If Paper Towns by John Green has taught me anything (and just to set the record straight, it has taught me, like, stuff) its that I hate poetry.
Bah!
“Hate” is not the correct word. Resent. I deeply, somewhat fanatically, resent poetry. This feeling, which I imagine is mutual on Poetry’s part, has been navigating the undercurrents of the sea of my opinions long before I ever read Paper Towns (which I only finished ten minute ago); like Nessie, it has occasionally peeked its head above water, manifesting itself in statements like “Poetry is lame, I don’t know why,” or “I just never could get into poetry for some reason,” and, like Nessie, these statements have created an atmosphere of sensationalism and a somewhat hardcore need to discover, capture, and study the beast – or in this case, idea – in those people who most care about these sorts of things. So basically me.
Unlike Nessie, there are several possible reasons slash explanations as to why I this resentment exists:
1. I am a scientist, not an artist. Can you say “cop out?” Because I truly think this possible explanation is nothing more than probable rationalization. That said, I do acknowledge that there are well-documented differences in personality types. I mean, we all know about left brains and right brains. I study linguistics. Not literature. The linguist in me has fostered a stronger interested in the connection between the meanings of words, rather than the meanings themselves. (Side note, as a linguist I had to say the most irritating thing about John Green’s books, and dare I say John Green himself, is the occasional references to the supposed awesomeness of correct grammar- I have MUCH to say on this subject, but that’s for later). However, I believe the fact that I voraciously and inconspicuously devour stories of all kinds in all mediums sorta nullifies and take away any heft that might have been behind this particular argument. I am not exclusively a scientist, and would never claim to be.
Indeed, isn’t the whole point of Paper Towns to express how anyone is not exclusively anything? So moving on to possible explanation number two.
2. I am deficient in the art of making connections between words, stories and deeper interpretations. A.k.a. laziness, my friends. I find this explanation even less likely than number one. After all, I have no problem thinking about the “deeper meanings” behind Harry Potter for hours on end. Nevertheless, when it comes to poetry, I have never been able to claim I “love” a particular poem. At least, not unless it is featured in some sort of framework that provides me with a connection. I depend on other books, tv shows, etc. to nurture my appreciation for poems; whenever I read poetry independently, I quickly get bored. So in other words, I only care about a poem if someone that I care about (whether fictitious or factual), cares about that poem and introduces me to it. And even then, it is usually quickly forgotten. Ask me in two weeks whether or not I can remember the name of the poem Margo highlights. (It’s Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself). I guarantee you I will have to run to this blog post to look it up. If I remember I posted at all.
3. I am, and always have been taking the absolute wrong approach to poetry. Despite my nearly twenty five years of practice at approaching things, I am continually missing the way to go to get to poetry. Which makes no sense. I’m a good approacher, like mad skillz. And yet, I find it much more likely that this is truthfact cause behind my resentment of poetry. I’m probably just jealous and frustrated that I can’t find the right way. But I think it is only a keen outsever (outsider + observer = outserver) that could really help here.
4. I just suck. Which honestly, I am more than content for that being the case, with the slight exception that I’m kinda curious about what exactly it is that makes people suck at liking poetry.
And so I beg those who read this (yes, all two of you) to tell me what you think of poetry. Also, I beg you to read Paper Towns, if you haven’t yet. It’s qualifiably excellent.
So awesome that one of the character’s name is actually “Captain Awesome.”
Captain Awesome!!!
WordPress analytics has informed me that someone found my blog yesterday by searching for “boobs with itching powder on them.”
Dear curious person,
I’m not sure what you were searching for, but I hope you found it.
Sincerely,
Kate and her itching-powder-free boobs.
Castle, Nathan Fillion’s “new” TV show, and the longest lasting show he has ever been in (damn you Fox!), just keeps getting better and better. Last night’s episode was nothing short of brilliant. True, sometimes the mystery of the day is brain-numbingly predictable, and true, you will have to sometimes put up with an unacceptable level of corny references (“Whats the man doing with all the mother-freakin’ snakes on a mother-freakin’ plane?”), but I would argue that that is part of the show’s appeal. It’s clear that the actors are having fun, and its infectious.
Also, I am quite pleased that our two leads are not going the “Bones” route – 5 seasons of increasingly polarized characterization with absolutely no payoff to the romantic subplot. I am pleased to report to all of you non-watchers, there is already payoff. Here’s hoping they can keep it up.
I just tried watching the end of Battlestar Galactica again. That’s right, I never finished it. In fact, I’ve made at least three separate attempts to watch season 4.5. And now I’m thinking I should just throw in the towel.
Its freakin’ agonizing to watch. I experience one of three reactions: cringiness, whereby I cannot watch the screen without flinching due to the stupidity and the utter overacting. Pain, whereby I want to strangle the writers because they turned lovely characters into overdramatic soap opera-ness with only one dimension of Great Great Pain. And finally, hilarity. Because, come on. Everybody is so frowny! Really? Really? Are you really going to describe how Ellen Tigh smells in a growly voice to try to get shot? REALLY?
I don’t think I can do it. I can’t bring myself to sit through it to finish it. Its just too lame. Especially because I recently saw Season 1 and 2 again. So much awesomeness back in those days.
Breakfast:
Fucking yogurt again (180)
Lunch:
Ramen Noodles
Dinner:
Beer
Veggie BBQ ribs
Desert:
Beer?
Or at least I hope, its still too early to tell.
Started out better today.
Breakfast:
Yogurt (180)
Yeah, breakfast sucked. Yogurt is just not satisfying, not without some sort of granola or bacon or lamb chops. None of which I have. Also, about the counting calorie thing: I’m not really a fan of it, and I sure as hell am not going to go out of my way to make sure I know exactly how many is in whatever I eat. But when I have something like a yogurt cup right there… might as well, right? Also sometimes it makes me realize that a food I thought was good for you is actually a heart attack in a bag (or bottle).
Okay, I give up trying to defend myself. I’m lame.
Feeling guilty from yesterday’s less than satisfying taco splurge, I intended to have myself some fresh fruit for breakfast. But the bananas were still green soooo…
Breakfast
2 big ass pancakes (like 500 i bet)
Black Tea
Lunch
Regular Turkey Cheddar Quiznos (crap, I did it again)
Day’s not half over, and I already did it again, spent money. It was mostly an accident, as I simply lost my brain this morning and forgot to make lunch and consequently found myself dying of starvation.
And finally, Dinner:
Fake Meat Riblets (220)
Long beans with Garlic (40)
If you skip lunch, I had a good day. Fake Meat riblets are amazing, by the way.
I’m trying something new; keeping better track of what I eat. Lately I’ve been feeling that unique queasy lump in my stomach that usually accompanies too much greasy food. And since greasy food usually = eating out and spending money, I figure I’ll start keeping track so as to shock myself into buying more veggies. Win win, save money, feel less icky. Perhaps I should count the cigarettes I smoke… but that would just be embarrassing.
Breakfast:
2 scrambled eggs (200 calories)
1 Red bull (110)
Lunch/Dinner
6 fast food mini faux tacos (no idea)
Dinner
Black Tea (60)
Yikes. Today, I fail. And now its raining on my computer.
Since August 20th. In fact I meant to post something on the 20th commemorating the one year anniversary. But I didn’t.
New semester. I’m very glad Mayumi is back, missed her like crazy. Not that I want to divide between old times and new, but I sometimes feel as though Chicago never happened. Or shouldn’t have happened. There seems to be a disparity between how much I care about that time, and how much that time cares about me. Or the people from that time, I suppose. YEP! So one year left until I have my Masters Degree. Doesn’t seem like enough time.
The idea is sublime! But after months of attempting to use it, I’ve come to the conclusion that the execution blows major suckage into lame town. Seriously, it is ridiculously difficult to switch books from “to read” to “currently reading” to “read.” If I have to click more than 3 times to complete that sequence, it ain’t worth my time. Phoo!
Any alternate suggestions? Anyone? Librarything.com looked awesome, ’til I discovered that after a while they delete your books unless you upgrade to a paid account.
And dammit, when will they invent an iTunes for ebooks? (And by that I don’t mean an iTunes store, more just an application to catalog, organize, etc my thrillions of ebooks I have acquired). Calibre just ain’t up to speed for me yet, as I have stated before.
And while I’m at it, why not gripe about the fact that there are a gazillion different formats for ebooks! Get it together, folks! Do you know what you make want to do, internet? Your lack of excellent applications that favor my exact specifications is making me watch TV. So don’t you dare blame me if I’ve watched a few episodes of Dancing With the Stars.
Now my brain contains a much higher percentage of zombified mush than smartiness mush. I’d make you a pie chart, but I’m lazy. And anyway, I prefer Venn diagrams.
You don’t have to actually read this book review because I have thoughtfully condensed it into one sentence for you: Magic to the Bone by Devon Monk was alright. So, feel free to skip the portion of this blog whereby I come to this conclusion, as its only about as interesting as reading the book itself.
Devon Monk’s debut novel had a lot of potential, in my opinion, that unfortunately is never realized. Nowadays, it feels like the urban/paranormal fantasy market has become supersaturated with the same wise-crackin’ kick-ass girl with super powers who fights magic/evil/vampires. And Allie, our heroine, is disappointingly only a slight deviation from this carbon copy. The most interesting aspect of Allie is her relationship with her father, which unfortunately never gets an opportunity to progress due to murder most foul. Now, the Joss Whedon fan in me knew it was coming and yet still rejoiced at this twist, and the emotional turmoil Allie clearly experienced because of it; Devon Monk did a splendid job of not-quite-articulating the complexities of that relationship. However, I wish she had managed to extend a little bit of that brilliance into the rest of the plot and character development.
The magic system at first was refreshingly confined and based of strict and realistic rules. As the story progresses… notsomuch. Allie and Zay’s relationship felt awfully contrived and just sort of inexplicable. But the real crux of the matter lies in Allie’s unique magic-based flaw: part-time amnesia. When I first read the back cover, I thought how neat! This feels like a real drawback, real consequences for supernatural powers. However, Monk missed on the delivery. By the end, I was simply thinking… what’s the point? We go through this adventure with Allie and then she “forgets” it all? Why bother with character development at all if you’re just going to push the reset button?
However, I am going to read the second book in the series. Why? Firstly, I want to see more of Portland, Oregon in this world: never knew it could be that smelly. Secondly, I want to see if the second book can follow up on some of the potential I saw in the first. And lastly, because its summer and I am bored.
Seacrest out.
There is someone who I haven’t spoken to in a very long time. Lets call this person ‘Iggy.’ I don’t speak to Iggy. I won’t speak to Iggy. But despite it all, I really really really want to speak with Iggy. Badly.
I’m not going to. I know simply too many thing about Iggy, and too many things about how that conversation would proceed to allow any such conversation to occurr.
I haven’t had cause to go near a gas station these nine months now. But today I cut across a 7-11 and the smells of gasoline, the hot sun and traffic, gravel and blacktop, all of it combined to force such strong sensory memory that I swear I must’ve experienced a mild form of vertigo. Al of it reminded me of summers in Chicago, when Iggy and I would stop at the gas station before road trips to six flags, road trips to upstate New York. The taste of Chicago. The hot stuff air of a car that’s been sitting in the summer sun all day. And then I felt something rather close to despair as I recalled my most recent experiences of a place and of people that had heretofore been my favorite places and people.
And suddenly I am drained of all desire to do any sort of meaningful work today, like it all just got siphoned off. I don’t want to ready anymore about split ergativity within the generative framework. I don’t want to strive to improve myself mentally. I don’t even want to work on LeakyCon.
I want to bolster my self esteem with material possessions. I want to go to a bookstore. I havent been to a real bookstore in ages. And I want to be able to buy an actual book without worrying about how to pay my bills this summer. I want to own more than one pair of jeans, and I want them to actually fit. These are small things, no? I want to fill my aching void of loneliness with the knowlege that I at least do not look like a graduate-school monster that comes out only at the dead of night to stalk and eat your babies and dissertations.
Okay, tad dramatic.
Still, I feel something rather desolate.
From Quechua:
chullullullu – ( choo- yoo-yoo-yoo) to give off water in various spots.
How often to items (or people) give off water in various spots that an entire word needed to be created in this language?
Need some spice in your life? Your day to day activities will feel three whole mega neutrinos cooler, adventuresome, and exciting if you conclude each utterance with “worthy of Mordor.”
Think that paper you are writing is boring?
Twitter Before: Writing a paper…. will school never end?
Twitter After: Writing a paper worthy of Mordor… dear god, what will I unleash upong the innocent citizens of Hawaii?
Schoolwork becomes that much more epic (and dangerous) if you follow these simple instructions.
Also, SARAH KANE. Please join twitter. I promise you will like. My username is Katelooby. I know, very imaginative.
