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So in the entrance to my WG one of the doors is marked "Babes." I just found out that this is the last name of the Hausmeister (basically the Landlord) who is from somewhere in eastern Europe and the name is actually pronounced "Bah-Besh." I suppose it is good that I discovered this now rather than succumbing to the temptation of knocking on the door late at night and asking "So, where are the babes?"
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Thank Christ I'm done with classes for the next two weeks or so. Granted, I butchered two essays and a test in a mad attempt to be done with it all and will have to face the consequences at the end of this brief respite. Buried Child was an unbelievable success and I am proud to have been a part of it. I intend to take full advantage of this break. What that might entail might be disastrous to my overall mental and physical health, but I have no choice.
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I shall remain in Freiburg for the holiday and sleep as much as I am able. The Amis and I will be throwing a Christmas eve celebration in honor of our being far from home and being stranded together.
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I am mighty disturbed by the news from Capital Hill.
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A better update is in the works, I swear.
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If you are feeling a bit generous this year Joe and some of his friends are raising money for Child's Play - the charity that gives games to very sick children to cheer them up - by playing Mario franchise games all weekend long. They're not...um...very good. But hey, it's for the kids, right? (You can also go to the charity website directly if you want to look through wish lists or pick a certain children's hospital.)
Proper updates later, I just wanted to throw that out there since a lot of you are gamers and/or like children (sometimes). :) In my ferreal post at some point this weekend, look forward to: optimism, Bioshock ranting, cackling, and imminent plane trips. Bonus: SOMETIME THIS WEEKEND, COMIC UPDATES FOR SEARCHING FOR STANLEY! LYK A MILLION BILLION COMIC UPDATES!*
*Amount may vary
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I did not like Moby Dick. But I thought this was pretty cool: http://everypageofmobydick.blogspot.com
"A'ight," thought I, "I can dig it."
And then I saw this: http://www.themodernword.com/pynchon/zak_smith/title.htm
and thought, "HOLY FUCKING SHIT, THAT IS GRAVITY'S FUCKING RAINBOW."
I have never read Gravity's Rainbow. I am afraid of Gravity's Rainbow.
I'm also afraid of missing the bus, so I'll leave y'all with that.
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H'oh man, you guys. I am writing a Poem, and I don't hate it. Or I might say, I have written! a Poem, and I think it's a'ight.
I'm not sure if it's finished, though. Oh god, how do I know?!
These things are scary.
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There is a wee mart between my home and my school, so I go there often enough to be a familiar face to the owners. I used to get creeped out by their prodding questions, but I think it is just a Small Town Thing.
Today, whilst I was counting out 100-won coins to buy toilet paper, the store owner said, completely out of the blue:
store owner: You should start thinking about marriage. You could marry a Korean man. Wouldn't that be nice? You could marry a Korean man and live in Korea.
me: It might be too small for me.
store owner: What's too small?
me: . . . Korea.
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I miss summer. This got me to thinking about (500) Days of Summer, which is a bit roundabout but to be honest it is *always* on my mind. Here, watch a thing, it will make you smile:
The movie is slated to come out on DVD December 22. I'm definitely going to be picking that one up after Christmas. ♥
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Sometimes when I should be working, I read short stories online instead. Here are a few of my recent favorites, in no particular order:
( Enjoy. )
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Yay for clean cloths... to bad its hella cold outside and my fingers want to retreat into my hands. I have made plans to be more organized. I started working on application for Romania this summer. I have decided I will try to do dishes more often at Daniel's place so that we don't have to dream of the food that would be cooked if there were any clean dishes. Also taking out his trash more often. Because we eat a lot of food that comes in boxes or has packaging.
I also got a couple of days off for Christmas. Which is really sad because when I was in school the whole month was free! I haven't started buying Christmas presents yet. The only thing I have been slacking on. I know what I am getting my parents. And Daniel's parents. And the owner of the french restaurant... I just need to get them. My brother is the challenge. What does a freshman in college want... who knows. Daniel is just a matter of figuring out which thing he really wants most. We shall see.
I can't wait to see all of the girls for New Years. I need to get this all figured out soon. ...Maybe tomorrow
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What? Who did this? That's my name on there. I don't even. Wuh. Hunh?
Someone out there is a super generous soul! But I'm not getting my hopes up, because there are a lot of really awesome names also on that list--for example, ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) rachel_swirsky (go, Rachel!) and, well, everybody.
Man, that was kind of surreal.
ANYWAY I was going to post about how I've got three stories now that are sort of stalling at around 2.5k words and that I don't know what's up with that. But seeing that thing up there has reminded me that the last couple stories I've actually finished were around 2500 words long. Well, these WsIP are going to be significantly longer, and they had best get used to that idea.
My eyes are doing strange things, so maybe I'll go to bed soon.
BUT ALSO LOOK AT MY MOOD. I was just thinking about how adorable this mood theme is when I saw the one for "blank." I mean, I guess it's sort of predictable but AAAAA I AM EXTREMELY PUT OFF BY FACELESS WOMEN.
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Like a plague, spreading.
All over the Internet. INTO YOUR HOMES.
Hello,
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Another night, another dream. Anna Friel was teaching me how to dance. That's all(!), nothing horrible or strange or sad or leftover from Cannibal Holocaust or any lonely remains of the day. ♥
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Almost forgot to make a comic for today. Here 'tis, Part 1 of... I don't know how many, to be honest.
All of Launcelot's lines are taken from Malory.
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Books are great, stupendous, marvelous things. (Of course, no flist in the world knows that better than you guys! XD) In particular, though, I want to talk about Never Let Me Go. ♥ But first, I have somehow forgotten to mention a little book I read roundabouts astronauta's birthday, so here she is:
14. B is for Bad Poetry
It's a book of - gee, you guessed it! - poetry written by Pamela August Russell. I picked it up at Prairie Lights back in November when I was showing off our awesomenitude to Joe. Smarmy little poems too, an example of which is as follows: "She wants / chocolate. / And I have the / knife wounds / To prove it." Very good for a laugh, or a late bus ride home.
So, now we found ourselves onto the meat of the matter...
15. Never Let Me Go
I have come across a problem so many people have come across trying to review, or even vaguely describe, this book: it's a deliberately mysterious story. To mention too much would destroy the experience. The odd, somewhat fragile pieces of a large, dark puzzle become apparent only after serious immersion into the world of Hailsham and its students, so I will attempt to tread carefully.
I should start by saying that my dear friend mister_duster lent me this book sometime in the mid-summer months, though I only got a chance to read it during the last two or three weeks because I spent most of the season hacking (ba doom, ching) my way through American Psycho. It was genuinely moving, strangely affecting. I found myself in tears a lot, even at moments that were not sad, just because of the delicate language or the precariousness of a lonely sentence. Kazuo Ishiguro is an amazingly talented writer who explores the ideas of memory and friendship in original, yet authentic terms. I have read many reviews which describe the story as "deceptively simple" and disturbing, and I would have to agree with both.
You are lulled into a world that seems a bit odd, but not too unlike our own; one with schoolchildren being schoolchildren, running around and getting into little cliques or fights or unspoken agreements. It becomes obvious fairly quickly, however, that these schoolchildren are very special, and that their lives will be unlike those of ordinary people. The story centers on three friends: Kathy, Ruth, and Tommy. Kathy is the narrator, telling their story as she quietly reminisces about her life. She remembers them as children and as adults, negotiating her feelings for them for our clarity as she goes. She has a habit of going off on detailed tangents about classrooms or items, gently dancing around the big questions that she no longer cares too much about, even though we the readers are chomping at the bit to learn more. In short, it is a beautiful, carefully crafted book. Thanks, Sam.
By the way, the movie version of this book actually comes out next year, and I have to admit I am actually rather excited to see what they will do with it!
I realize that although I was exhilarated to flip the pages as I came closer and closer to the conclusion, I was sad to finish it today, because now I feel like I have lost these three new strange friends I have just met. And I realize that maybe this is not a new feeling, that it might even be why I started reading books so slowly to begin with all those years ago - I don't actually like finishing them. :O And I definitely don't like starting new ones immediately, with any degree of serious immersion of course. Hell, that is why Franny and Zooey took me forever and a half to read despite its length! This way I can let the effects of the books settle over me thoroughly, and I can sort of wallow in these people and things that I have grown so close to, go back and jot down all my favorite quotes or expand the worlds in my daydreams. I used to think this was some form of procrastination or just silliness, but I think it is just another example of my penchant for sentimentality, even if they are only memories of fictional friends. XD
In any event, I have to admit that I read this rather quickly, especially for me, and hopefully between this bookish revelation and my love for this last novel, this is the start of a new, voracious approach to reading. :D I want to read The Unconsoled next, another Ishiguro novel, but it is especially long and I know this month is sort of bumpy between work and travel. Anna has lent me her copy of The Time Traveler's Wife (though those fall movie advertisements have put me off it a bit, however unfair that may be) and I still have shadowy plans to someday maybe possibly finish reading the Harry Potter series, though at this point would probably just have to start all over... I also have Revolutionary Road (an even longer novel than The Unconsoled) and some graphic novels on standby.
I am almost completely open at this point, though I don't really want to start any new series, per se. Recommendations for December reading? Anyone?
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Once again did a cleaning of the flist, mostly removing journals that haven't been updated in a long while, and which don't seem to be used anymore -- or journals I know aren't used anymore because said journaler moved to a different name, etc.
If I've taken you off my flist and you'd still like to be on, as you still stalk read my journal, drop me a comment on this post and let me know the error of my ways. I'll probably add you back. :)
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Last night I had another rambling, vaguely coherent dream that was probably some kind of movie.
My friend Crystal from high school worked at a restaurant and we stopped to eat strange layered desserts there that she thought tasted terrible. She went home or something, all I know is that was her only appearance - thank God - in what happened next.
Another girl and I, just a DreamFriend or someone, watched these two very large sea turtle twins being born, but during the birth their mother died in a completely nonsensical way: its head fell off. Everyone was horrified at the grotesque event unfolding, although nobody knew what to do about it. The baby turtles were both fine, though it was sad to know they wouldn't have a mother. The whole scene was really disturbing, and a group of us sat in a space that was either the woods or the aquarium cafeteria talking about it; it keeps changing when I try to remember it, we were sitting in aluminum chairs at an aluminum table and all but I feel like we were out in the open. Maybe the place had an outdoor cafe.
By this point I had a sense that some slasher movie action was about to happen, although I don't know why or how I knew that. All I knew was that all my DreamFriends looked like they were vaguely from the late 1970s-early 1980s and my perspective kept readjusting between various people and angles.
A guy shows up, who seems a bit clever and troublesome, and sure enough he walks around one side of the table and starts kicking against one of the table legs without saying a word. We all just kind of watch him do this, we are too stunned to do anything else. He suddenly rips the leg off and smashes it into the face of one of our friends, and we take the gory hint and scramble.
There are some parts that don't come together right, now that I am awake; I remember seeing someone else's perspective of running by walls and walls of glassy windows. The colors change a lot, it is nighttime in someone's hiding place while it is daytime in other people's.
My first DreamFriend from the turtle birthing and I ran and hid in some room in the aquarium that was very dark except for a large lit tank sunk into the floor. The killer seemed to have some accomplice, perhaps someone who showed up later or someone from earlier we just didn't notice, and he came into the room where we were. We were crouching in a loft with a little balcony out over the tank, and suddenly one of our cell phones went off. I was absolutely terrified! I turned it off and took the damn thing apart in a panic, but the loonies looking for us somehow didn't notice it had rung.
I don't know how, but I know my DreamFriend died. I know they all did. I escaped, and there was a little jump in time to some point after the whole thing where I had rented out a room in a seaside town that looked an awful lot like the loft we hid in that day. I had visions of my DreamFriend running up the dock to me, and then she would disappear. "I still see her sometimes," I said to no one in particular, "but I know she's not there." I was really sad that my friends were dead, but I was particularly traumatized by her death. In retrospect, I think she might have been my sister in the dream. It would make sense; we looked a lot alike.
The timeline is a bit off here, but cut to the killer's accomplice, who has managed to get to a train station a day or two later to leave some sort of note for his killer friend, perhaps for a rendezvous. A large policeman is looking him over grimly, so the accomplice is smiling broadly and putting different bits of meaningless paper all over the station to throw him off his game. He's about to get on a rusty train heading north, but he doesn't, because he sees me walking down the street...
That's how the dream ends.
I never really try to interpret my own dreams, since they either seem too coherent to be deconstructed or too absurd to put much stock in. But I noticed a few themes in this one: the stunned inaction at both the turtle's death and the initial appearance of a man who wound up trying to kill all of us; a deep sense of loss and memory; concentration vs. distraction. I don't feel like I am just supposed to throw this one away. Then again, it's not something I particularly want to think about too often. I woke up from it very frightened, maybe even half-convinced I was still hiding from this madman, but now I am left with a lingering sense of sadness. So strange.
I wonder how much it will snow today...
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So the cute hoodie I bought in Seoul already has a hole in it. I've worn the thing three times. The hoodie I inherited eight years ago after it had been in the possession of three male relatives, however, is still going strong.
AND BECAUSE I COMPLAIN TOO MUCH --
My story "The Flute-Maker's Daughter" got picked up by Crossed Genres for their January issue! No, they're not a pro market, so no, I'm not getting paid the $100,000 my dad wants me to be making. But they seem a noble sort and I like 'em.
I've got two Tweets on @TweettheMeat this week (today and tomorrow)!
My co-teacher is awesome! Pretty much every day, I am reminded of just how. Today it was 'cause she came with me when I did some grocery shopping, and naysaid a pack of frozen corn dogs and helped me find some ho-ddeok mix.
MinJeong: In Seoul, are you going to be living alone?
me: Yep. Haha, why, are you worried about my cooking?
MinJeong: Yeah.
me: 8D I might have a microwave there, which will make things a lot easier!
MinJeong: I will make you some recipes for non-spicy foods.
Huh. Something I just noticed -- the vast majority of the LJ icons I was left with after my paid account went away feature men. The dudes from There Will Be Blood, Basil of Baker Street, Tesla, Roronoa Zoro + Sanji, Elwood, Jayne Cobb, Walter Kovacs, Rorschach, RDJ x 2, and Herbert West + Dan. Even my default icon is technically a dude, since I was dressed as Kaine. The only exceptions are a few frames of the Boom De Yada icon and, possibly, the polar bear.
...LJ'S AUTO-SELECT IS SEXIST!
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Dear FedEx Guy,
Thank you so much for delivering a box of snow to my house today.
Usually the USPS and UPS guys leave my packages in my mailbox, or in a pinch, by the front door of the house, which is shielded by a large, roofed patio.
But you are much wiser than they are.
You know that when the entire state is under a blizzard warning, the best place to leave an unsealed cardboard box is on the top floor's uncovered porch. Better yet, you know to leave the box sitting side-up, in order to accumulate the most snow inside.
That's awfully crafty of you. I am pretty impressed.
Unfortunately, the wool yarn inside isn't as impressed. It's quite wet and I fear that it may become moldy.
What do you think we should do about this, FedEx Guy? You're the smart one. I'll default to your expertise. Should I throw it out on the porch again, to cover it in even more snow? After all, we're supposed to get another 14 inches tonight, on top of the 2 that were on top of the box when I got home. Those 14 inches can't hurt it any more, right?
Let me know what you think I should do, and I'll get right on it.
I can't wait for my next delivery from you. What will it be? I have a prop wig on order that should be coming this week. Will it be a moldy mass of snow, too?
Love,
Delia
ETA: No idea how I forgot this, but I put in my letter of resignation at Coralville today.
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I have seen a lot of lists going around lately of the top films of the decade. I decided that I should probably put something together myself, as the '00s are somewhat significant on a personal level because this is the first decade I can confidently say I was fully invested in film culture. I have an aneurysm named Bijou and a way-expensive piece of paper on my bookcase to prove it. ;)
I broke it down into three categories with ten films in each: HomeGrown (mostly American-made/backed), Documentary (American as well as foreign, I'm not going to split too many hairs here), and Global (implied non-American features). I tried to be fairly objective, while at the same time loyal to those films which moved me most. I also tried very hard to weigh the films evenly throughout the decade, so a few more recent films I truly enjoyed and think made some significant impact in filmmaking and storytelling (Children of Men, The Prestige, and Sita Sings the Blues, for example) did not quite make the cut. Also, for the sake of avoiding completely repetitive reviews and language, I did not write blurbs for each film. I may go back and do so throughout the course of the month, or if any of you would like to write one in the comments if you strongly agree, that would be great. :)
They are in no particular order...though it is probably pretty obvious which one is my favorite.
10 Best HomeGrown
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind : Modern, vivid, and impacting, this film plays with reality, love, and memory onscreen the way most of us actually do in our heads: ever-changing and fluid, horrible but beautiful, necessary in spite of massive deconstruction. Kate Winslet and Jim Carrey steal hearts easily as flawed thirtysomethings who fall in and out of love thanks to a machine which erases memories. After his girlfriend impulsively purges her mind of the two years the couple spent together, introverted Joel goes through his entire relationship with the feisty and lovely Clementine during the course of the night in which he tries to erase her...and realizes that even painful memories make us who we are.
The soundtrack alone makes this film one of the best ones of the decade, and the film which will probably continue to be my favorite film of all time. (Just look at my username, guys. Look at it. C'mon.) Beyond the sentimentality of my own memories of watching the film and feeling strangely connected to it, the diverse camerawork, color palette, characters, editing, and tangled storytelling bring the medium to a new level of emotional exploration through film. As a bonus, though David Cross is only present for about three minutes, I fall to hysterics as he tries to build a birdhouse in the middle of the night.
 ( A Decade of Corn, Labyrinths, and Swedish Vampires )
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busy
pleased
amused
silly
content
blank
embarrassed
amused
moved
confused
accomplished