifiably don't see print. Not that that happened to me recently. Of course!
Monday, May 17, 2010
Reading over shoulders
A couple of days ago on the subway a guy was reading the cover story for this weeks "EYE WEEKLY"- and I read the intro over his shoulder as unobtrusively as possible. The title of the article was "Stroll- Shawn Micallef's flâneur manifesto, revisted"
Ah I love that word- flâneur. Go back two years and I wouldn't have known what that was, but I identify with it so much. "He who walks around the city, taking in his surroundings." That's my definition for it anyways, I'm sure this is a concept with some room for personal interpretation.
Which, now that I think of it, can also be true of just about anything. There're just varying degrees of accepted definitions for things.
This has been bugging me forever- I keep saying "just" in stuff. It's ridiculous. Let's avoid that for the remainder of this post at least.
Anyways, my interest piqued, I picked up my own copy of EYE.
For whatever reason I don't usually check out these periodicals, EYE or NOW. They tend to lounge around my room until they get thrown to the recycling dogs, so I haven't necessarily developed either the proper appreciation for these papers or a real taste for what makes them unique from each other. I may have to work on that, not sure if it's worth the time. It's with all that in mind that I was surprised at how thin the paper was. It totalled out at 40 pages, with the cover story on page 6. Not what I expected.
Said cover story was enjoyable, citing certain writers that I'm interested in learning more about in the future; it was (if I'm understanding it right) a reprint of an earlier article by Shawn Micallef. The only reason I'm unsure, and I don't even have the part underlined or anything, but when I was reading it there was a part that struck me as anachronistic, like some single part was rewritten and it made me doubt the chronology of the whole thing. Regardless the article serves as an intro and an ad for his upcoming collected book "Stroll: Psychogeographic Walking Tours of Toronto".
I'm not nuts about the term "psychogeographic", it's a little blunt and limiting in my mind. But it's not my book.
There's a launch party for the book Tuesday which would be cool to go to- but a friend of mine is having a screening of the first Ninja Turtles movie. I know where my priorities lie.
There's more I could mention about the paper, but I got caught watching Castle, then House, and NOW Chuck. Sheesh, too much t.v. Obviously it's really distracting.
After a full weekend of work I was pretty exhausted today. Spent most of it chilling out in bed. It was pretty nice.
Ah I love that word- flâneur. Go back two years and I wouldn't have known what that was, but I identify with it so much. "He who walks around the city, taking in his surroundings." That's my definition for it anyways, I'm sure this is a concept with some room for personal interpretation.
Which, now that I think of it, can also be true of just about anything. There're just varying degrees of accepted definitions for things.
This has been bugging me forever- I keep saying "just" in stuff. It's ridiculous. Let's avoid that for the remainder of this post at least.
Anyways, my interest piqued, I picked up my own copy of EYE.
For whatever reason I don't usually check out these periodicals, EYE or NOW. They tend to lounge around my room until they get thrown to the recycling dogs, so I haven't necessarily developed either the proper appreciation for these papers or a real taste for what makes them unique from each other. I may have to work on that, not sure if it's worth the time. It's with all that in mind that I was surprised at how thin the paper was. It totalled out at 40 pages, with the cover story on page 6. Not what I expected.
Said cover story was enjoyable, citing certain writers that I'm interested in learning more about in the future; it was (if I'm understanding it right) a reprint of an earlier article by Shawn Micallef. The only reason I'm unsure, and I don't even have the part underlined or anything, but when I was reading it there was a part that struck me as anachronistic, like some single part was rewritten and it made me doubt the chronology of the whole thing. Regardless the article serves as an intro and an ad for his upcoming collected book "Stroll: Psychogeographic Walking Tours of Toronto".
I'm not nuts about the term "psychogeographic", it's a little blunt and limiting in my mind. But it's not my book.
There's a launch party for the book Tuesday which would be cool to go to- but a friend of mine is having a screening of the first Ninja Turtles movie. I know where my priorities lie.
There's more I could mention about the paper, but I got caught watching Castle, then House, and NOW Chuck. Sheesh, too much t.v. Obviously it's really distracting.
After a full weekend of work I was pretty exhausted today. Spent most of it chilling out in bed. It was pretty nice.
Friday, May 14, 2010
what's the scoop?
I've got a haircut that I actually kind of like, some awesome stubble, I've refurbished my juice and yogurt supplies, I've got a couple bucks in my figurative pocket, and got at least 8 hours sleep.
I should really be in a better mood, you know, logically.
But a song played here, an impulse for contact that I ignore there, and a social networking system that is entirely other.
Not wanting to indulge my elitist name dropping tendencies, I'm reading this book by someone who I don't know who it is- his name is Evelyn Waugh, and the book is called "Scoop". It's a comedy of errors set in the english newspaper world something like 80 years ago (contemporary to when it was written). It can often be a little too fast and loose with the descriptive details- there's a whole lot of them, but not particularly descriptive. The end result is a struggle to keep it all in mind, and then he'll give a quick subversive line and it's clear the whole thing was the set up for some gag.
It really is quite funny- but there are some moments where I sit back and think "okay, that was funny, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't meant to be". There's some values dissonance because of when it was written.
Well, anyways, I'm going to have some juice.
I should really be in a better mood, you know, logically.
But a song played here, an impulse for contact that I ignore there, and a social networking system that is entirely other.
Not wanting to indulge my elitist name dropping tendencies, I'm reading this book by someone who I don't know who it is- his name is Evelyn Waugh, and the book is called "Scoop". It's a comedy of errors set in the english newspaper world something like 80 years ago (contemporary to when it was written). It can often be a little too fast and loose with the descriptive details- there's a whole lot of them, but not particularly descriptive. The end result is a struggle to keep it all in mind, and then he'll give a quick subversive line and it's clear the whole thing was the set up for some gag.
It really is quite funny- but there are some moments where I sit back and think "okay, that was funny, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't meant to be". There's some values dissonance because of when it was written.
Well, anyways, I'm going to have some juice.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Sorry this isn't well balanced between Catcher and Nine Stories...
Finished my reading of Catcher in the Rye and Nine Stories- I was actually up until 4am this morning reading Nine Stories. I was at the finish line! You can’t just quit when you’re so close to the finish line! You know, unless you’re REALLY sleepy.
Immediately when I started Catcher I started jotting notes on the library “return by...” slip/makeshift bookmark. I didn’t want to dig through my bag to grab my notebook, but I quickly filled up the bookmark and had no choice. That’s what notebooks are for- but when I had a dream that was rather cool I didn’t jot it down because that would have interrupted my run of Catcher and Nine notes. Everything has to be just so.
I’ll try not to just go over every single note I made, mostly it’s just a bunch of quotes for my own benefit- but no promises.
My first little note was noticing “David Copperfield reference first page”
I’d only just read David Copperfield, I guess it was last summer- it’s the life story of a really nice guy trying to make his way in the world. And I do mean life story, it’s a super detailed account- which is just what Holden tells us we won’t be getting with Catcher. They are pretty opposite from each other- even if you just focus on the fact that Copperfield is a life story and Catcher takes place over a three or four day period.
The reason that struck me had to do with the fact that I’d read Catcher in the Rye before, like three years ago now, and I hadn’t read David Copperfield at the time- I’ve changed since my last reading, in some ways quite a lot. Did I get then just how unreliable a narrator Holden Caulfield was? Maybe to some degree, but now I sit back and doubt at least half of what this guy is telling me. The start of Chapter 3 goes “I’m the most terrific liar you ever saw in your life.” That says it all right there, and that’s page 16. I’m sure I’ll return to the differences in my reading of the book over time, as well as instances of Holden with-HOLDEN information (I’m terrible) or just being untrue to himself, in fact I know I’ll return to that, but lets move on for now.
I like when I get a book and there are notes and highlighted passages and things inside. It lets me read the story, and read what this other person thinks is important about the story, AND I get to figure out a bit about this person… of course I quickly determined I wasn’t following in the footsteps of a scholar; the notes here in Catcher are mostly just words they circled because they don’t know what they mean. Let me flip through for an example: aces (p.50), bash (p.51), swell (also p.51), wad (p.52), lavish (ALSO p.52) you get the idea.
So early on Holden is asked about his favourite authors, and his answer was his brother D.B., and the guy whose book D.B. gave to him- I just want to point out how the question turns on itself and points out, not some innocuous fact about Holden, but reveals a brother hero worship.
I’ve got a note here about p.6, and I know why I wrote it down, to remind me of how the moment in the book resonated with something going on in my mind at the time- but when I look back at the quote itself in the book, well, it doesn’t relate quite so much. So I guess I’ll skip that for now.
There are a number of allusions in this book- I’ve already mentioned David Copperfield, but I may as well go over some of the other ones I made note of: Eustacia Vye from Thomas Hardy’s “Return of the Native”, Robert Burns poem “Comin Thro’ the Rye” (obviously a big one) and Wilhelm Stekel.
If Wikipedia is anything to go by, Eustacia Vye is an outsider of a woman who eventually commits suicide to escape from(or potentially conform with) the expectations of the larger community. A pretty bleak view for an outsider, but romantic enough that I can see the appeal to Holden.
The Wilhelm Stekel quote is this: ”The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.” The quote comes from Mr. Antolini, who is really drunk at the time and it comes just before the scene where Holden wakes up to find Antolini petting him, which freaks Holden out. I still believe the quote is emblematic of Holden, with Holden acting still as the immature man, but if Salinger is giving Antolini a wise “right” voice, I don’t really think Salinger would also make him complicated and out to try something on Holden, or be “pervy” as Holden says. I acknowledge that as a possibility, but I think it’s the case that Antolini is just a really sensitive individual that knows how tough a time Holden is having with things, and will continue to have in the future. He feels sorry for Holden, and is petting him like a concerned mother.
I do think Antolini is gay though. I’d hate for someone to say that I think he’s either “gay and pervy” or “straight and sensitive”. My bet’s on “gay and sensitive”.
Now we come to Robert Burns. Considering how important this reference is to the book I’ve got some outside consultants on this one:
http://oldpoetry.com/opoem/398-Robert-Burns-Comin-Thro--The-Rye
Comin Thro' The Rye- Robert Burns
O, Jenny's a' weet, poor body,
Jenny's seldom dry:
She draigl't a' her petticoatie,
Comin thro' the rye!
Comin thro' the rye, poor body,
Comin thro' the rye,
She draigl't a' her petticoatie,
Comin thro' the rye!
Gin a body meet a body
Comin thro' the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry?
Gin a body meet a body
Comin thro' the glen,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need the warl' ken?
Gin a body meet a body
Comin thro' the grain;
Gin a body kiss a body,
The thing's a body's ain.
From guest Abbie April 13
Oh, Jenny's all wet, poor body / Jenny's seldom dry / She draggled [dragged and dirtied] all her petticoats, / Coming through the rye [a type of grain/or a River, which could be why she was all wet]. / [sex references?; completely socially unacceptable in this time period] // // Coming through the rye, poor body, / Coming through the rye, / She draggled all her petticoats / Coming through the rye. / [coming out of a field of grass (or across a river, whatever you want to read into it, she's getting muddy; which is more of her being socially unacceptable] // // If a body meet a body / Coming through the rye / If a body kiss a body, / Need a body cry? / [Basically saying (as far as I can tell), If I make out with someone, ect. and it's just the two of us, is it really that big of a deal?] // // If a body meet a body / Coming through the glen [valley] / If a body kiss a body / Need the whole world know? / [If the two of us are doing things all by ourselves, it's our own business, and why does everyone care and make it their business?] // // If a body meet a body / Coming through the grain / If a body kiss a body / The thing's a body's own. / [It's absolutely none of your beeswax WHAT we do] // // // // So, this entire thing is set in a time when sex was not OK, but Burns is just saying: why do you care what we do? You shouldn't.
From guest k November 23, 2009
Holden distorts the word "meet" into "catch." This is certainly not the first time Holden is guilty of distortion; indeed he is a master at it. This distortion, however, shows us how much Allie's death has affected Holden and also how much he fears his own fall from innocence, the theme that threads its way throughout the whole of the book. By this amazing book's end, we must reach the conclusion that there are times when we all need a "catcher in the rye." We are, indeed, blessed if we have one.
I added the comment from Abbie because it did help me get parts of the poem, though I could have done without her added commentary beyond the “translation”.
The second comment from k I add because it points out the distinction between the poems “meet” versus Holden’s emphasis on the word “catch”, but otherwise I disagree with most of the comment: while Holden MAY fear his own fall from innocence, I don’t think that’s what we learn from the substitution of “catch” for “meet”. “Meet” has a connotation of impermanence, that you can come across someone, share a moment, and then move on with your journey. As sweet as that can be, Holden is obsessed with a permanence. He’d rather “catch” someone in the rye and then hold tight to them. P. 121-122 Has Holden talking about the museum, and how you could visit it 100 000 times and though nothing inside would change, you would be different every time in some way, and the same would be for his sister when she visited the museum. “Certain things should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone. I know that’s impossible, but it’s too bad anyway.”
Hey page 183 “The trouble with me is, I like it when somebody digresses. It’s more interesting and all.”
There are plenty of fun observations throughout the book, in fact most of my notes are quotes capturing some of my favourites/ones that resonate with me, so why don’t I throw a few in now?
“I like it when somebody gets excited about something. It’s nice.”- my thoughts exactly
“The Navy guy and I told each other we were glad to’ve met each other. Which always kills me. I’m always saying ‘Glad to’ve met you’ to somebody I’m not at all glad I met. If you want to stay alive, you have to say that stuff though.”- I’m always pretty uncomfortable when someone says “glad to meet you” to me, because my brain retreats into itself to go over our conversation and evaluate whether or not I was “glad” to meet them. I usually just say “see you around” or something. It’s awkward.
Ah, this one is dangerously true: “That’s the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty; even if they’re not much to look at, or even if they’re sort of stupid, you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are.”
“Almost every time somebody gives me a present, it ends up making me sad.”
“If you do something too good, then, after awhile, if you don’t watch it, you start showing off. And then you’re not as good anymore.” – it’s that care that is probably why Salinger was such a recluse, in my mind anyways. I empathize with that- I’m very often “watching” what I do. And I am kind of a recluse already.
Here’s one from Mr. Antolini: “…you’ll find that you’re not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behaviour. You’re by no means alone on that score, you’ll be excited and stimulated to know.”
I can remember a particular occasion when I read a poem, it was probably Keats but I confuse them, and I could feel a synchronicity of thoughts, or at least, to re-use a word from earlier this post, a resonance of thoughts that certainly was exciting and stimulating. But let’s return to Mr. Antolini:
“Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You’ll learn from them- if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It’s a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn’t education. It’s history. It’s poetry… I’m not trying to tell you… that only educated and scholarly men are able to contribute something valuable to the world. It’s not so. But I do say that educated and scholarly men, if they’re brilliant and creative to begin with- which, unfortunately, is rarely the case- tend to leave infinitely more valuable records behind them than men do who are merely brilliant and creative. They tend to express themselves more clearly, and they usually have a passion for following their thought through to the end. And- most important- nine times out of ten they have more humility than the unscholarly thinker… something else an academic education will do for you. If you go along with it any considerable distance, it’ll begin to give you an idea what size of mind you have. What it’ll fit and, maybe, what it won’t. After a while, you’ll have an idea what kind of thoughts your particular size mind should be wearing. For one thing, it may save you an extraordinary amount of time trying on ideas that don’t suit you, aren’t becoming to you. You’ll begin to know your true measurements and dress your mind accordingly.”
This part about finding the thoughts that fit your mind, that ties in with the different potential levels of appreciation for this book. On the one hand there are the people who will enjoy “Catcher in the Rye” because of everyone else liking it, there are those who identify with and put themselves in the same position as Holden (will blame their problems on others, will rage against the world), and then there’s the group that will be amazed at the portrait we’re given of a troubled 16 year old.
The final words of the book: “Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.” <- ah that sounds like a depressing version of Ferris Bueller’s last bit about slowing down for some fun.
It was quite a coincidence that the second I finished “Catcher in the Rye” I was on the bus next to this guy I had yelled at sometime before (I’m pretty sure I mentioned that in another post) and I am so sure he recognised me, was trying to get a rise out of me- but I kept my cool and avoided that trap. He doesn’t make much of a second impression though, I’ll tell you that. He and his friends, man, I don’t run into those kinds of guys that often- and as a result I’m always pretty shocked that they can exist. Ah well, dumb high schoolers.
Congratulations on reading this far, by the way- really? You sat through a bunch of quotes from “Catcher in the Rye”? Sure, they interest me, but I’m crazy. Ah well, join me for “Nine Stories”? I won’t take as long, I promise.
I was certainly concerned going into “Nine Stories” that I wouldn’t get as much out of it, being a collection of short stories instead of a full novel. It’s no shock there just isn’t as much time to delve into the various characters and themes that show up, but still it was a fun read, and what I did was after I read each story I wrote down a quick synopsis of each story so I could remember it… want to hear my synopsis? I’ve also got some quotes (not nearly as many as “Catcher in the Rye”) and things that have caught my eye… but really, not that much. Well, we’ll see how it goes.
1. A Perfect Day For Bananafish
- traumatized soldier plays with little girl before killing himself
See? Not too bad- that’s all I wrote about the first story!
2. Uncle Wiggily in Connecticut
- two women lament their paths in life, particularly Eloise who has degenerated to someone bitter and at least a little spiteful
- Eloise’s former sweet heart died in the war – is her daughter from that sweet heart, or is she the husbands? Is the daughter one last reminder of what Eloise had, or the eternal fact that she settled for some guy she hates?
In tears Eloise asks “I was a nice girl, wasn’t I?”
Eloise is asked why she married this guy Lew, and apparently it was because he said he loved Jane Austin! That’s so funny.
3. Just Before the War with the Eskimos
- girl (Ginnie) insists on visiting friend (Selena) to get some money owed for taxi rides, meet’s Selena’s brother Franklin and his friend Eric- Ginnie leaves without the money, she’s too weirded out by Franklin and Eric, but doesn’t immediately throw out the random sandwich Franklin gave her.
Last line: “A few years before, it had taken her three days to dispose of the Easter chick she had found dead on the sawdust in the bottom of her wastebasket.”
- Ginnie has a reluctance to change what’s around her, to get rid of useless elements to her?
This is a really interesting story, difficult to pin down.
Right here in my notes I write: “I really notice the smell of the ink from this blue pen. It’s lovely.”
Don’t judge me, I liked it is all.
4. The Laughing Man
I like the description of “The Chief”- aka John Gedsudski, troop leader of a boy scout type club, the Comanche Club
-an end of innocence in story telling form, the Laughing Man is an exciting character whose story is told to the Comanche’s by the Chief- until he gets his heart broken and ends up killing the Laughing Man, much to the horror of the Comanche’s.
An amazing story, lots of fun.
5. Down at the Dinghy
A mother has to get her little boy to open up about what’s bothering him, she eventually succeeds, and it’s beautiful.
6. For Esmé- With Love and Squalor
In 1950 a man tells the story of meeting a 13 year old girl in 1944, how he then goes on to “lose his faculties” during the war. He seems to attribute to this girl (Esmé) his road to recovery after he receives her promised letter.
About Esmé: “Yes; quite,” said my guest, in the clear, unmistakable voice of a small talk detester.
The whole conversation has the soldier/narrator trying his best to not look dumb in front of this well poised little girl. It’s a lot of fun, and identifiable too. Not so much in relation to a little girl, but we all know what it’s like to talk to someone and not want to look dumb in front of them.
7. Pretty Mouth and Green My Eyes
The title is a reference to a poem this neurotic guy, Arthur, wrote to his wife Joanie when they were going out- the story consists of Lee answering Arthur’s phone call- Arthur complains about his missing wife- who I assumed was sitting with Lee. Turns out that was just some other girl when Joanie gets home to Arthur- but Lee still seemed surprised, maybe he doesn’t have a lot of respect for Lee, and therefore didn’t really think Joanie would come back.
8. De Daumier-Smith’s Blue Period
A self important 19 year old leaves his step father in New York to take up a new identity as a 29 year old art teacher in Montréal. A really funny story.
Ah, there was a rip in a page during this story- an important note!
9. Teddy
Huh- interesting I didn’t really write a synopsis for the last story. Well it's about this kid who's a genius and is getting interviewed about his views on the world.
Here’re some quotes:
Teddy “After I go out this door, I may only exist in the minds of all my acquaintances,” he said. “I may be an orange peel.” That makes sense in the context of the story, but it’s more awesome as is.
Teddy “if Sven dreamed tonight that his dog died, he’d have a very, very bad night’s sleep… but when he woke up in the morning, everything would be all right… the point is if his dog really died, it would be exactly the same thing. Only he wouldn’t know it. I mean he wouldn’t wake up till he died himself.”
Teddy pretty blatantly predicted his own death, glad I wasn’t surprised.
Okay, well, those are all the stories. I am plenty tired- and I still have to proof read. This and some research on an upcoming cartoon show, that’s pretty much all I did today.
And again, congratulations on reading through all this, that’s rather fantastic, I appreciate it.
Immediately when I started Catcher I started jotting notes on the library “return by...” slip/makeshift bookmark. I didn’t want to dig through my bag to grab my notebook, but I quickly filled up the bookmark and had no choice. That’s what notebooks are for- but when I had a dream that was rather cool I didn’t jot it down because that would have interrupted my run of Catcher and Nine notes. Everything has to be just so.
I’ll try not to just go over every single note I made, mostly it’s just a bunch of quotes for my own benefit- but no promises.
My first little note was noticing “David Copperfield reference first page”
I’d only just read David Copperfield, I guess it was last summer- it’s the life story of a really nice guy trying to make his way in the world. And I do mean life story, it’s a super detailed account- which is just what Holden tells us we won’t be getting with Catcher. They are pretty opposite from each other- even if you just focus on the fact that Copperfield is a life story and Catcher takes place over a three or four day period.
The reason that struck me had to do with the fact that I’d read Catcher in the Rye before, like three years ago now, and I hadn’t read David Copperfield at the time- I’ve changed since my last reading, in some ways quite a lot. Did I get then just how unreliable a narrator Holden Caulfield was? Maybe to some degree, but now I sit back and doubt at least half of what this guy is telling me. The start of Chapter 3 goes “I’m the most terrific liar you ever saw in your life.” That says it all right there, and that’s page 16. I’m sure I’ll return to the differences in my reading of the book over time, as well as instances of Holden with-HOLDEN information (I’m terrible) or just being untrue to himself, in fact I know I’ll return to that, but lets move on for now.
I like when I get a book and there are notes and highlighted passages and things inside. It lets me read the story, and read what this other person thinks is important about the story, AND I get to figure out a bit about this person… of course I quickly determined I wasn’t following in the footsteps of a scholar; the notes here in Catcher are mostly just words they circled because they don’t know what they mean. Let me flip through for an example: aces (p.50), bash (p.51), swell (also p.51), wad (p.52), lavish (ALSO p.52) you get the idea.
So early on Holden is asked about his favourite authors, and his answer was his brother D.B., and the guy whose book D.B. gave to him- I just want to point out how the question turns on itself and points out, not some innocuous fact about Holden, but reveals a brother hero worship.
I’ve got a note here about p.6, and I know why I wrote it down, to remind me of how the moment in the book resonated with something going on in my mind at the time- but when I look back at the quote itself in the book, well, it doesn’t relate quite so much. So I guess I’ll skip that for now.
There are a number of allusions in this book- I’ve already mentioned David Copperfield, but I may as well go over some of the other ones I made note of: Eustacia Vye from Thomas Hardy’s “Return of the Native”, Robert Burns poem “Comin Thro’ the Rye” (obviously a big one) and Wilhelm Stekel.
If Wikipedia is anything to go by, Eustacia Vye is an outsider of a woman who eventually commits suicide to escape from(or potentially conform with) the expectations of the larger community. A pretty bleak view for an outsider, but romantic enough that I can see the appeal to Holden.
The Wilhelm Stekel quote is this: ”The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.” The quote comes from Mr. Antolini, who is really drunk at the time and it comes just before the scene where Holden wakes up to find Antolini petting him, which freaks Holden out. I still believe the quote is emblematic of Holden, with Holden acting still as the immature man, but if Salinger is giving Antolini a wise “right” voice, I don’t really think Salinger would also make him complicated and out to try something on Holden, or be “pervy” as Holden says. I acknowledge that as a possibility, but I think it’s the case that Antolini is just a really sensitive individual that knows how tough a time Holden is having with things, and will continue to have in the future. He feels sorry for Holden, and is petting him like a concerned mother.
I do think Antolini is gay though. I’d hate for someone to say that I think he’s either “gay and pervy” or “straight and sensitive”. My bet’s on “gay and sensitive”.
Now we come to Robert Burns. Considering how important this reference is to the book I’ve got some outside consultants on this one:
http://oldpoetry.com/opoem/398-Robert-Burns-Comin-Thro--The-Rye
Comin Thro' The Rye- Robert Burns
O, Jenny's a' weet, poor body,
Jenny's seldom dry:
She draigl't a' her petticoatie,
Comin thro' the rye!
Comin thro' the rye, poor body,
Comin thro' the rye,
She draigl't a' her petticoatie,
Comin thro' the rye!
Gin a body meet a body
Comin thro' the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry?
Gin a body meet a body
Comin thro' the glen,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need the warl' ken?
Gin a body meet a body
Comin thro' the grain;
Gin a body kiss a body,
The thing's a body's ain.
From guest Abbie April 13
Oh, Jenny's all wet, poor body / Jenny's seldom dry / She draggled [dragged and dirtied] all her petticoats, / Coming through the rye [a type of grain/or a River, which could be why she was all wet]. / [sex references?; completely socially unacceptable in this time period] // // Coming through the rye, poor body, / Coming through the rye, / She draggled all her petticoats / Coming through the rye. / [coming out of a field of grass (or across a river, whatever you want to read into it, she's getting muddy; which is more of her being socially unacceptable] // // If a body meet a body / Coming through the rye / If a body kiss a body, / Need a body cry? / [Basically saying (as far as I can tell), If I make out with someone, ect. and it's just the two of us, is it really that big of a deal?] // // If a body meet a body / Coming through the glen [valley] / If a body kiss a body / Need the whole world know? / [If the two of us are doing things all by ourselves, it's our own business, and why does everyone care and make it their business?] // // If a body meet a body / Coming through the grain / If a body kiss a body / The thing's a body's own. / [It's absolutely none of your beeswax WHAT we do] // // // // So, this entire thing is set in a time when sex was not OK, but Burns is just saying: why do you care what we do? You shouldn't.
From guest k November 23, 2009
Holden distorts the word "meet" into "catch." This is certainly not the first time Holden is guilty of distortion; indeed he is a master at it. This distortion, however, shows us how much Allie's death has affected Holden and also how much he fears his own fall from innocence, the theme that threads its way throughout the whole of the book. By this amazing book's end, we must reach the conclusion that there are times when we all need a "catcher in the rye." We are, indeed, blessed if we have one.
I added the comment from Abbie because it did help me get parts of the poem, though I could have done without her added commentary beyond the “translation”.
The second comment from k I add because it points out the distinction between the poems “meet” versus Holden’s emphasis on the word “catch”, but otherwise I disagree with most of the comment: while Holden MAY fear his own fall from innocence, I don’t think that’s what we learn from the substitution of “catch” for “meet”. “Meet” has a connotation of impermanence, that you can come across someone, share a moment, and then move on with your journey. As sweet as that can be, Holden is obsessed with a permanence. He’d rather “catch” someone in the rye and then hold tight to them. P. 121-122 Has Holden talking about the museum, and how you could visit it 100 000 times and though nothing inside would change, you would be different every time in some way, and the same would be for his sister when she visited the museum. “Certain things should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone. I know that’s impossible, but it’s too bad anyway.”
Hey page 183 “The trouble with me is, I like it when somebody digresses. It’s more interesting and all.”
There are plenty of fun observations throughout the book, in fact most of my notes are quotes capturing some of my favourites/ones that resonate with me, so why don’t I throw a few in now?
“I like it when somebody gets excited about something. It’s nice.”- my thoughts exactly
“The Navy guy and I told each other we were glad to’ve met each other. Which always kills me. I’m always saying ‘Glad to’ve met you’ to somebody I’m not at all glad I met. If you want to stay alive, you have to say that stuff though.”- I’m always pretty uncomfortable when someone says “glad to meet you” to me, because my brain retreats into itself to go over our conversation and evaluate whether or not I was “glad” to meet them. I usually just say “see you around” or something. It’s awkward.
Ah, this one is dangerously true: “That’s the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty; even if they’re not much to look at, or even if they’re sort of stupid, you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are.”
“Almost every time somebody gives me a present, it ends up making me sad.”
“If you do something too good, then, after awhile, if you don’t watch it, you start showing off. And then you’re not as good anymore.” – it’s that care that is probably why Salinger was such a recluse, in my mind anyways. I empathize with that- I’m very often “watching” what I do. And I am kind of a recluse already.
Here’s one from Mr. Antolini: “…you’ll find that you’re not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behaviour. You’re by no means alone on that score, you’ll be excited and stimulated to know.”
I can remember a particular occasion when I read a poem, it was probably Keats but I confuse them, and I could feel a synchronicity of thoughts, or at least, to re-use a word from earlier this post, a resonance of thoughts that certainly was exciting and stimulating. But let’s return to Mr. Antolini:
“Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You’ll learn from them- if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It’s a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn’t education. It’s history. It’s poetry… I’m not trying to tell you… that only educated and scholarly men are able to contribute something valuable to the world. It’s not so. But I do say that educated and scholarly men, if they’re brilliant and creative to begin with- which, unfortunately, is rarely the case- tend to leave infinitely more valuable records behind them than men do who are merely brilliant and creative. They tend to express themselves more clearly, and they usually have a passion for following their thought through to the end. And- most important- nine times out of ten they have more humility than the unscholarly thinker… something else an academic education will do for you. If you go along with it any considerable distance, it’ll begin to give you an idea what size of mind you have. What it’ll fit and, maybe, what it won’t. After a while, you’ll have an idea what kind of thoughts your particular size mind should be wearing. For one thing, it may save you an extraordinary amount of time trying on ideas that don’t suit you, aren’t becoming to you. You’ll begin to know your true measurements and dress your mind accordingly.”
This part about finding the thoughts that fit your mind, that ties in with the different potential levels of appreciation for this book. On the one hand there are the people who will enjoy “Catcher in the Rye” because of everyone else liking it, there are those who identify with and put themselves in the same position as Holden (will blame their problems on others, will rage against the world), and then there’s the group that will be amazed at the portrait we’re given of a troubled 16 year old.
The final words of the book: “Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.” <- ah that sounds like a depressing version of Ferris Bueller’s last bit about slowing down for some fun.
It was quite a coincidence that the second I finished “Catcher in the Rye” I was on the bus next to this guy I had yelled at sometime before (I’m pretty sure I mentioned that in another post) and I am so sure he recognised me, was trying to get a rise out of me- but I kept my cool and avoided that trap. He doesn’t make much of a second impression though, I’ll tell you that. He and his friends, man, I don’t run into those kinds of guys that often- and as a result I’m always pretty shocked that they can exist. Ah well, dumb high schoolers.
Congratulations on reading this far, by the way- really? You sat through a bunch of quotes from “Catcher in the Rye”? Sure, they interest me, but I’m crazy. Ah well, join me for “Nine Stories”? I won’t take as long, I promise.
I was certainly concerned going into “Nine Stories” that I wouldn’t get as much out of it, being a collection of short stories instead of a full novel. It’s no shock there just isn’t as much time to delve into the various characters and themes that show up, but still it was a fun read, and what I did was after I read each story I wrote down a quick synopsis of each story so I could remember it… want to hear my synopsis? I’ve also got some quotes (not nearly as many as “Catcher in the Rye”) and things that have caught my eye… but really, not that much. Well, we’ll see how it goes.
1. A Perfect Day For Bananafish
- traumatized soldier plays with little girl before killing himself
See? Not too bad- that’s all I wrote about the first story!
2. Uncle Wiggily in Connecticut
- two women lament their paths in life, particularly Eloise who has degenerated to someone bitter and at least a little spiteful
- Eloise’s former sweet heart died in the war – is her daughter from that sweet heart, or is she the husbands? Is the daughter one last reminder of what Eloise had, or the eternal fact that she settled for some guy she hates?
In tears Eloise asks “I was a nice girl, wasn’t I?”
Eloise is asked why she married this guy Lew, and apparently it was because he said he loved Jane Austin! That’s so funny.
3. Just Before the War with the Eskimos
- girl (Ginnie) insists on visiting friend (Selena) to get some money owed for taxi rides, meet’s Selena’s brother Franklin and his friend Eric- Ginnie leaves without the money, she’s too weirded out by Franklin and Eric, but doesn’t immediately throw out the random sandwich Franklin gave her.
Last line: “A few years before, it had taken her three days to dispose of the Easter chick she had found dead on the sawdust in the bottom of her wastebasket.”
- Ginnie has a reluctance to change what’s around her, to get rid of useless elements to her?
This is a really interesting story, difficult to pin down.
Right here in my notes I write: “I really notice the smell of the ink from this blue pen. It’s lovely.”
Don’t judge me, I liked it is all.
4. The Laughing Man
I like the description of “The Chief”- aka John Gedsudski, troop leader of a boy scout type club, the Comanche Club
-an end of innocence in story telling form, the Laughing Man is an exciting character whose story is told to the Comanche’s by the Chief- until he gets his heart broken and ends up killing the Laughing Man, much to the horror of the Comanche’s.
An amazing story, lots of fun.
5. Down at the Dinghy
A mother has to get her little boy to open up about what’s bothering him, she eventually succeeds, and it’s beautiful.
6. For Esmé- With Love and Squalor
In 1950 a man tells the story of meeting a 13 year old girl in 1944, how he then goes on to “lose his faculties” during the war. He seems to attribute to this girl (Esmé) his road to recovery after he receives her promised letter.
About Esmé: “Yes; quite,” said my guest, in the clear, unmistakable voice of a small talk detester.
The whole conversation has the soldier/narrator trying his best to not look dumb in front of this well poised little girl. It’s a lot of fun, and identifiable too. Not so much in relation to a little girl, but we all know what it’s like to talk to someone and not want to look dumb in front of them.
7. Pretty Mouth and Green My Eyes
The title is a reference to a poem this neurotic guy, Arthur, wrote to his wife Joanie when they were going out- the story consists of Lee answering Arthur’s phone call- Arthur complains about his missing wife- who I assumed was sitting with Lee. Turns out that was just some other girl when Joanie gets home to Arthur- but Lee still seemed surprised, maybe he doesn’t have a lot of respect for Lee, and therefore didn’t really think Joanie would come back.
8. De Daumier-Smith’s Blue Period
A self important 19 year old leaves his step father in New York to take up a new identity as a 29 year old art teacher in Montréal. A really funny story.
Ah, there was a rip in a page during this story- an important note!
9. Teddy
Huh- interesting I didn’t really write a synopsis for the last story. Well it's about this kid who's a genius and is getting interviewed about his views on the world.
Here’re some quotes:
Teddy “After I go out this door, I may only exist in the minds of all my acquaintances,” he said. “I may be an orange peel.” That makes sense in the context of the story, but it’s more awesome as is.
Teddy “if Sven dreamed tonight that his dog died, he’d have a very, very bad night’s sleep… but when he woke up in the morning, everything would be all right… the point is if his dog really died, it would be exactly the same thing. Only he wouldn’t know it. I mean he wouldn’t wake up till he died himself.”
Teddy pretty blatantly predicted his own death, glad I wasn’t surprised.
Okay, well, those are all the stories. I am plenty tired- and I still have to proof read. This and some research on an upcoming cartoon show, that’s pretty much all I did today.
And again, congratulations on reading through all this, that’s rather fantastic, I appreciate it.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Dreamed just now
Just wrote down the details of my dream, I have a few moments before I can hop in the shower and leave, so lets re-record them here:
Just woke up from a dream where I was playing a Paul Auster style detective- I was set up with some really cryptic case/mission, given while washing my face and then when my employer went into this other room he's having this discussion with a sad old woman who's talking about how much harder it is to get by these days, but that at least she can still come down to visit, and that such simple pleasures cost nothing-- but then I got really excited, interrupting her to point out that that wasn't really true, that with the rising cost of transport her visit already cost her more than it would have in the past, but this was a good thing, as well as the fact that she was making the visit- because it was an extra visit and I started talking about cycles, and that they'd want to get out of their cycles to protect themselves from their nebulous kidnapper/attacker, who would depend on on patterns to plan their crime- then I was treated to a montage of images that my detective self narrated, but were clearly narrated in an ironically wrong fashion
-Master J-something (didn't catch the name), the youngest ward of the J-somethings, had slept with Mistress J-something, like I saw their still bodies lying on top of each otehr, while I narrate how they didn't much care for each other or see each other- and then there was a bit about her no longer seeing the elder Mr. J-something
But then the view pans out a bit and clearly all three are in the bed together and then that elder one was in a relationship with some dude, with a partition dividing their room/beds and the guy on the left (Mr. J-something, why didn't my notes just say that) was staring blankly at the cieling/me/narrator, sad and knowing; long, dirty grey, hair around his head- he knows that he's just a place holder for some guy whose REAL partner had passed away, and then he's gotten up and walks out the door and down the street where a line of trees stood by the road in a nice neighborhood.
A fantastically cool/hard-boiled dream.
I actually changed very little from my notes here, surprisingly. No time to check spelling as per usual, so that sucks.
I had a really nice birthday yesterday by the way, plenty of well wishers and got to see a bunch of friends. And I saw Iron Man 2.
Just woke up from a dream where I was playing a Paul Auster style detective- I was set up with some really cryptic case/mission, given while washing my face and then when my employer went into this other room he's having this discussion with a sad old woman who's talking about how much harder it is to get by these days, but that at least she can still come down to visit, and that such simple pleasures cost nothing-- but then I got really excited, interrupting her to point out that that wasn't really true, that with the rising cost of transport her visit already cost her more than it would have in the past, but this was a good thing, as well as the fact that she was making the visit- because it was an extra visit and I started talking about cycles, and that they'd want to get out of their cycles to protect themselves from their nebulous kidnapper/attacker, who would depend on on patterns to plan their crime- then I was treated to a montage of images that my detective self narrated, but were clearly narrated in an ironically wrong fashion
-Master J-something (didn't catch the name), the youngest ward of the J-somethings, had slept with Mistress J-something, like I saw their still bodies lying on top of each otehr, while I narrate how they didn't much care for each other or see each other- and then there was a bit about her no longer seeing the elder Mr. J-something
But then the view pans out a bit and clearly all three are in the bed together and then that elder one was in a relationship with some dude, with a partition dividing their room/beds and the guy on the left (Mr. J-something, why didn't my notes just say that) was staring blankly at the cieling/me/narrator, sad and knowing; long, dirty grey, hair around his head- he knows that he's just a place holder for some guy whose REAL partner had passed away, and then he's gotten up and walks out the door and down the street where a line of trees stood by the road in a nice neighborhood.
A fantastically cool/hard-boiled dream.
I actually changed very little from my notes here, surprisingly. No time to check spelling as per usual, so that sucks.
I had a really nice birthday yesterday by the way, plenty of well wishers and got to see a bunch of friends. And I saw Iron Man 2.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
That's Aesop out of the way, next time it'll be Salinger.
Hey- my friend just asked me about some comic artist, and I was worried I wouldn't be familiar with their work at all- but good news! Finger on the pulse man, finger on the pulse.
As though it wasn't clear already, I prefer to read a book and then comment here. I wanted to get this one out of the way for the past few days, even though I didn't actually finish the thing until this morning- a collection of Aesop's Fables as translated by Laura Gibbs.
It's nice to just sit back and be reminded of some bits of worldly wisdom, but with all the foxes that get eaten by lions, and all the lions that befriend foxes, peacocks wanting a voice, nightingales wanting the feathers, mercy leading to doom, mercy leading to sweet reward- the only lesson that is really consistent is that you have to think things through and judge the individual situation as best you can. Which almost defeats the purpose of having illustrative frame works of potential scenarios aka fables.
Almost. I guess the only time a fable would be told to someone would be as a sort of corrective measure- like say a kid is really reckless around something dangerous and he's told a fable about some similarly reckless creature that ends up stung (usually to death) by bees. That reckless kid doesn't need the corresponding tale about how it'd be bad to be too timid, because timidity isn't the problem his nature has to deal with.
So I suppose it's just silly to sit back and read through a whole bunch of these fables at once when they just negate each other... so I'm the silly one.
I had to post one fable, here's Aesop and the Writer
A man had read to Aesop selections from a badly written work in which he stupidly boasted at length about what a great writer he was. The man wanted to know what Aesop thought, so the writer said to him, 'Surely you do not think I have too high an opinion of myself?' 'Not at all', said Aesop, who was utterly exhausted by the writer's wretched book. 'I think it is a very good idea for you to praise yourself, given that no one else is likely to do so!'
Aaw, snap!
***
Ah birthday time. I'm trying to decide which time of the year requires the lower expectations to survive through- birthdays, or Christmas time. Probably Christmas- that's a whole season.
***
In general I take a long time to switch over from summer to fall clothes, fall to winter, winter to spring... well I kept my regular busted shoes until- Was it Febuary? Yeah, probably.- when I had a perfectly good pair of boot-shoe things to wear that would have kept my feet, you know, warm.
But I resisted! Because those boots were too nice, and it wasn't that cold, and I'm always running, so the boots would just make that harder, and with my shoes I just slide them on, while with the boots I'd have to employ that duplicitous art of shoe tying.
Eventually it snowed and I threw on the boots. And yeah, they were awesomely warm and I pretty much immediately regretted how long it took me to make the switch over.
Then on the occasion when I just had to slip out of the house to get some milk or something I used my regular shoes for quickness sake. I was pretty amazed at the difference in my heel- these shoes had no heel left! I shouldn't have been too shocked, the heel is where I always get the holes worn through first, but it felt really weird to go from a good shoe back to an old bad one. It's the reverse of the natural shoe wearing order. For me, anyways.
There was a short little interview with Daniel Lieberman in Tuesdays Metro Health section, a professor of human evolutionary biology, about barefoot running, which accomplished a few things in my head.
It pointed out the proclivity towards mashing ones heel down in most kinds of foot wear, apparently with a force "equivalent to someone hitting you with a hammer on the heel with 1.5 to three times your body weight"- that most shoes are designed to accomodate this action, making it relatively comfortable for us, instead of encouraging us to run on the balls of our feet, thus weakening the overall structure of our feet- what with the fallen arches and whatnot.
Also, the article said humans were made to run- "We can outrun just about every creature in the world over long distances" which I think is awesome. Sure, we're supposed to be a really smart species, but sometimes you're just dumb enough to miss that last bus- and when that happens all there is to do is run for it.
P.S.- Pretend like I ended on that last note, because that would have sounded cool... but I forgot to mention that the article also brought up the Tarahumara tribe in mexico, these guys I had previously learned about thanks to the Daily Show, who are insanely good long distance runners. So... hey! I recognise that word in the paper.
As though it wasn't clear already, I prefer to read a book and then comment here. I wanted to get this one out of the way for the past few days, even though I didn't actually finish the thing until this morning- a collection of Aesop's Fables as translated by Laura Gibbs.
It's nice to just sit back and be reminded of some bits of worldly wisdom, but with all the foxes that get eaten by lions, and all the lions that befriend foxes, peacocks wanting a voice, nightingales wanting the feathers, mercy leading to doom, mercy leading to sweet reward- the only lesson that is really consistent is that you have to think things through and judge the individual situation as best you can. Which almost defeats the purpose of having illustrative frame works of potential scenarios aka fables.
Almost. I guess the only time a fable would be told to someone would be as a sort of corrective measure- like say a kid is really reckless around something dangerous and he's told a fable about some similarly reckless creature that ends up stung (usually to death) by bees. That reckless kid doesn't need the corresponding tale about how it'd be bad to be too timid, because timidity isn't the problem his nature has to deal with.
So I suppose it's just silly to sit back and read through a whole bunch of these fables at once when they just negate each other... so I'm the silly one.
I had to post one fable, here's Aesop and the Writer
A man had read to Aesop selections from a badly written work in which he stupidly boasted at length about what a great writer he was. The man wanted to know what Aesop thought, so the writer said to him, 'Surely you do not think I have too high an opinion of myself?' 'Not at all', said Aesop, who was utterly exhausted by the writer's wretched book. 'I think it is a very good idea for you to praise yourself, given that no one else is likely to do so!'
Aaw, snap!
***
Ah birthday time. I'm trying to decide which time of the year requires the lower expectations to survive through- birthdays, or Christmas time. Probably Christmas- that's a whole season.
***
In general I take a long time to switch over from summer to fall clothes, fall to winter, winter to spring... well I kept my regular busted shoes until- Was it Febuary? Yeah, probably.- when I had a perfectly good pair of boot-shoe things to wear that would have kept my feet, you know, warm.
But I resisted! Because those boots were too nice, and it wasn't that cold, and I'm always running, so the boots would just make that harder, and with my shoes I just slide them on, while with the boots I'd have to employ that duplicitous art of shoe tying.
Eventually it snowed and I threw on the boots. And yeah, they were awesomely warm and I pretty much immediately regretted how long it took me to make the switch over.
Then on the occasion when I just had to slip out of the house to get some milk or something I used my regular shoes for quickness sake. I was pretty amazed at the difference in my heel- these shoes had no heel left! I shouldn't have been too shocked, the heel is where I always get the holes worn through first, but it felt really weird to go from a good shoe back to an old bad one. It's the reverse of the natural shoe wearing order. For me, anyways.
There was a short little interview with Daniel Lieberman in Tuesdays Metro Health section, a professor of human evolutionary biology, about barefoot running, which accomplished a few things in my head.
It pointed out the proclivity towards mashing ones heel down in most kinds of foot wear, apparently with a force "equivalent to someone hitting you with a hammer on the heel with 1.5 to three times your body weight"- that most shoes are designed to accomodate this action, making it relatively comfortable for us, instead of encouraging us to run on the balls of our feet, thus weakening the overall structure of our feet- what with the fallen arches and whatnot.
Also, the article said humans were made to run- "We can outrun just about every creature in the world over long distances" which I think is awesome. Sure, we're supposed to be a really smart species, but sometimes you're just dumb enough to miss that last bus- and when that happens all there is to do is run for it.
P.S.- Pretend like I ended on that last note, because that would have sounded cool... but I forgot to mention that the article also brought up the Tarahumara tribe in mexico, these guys I had previously learned about thanks to the Daily Show, who are insanely good long distance runners. So... hey! I recognise that word in the paper.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Warning in advance- length is due to copying a books passage. Read it, it's good.
Well, I have just succeeded in creating a facebook event- I knew I could do it if I just sat down and figured it out. Yeah, it was actually really easy, not sure why I couldn't see that button before... well, never much occasion to figure it out.
Ah, I spent so long going over that friends list and figuring out who to invite. There are so many reasons why that's hard. Couldn't I just absorb the experience of myself going to see the movie in every potential universe of me going with A, and going with B, with C, etc. We can do that, right?
I said I would talk about Père Goriot yesterday- but I was too tired. You know how I mentioned working on posture last post? Well, that wasn't happening yesterday- I had no choice but to collapse on myself. I imploded. That is how tired I was. (Okay, you were tired, we get it)
So Père Goriot is about this twenty one year old law student Eugène de Rastignac in early 19th century Paris and his efforts to make it in the real world. And by real world I mean the world of fashion and extravagance. In a sense we're shown two different possible paths to success- that of the cynical criminal Vautrin, and that of the hard working, generous and insane Goriot.
I say insane because his story goes like this: a man rises through the ranks of the pasta market to become inordinately wealthy, gives EVERYTHING to his two daughters, reducing himself to the state of a pauper, then when these daughters incur more debts thanks to their husbands and lovers Goriot somehow pulls out more money until he kills himself through worry over his unappreciative daughters and of course his general lack of care for his person. You can't have much of an immune system after a few years on little beyond bread and water.
It's a downer ending, what with Eugène de Rastignac learning just how much a person is worth in the eyes of others, and what you have to do to thrive- become a hypocrite, and a backstabber and an incredibly ruthless oppourtunist. He isn't as bad as Vautrin, whose plan involved getting Eugène de Rastignac to pitch some woo at this poor lonely girl (Eugène, generally a very charming guy, could heartlessly follow "the right script" and she'd be his in a moment)then killing her brother so she'd inherit millions. Vautrin even goes through with the murder when Eugène hadn't even said he'd go along with it. In fact I'm pretty pleased with Eugène's arc in the story- though he is certainly tempted by a great number of unsavoury paths to greatness, his thought processes are generally very high minded and believable- perhaps it's the idealism of youth, but regardless Eugène never descends to the state of a total monster, which is good- when that happens in a book it is very difficult to redeem that character, but because that is so often attempted it just comes across as forced.
Ah, not that I can come up with any examples at the moment.
Interesting (and impressive) to note that the author Honoré de Balzac created an interconnected universe for his characters to inhabit- this story of Eugène de Rastignac is something of a prequel to "La Peau de Chagrin" where an older Rastignac takes the role of the elder cynic, guiding some other youth through the world- in fact it really sounds like Eugène has taken up the role, at least in part, of Vautrin.
Plenty of other characters that show up in Père Goriot have their own stories elsewhere, and it's a good trick to suck me in to finding other Balzac novels to get the whole picture. For that reason alone it's brilliant, but also I admire the economy of it- when Balzac was first writing Père Goriot Rastignac's character was named Eugène de Massiac- just some simple country boy introduced to Paris. But with the substitution of "Rastignac" suddenly this isn't just some character playing the hero role in a story, but a life that can be understood. And it's the continuity that makes it okay for Eugène to grow up into a Vautrin figure- I'm no longer reading something to satisfy my desires for a particular narrative arc, but following a history. It's a created history, but that's why the very begining of this novel quotes Shakespeare under the title: "All is true."
Probably my favourite part of the book:
Eugène is struggling with that offer of millions from Vautrin while walking along with his friend Bianchon, who up until this point I thought was just a goof of a fop (which is what makes this passage all the more satisfying... that said, I have to acknowledge that I may have conflated Bianchon with another character to get that foppish image, but there are a lot of characters running around here, so I don't feel too bad for making any mistakes. And again, it's worth it for the result of me reading the passage and going "Oh- I like this guy!")
Bianchon "Why are you looking so serious?"
Eugène "I'm tormented by wicked impulses."
Bianchon "What sort? You can cure impulses, anyway."
Eugène "How?"
Bianchon "By giving in to them."
Eugène "You laugh only because you don't know what I'm talking about. Have you ever read Rousseau?"
Bianchon "Yes."
Eugène "Do you remember that passage where he asks the reader what he would do if he could get rich by killing an old mandarin in China without moving from Paris, just by willing it?"
Bianchon "Yes."
Eugène "Well?"
Bianchon "Pooh! I've got through thirty-two mandarins already."
Eugène "Don't joke about it. Come, if it were proved to you that you could do it- just by a nod of the head, would you?"
Bianchon "Is he a very old Mandarin?... Well, anyway, young or old, paralytic or healthy, of course I... well, damn it, no, I wouldn't."
Eugène "You're a fine, noble boy, Bianchon. But suppose you were so much in love with a woman you'd sell your soul for her; and suppose she needed money, lots of money, for her clothes, and her carriage, and everything else...?"
Bianchon "But you deprive me of my reason, and then ask me to use it!"
Eugène "Well, anyway, Bianchon, I'm mad. Kindly cure me. I have two sisters, lovely innocent angels, and I want them to be happy. Where can I get two hundred thousand francs for the dowries they'll be needing five years from now? There are, you see, situations in life when you must play for high stakes, and not use up your luck in winning pennies."
Bianchon "What you're asking is what everyone has to ask at the beginning of a career; and you want to cut the Gordian knot with a sword. To do that, you must either be Alexander the Great or else face prison. I'm happy with the minor existence I shall make for myself in the country, where I shall dully follow in my father's practice. A man's affections can be satisfied in the smallest circle just as fully as in a gigantic one. Napoleon himself couldn't eat two dinners, and couldn't cope with any more mistresses than a medical student at the Capucines'. Our happiness, my dear boy, always lies between the soles of our feet and the occiput; and whether it costs a million francs a year or only a couple of thousand, the intrinsic gratification is just the same inside us. So I vote you should spare the Chinaman's life."
Eugène "Thanks, you've done me good, Bianchon! We'll always be friends."
Ah, I spent so long going over that friends list and figuring out who to invite. There are so many reasons why that's hard. Couldn't I just absorb the experience of myself going to see the movie in every potential universe of me going with A, and going with B, with C, etc. We can do that, right?
I said I would talk about Père Goriot yesterday- but I was too tired. You know how I mentioned working on posture last post? Well, that wasn't happening yesterday- I had no choice but to collapse on myself. I imploded. That is how tired I was. (Okay, you were tired, we get it)
So Père Goriot is about this twenty one year old law student Eugène de Rastignac in early 19th century Paris and his efforts to make it in the real world. And by real world I mean the world of fashion and extravagance. In a sense we're shown two different possible paths to success- that of the cynical criminal Vautrin, and that of the hard working, generous and insane Goriot.
I say insane because his story goes like this: a man rises through the ranks of the pasta market to become inordinately wealthy, gives EVERYTHING to his two daughters, reducing himself to the state of a pauper, then when these daughters incur more debts thanks to their husbands and lovers Goriot somehow pulls out more money until he kills himself through worry over his unappreciative daughters and of course his general lack of care for his person. You can't have much of an immune system after a few years on little beyond bread and water.
It's a downer ending, what with Eugène de Rastignac learning just how much a person is worth in the eyes of others, and what you have to do to thrive- become a hypocrite, and a backstabber and an incredibly ruthless oppourtunist. He isn't as bad as Vautrin, whose plan involved getting Eugène de Rastignac to pitch some woo at this poor lonely girl (Eugène, generally a very charming guy, could heartlessly follow "the right script" and she'd be his in a moment)then killing her brother so she'd inherit millions. Vautrin even goes through with the murder when Eugène hadn't even said he'd go along with it. In fact I'm pretty pleased with Eugène's arc in the story- though he is certainly tempted by a great number of unsavoury paths to greatness, his thought processes are generally very high minded and believable- perhaps it's the idealism of youth, but regardless Eugène never descends to the state of a total monster, which is good- when that happens in a book it is very difficult to redeem that character, but because that is so often attempted it just comes across as forced.
Ah, not that I can come up with any examples at the moment.
Interesting (and impressive) to note that the author Honoré de Balzac created an interconnected universe for his characters to inhabit- this story of Eugène de Rastignac is something of a prequel to "La Peau de Chagrin" where an older Rastignac takes the role of the elder cynic, guiding some other youth through the world- in fact it really sounds like Eugène has taken up the role, at least in part, of Vautrin.
Plenty of other characters that show up in Père Goriot have their own stories elsewhere, and it's a good trick to suck me in to finding other Balzac novels to get the whole picture. For that reason alone it's brilliant, but also I admire the economy of it- when Balzac was first writing Père Goriot Rastignac's character was named Eugène de Massiac- just some simple country boy introduced to Paris. But with the substitution of "Rastignac" suddenly this isn't just some character playing the hero role in a story, but a life that can be understood. And it's the continuity that makes it okay for Eugène to grow up into a Vautrin figure- I'm no longer reading something to satisfy my desires for a particular narrative arc, but following a history. It's a created history, but that's why the very begining of this novel quotes Shakespeare under the title: "All is true."
Probably my favourite part of the book:
Eugène is struggling with that offer of millions from Vautrin while walking along with his friend Bianchon, who up until this point I thought was just a goof of a fop (which is what makes this passage all the more satisfying... that said, I have to acknowledge that I may have conflated Bianchon with another character to get that foppish image, but there are a lot of characters running around here, so I don't feel too bad for making any mistakes. And again, it's worth it for the result of me reading the passage and going "Oh- I like this guy!")
Bianchon "Why are you looking so serious?"
Eugène "I'm tormented by wicked impulses."
Bianchon "What sort? You can cure impulses, anyway."
Eugène "How?"
Bianchon "By giving in to them."
Eugène "You laugh only because you don't know what I'm talking about. Have you ever read Rousseau?"
Bianchon "Yes."
Eugène "Do you remember that passage where he asks the reader what he would do if he could get rich by killing an old mandarin in China without moving from Paris, just by willing it?"
Bianchon "Yes."
Eugène "Well?"
Bianchon "Pooh! I've got through thirty-two mandarins already."
Eugène "Don't joke about it. Come, if it were proved to you that you could do it- just by a nod of the head, would you?"
Bianchon "Is he a very old Mandarin?... Well, anyway, young or old, paralytic or healthy, of course I... well, damn it, no, I wouldn't."
Eugène "You're a fine, noble boy, Bianchon. But suppose you were so much in love with a woman you'd sell your soul for her; and suppose she needed money, lots of money, for her clothes, and her carriage, and everything else...?"
Bianchon "But you deprive me of my reason, and then ask me to use it!"
Eugène "Well, anyway, Bianchon, I'm mad. Kindly cure me. I have two sisters, lovely innocent angels, and I want them to be happy. Where can I get two hundred thousand francs for the dowries they'll be needing five years from now? There are, you see, situations in life when you must play for high stakes, and not use up your luck in winning pennies."
Bianchon "What you're asking is what everyone has to ask at the beginning of a career; and you want to cut the Gordian knot with a sword. To do that, you must either be Alexander the Great or else face prison. I'm happy with the minor existence I shall make for myself in the country, where I shall dully follow in my father's practice. A man's affections can be satisfied in the smallest circle just as fully as in a gigantic one. Napoleon himself couldn't eat two dinners, and couldn't cope with any more mistresses than a medical student at the Capucines'. Our happiness, my dear boy, always lies between the soles of our feet and the occiput; and whether it costs a million francs a year or only a couple of thousand, the intrinsic gratification is just the same inside us. So I vote you should spare the Chinaman's life."
Eugène "Thanks, you've done me good, Bianchon! We'll always be friends."
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