Dear Whoever You Might Be,
Guess. What.
The most exciting thing happened the other day in class. And by the most exciting I mean it made me smile and it made me happy, but that is about the extent of it.
One of my many english classes back here in the land of the south is 20th Century American Literature. Now, I am not a fan of American Lit and I think I have said this before, so I will try not to be too repetitive. I have often found American literature to be rather dry and humorless; lacking the romance and thrill of English or Russian novels. I admit, I went into this class shackled by my oppositional bias. I considered dropping even before my return to school for the sheer fact that I tend to loathe American Lit with a burning, fiery passion. Ask my mom. She knows how I feel about it. However, I suppressed my desire to stick up my nose, and walked into class with a semi-open mind.
Truth be told, I have never read any of the books on the list we were given. I know what you must be thinking; how can I have an informed opinion on American Lit if I have never read anything on the list? Well, reader, I HAVE read other works by the authors we are destined to explore this semester. Hemingway, Faulkner, Flannery O'Connor are all on this list and I have read multiple works by each. The interesting thing is, for this class, we are reading their less popular works of those very popular people.
As always, I have digressed. I decided to keep the class on my schedule despite my intuitive hesitations and let me tell you, I am delighted that I resolved to give the class a chance.
Let me set the stage for what happened. Two days ago, a monday. Blue skies, a few marshmallow clouds. It was one o'clock in the afternoon, right after a lunch of cantelope and cheese pizza. I was wearing indigo blue jeggins and a colorful striped tank-top. (I realize none of this has to do with what actually happened and I apologize because I am building this up to a skyscraper and it really is no more exciting than a free lolli-pop after a childhood check-up, but it is just so fun to exaggerate). I walked into class and sat down in my seat in the middle row, second seat from the back and waited for the lecture to begin.
My teacher passsed out a handout packet with a few stapled pages. I gave it no particular attention because I figured, "Great, another handout on something that I really don't give a hoot about"....I was also a little feisty that day. Not the self-righteous and courageous feist of Princess Merida in Brave nor the witty and covetted feist of Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice. I hate to admit this, but it was almost on the verge of Regina George meets Lisbeth Salander. Although, I pat myself on the back because I hid it better than a needle in the haystack. So, I was despondent. There was nothing that could have cheered me up.
And then it happened. My teacher started reading from the handout: "On a January evening of the early seventies, Christine Nilsson was singing in Faust at the Academy of Music in New York." Upon hearing these worlds, my horrendous mood faltered. I thought "This cannot be!" and looked down at the handout for the first time since it was passed back to me. There are the top of the page in bold letters was the title The Age of Innocene by Edith Wharton. The quickly flipped through the few pages and saw that the first three held an excerpt from this twentieth-century Pulitzer Prize winning novel and its use of American Realism.
Needless to say, my mood was lifted, if only for a few moments in time. I was the only one in my class who has read this work and I sat there with a bemused and knowing smile on my face as I recalled my long nights this past summer reading the book which inspired the title for my blog. As I so eloquently (see what I did there?) expressed before, I love that novel. I do. It cannot be helped and I am truly convinced that anyone who reads it will share my sentiments. They must. There is no possible way to not love it. Yes, I was astonished and even perturbed by the ending. My heart ached for Newland and I so terribly wanted him to be with the Countess again. But alas, the ending is not always happy. The love does not always flourish. But that just adds to the greatness and relatability of it all; does it not?
My excitement at reading this excerpt in class eventually wore off but my previous mood was kept at bay and I was able to enjoy the rest of the class. I hope, reader, that you have read a book or seen a movie or a play or listened to a song that brings you such joy and warmth everytime it is brought to mind. If not, go out and explore the world so that on an Anne Frank kind of day, you have something filed away to smile over. Just rememering The Age of Innonce gave me something. It gave me a smile and a happier dispostition. It gave me the ability to get through class without bursting into tears, or an outrage. I know it sounds abhorrently dramatic, but that is just who I am.
Sincerely,
Me
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Friday, August 17, 2012
In a World of Octobers
Dear Whoever You Might Be,
The drama's done.
Those were the words that the epilogue to Moby Dick began with. Do you know what that means? I have finished the novel. It is finally over. Ahab died, the White Whale lived and Ishmael survived the wreckage to tell the tale. I must admit, though I bemoaned the majority of this classic a few posts back, the last one-hundred pages were well worth the year-long struggle. These last few chapters captured the adventure and suspense that I originally anticiapted when buying Melville's classic. Alas matey's, it is finished, and I am proud to say I read it. In the future, when I boast this difficult feat, I may hesitate in how many months it actually took me to read it, but you, my dear readers, have the privilege of knowing the truth.
Now, no more on Moby Dick. I have exhausted it beyond my own want and it is not like I am going to get a reward for my plug. So, on to more interesting things...I hope.
On Sunday morning (and by morning I mean before the sun even has a chance to yawn), I will be travelling south until next summer. Unfortunately, travelling south leaves little promise of crisp fall weather.
I love the fall. It makes me want to buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address.
Since I sometimes tend to have no original thoughts, I am certain that you can guess where I just pulled that ^ quote from. I'll give you a minute to think on it.............
Time's up. Ready? You've Got Mail. If you guessed correctly, than I thank you for heeding my advice and watching. If not, then I can only shake my head and move on in hopes that you will do so. I know, my constant quoting from that movie is getting rather monotonous, but doesn't it just fit so perfectly?
As I was saying, I love the fall. I love the brilliant colors which illuminate the trees. The crunching sound of the fallen leaves under this seasons new brown boots. The matching scarves. The thick and comforting sweaters. Apple Cider. Pumpkin Pie. Bonfires. The whistling wind. But most of all, I love the crisp fresh air that awakens every muscle as soon as you step outside. You know the weather; the kind that waters your eyes after sitting in warmth all day; that lets you inhale a clean and deep breath after a week-long cold; that smothers any hint of remaining humidity and lays down a chilly path towards winter. I live for this kind of weather. In Maryland, it usually lasts for a solid handful of weeks.
In North Carolina, I am lucky for a few short weeks of this delightful air. Sometimes, it doesn't even last for a few. But I hope this year, it will. This weather makes me feel alive and invigorated. It confirms that I cannot possibly live anywhere that doesn't have a wonderful fall season. I refuse to plant myself somewhere for the rest of my life where the weather does not possess the acceptable amount of crispiness.
I realize that it is too early for me to be writing of such things. But it cannot be helped. Going back to school means dusting off the backpacks and the crayola markers and sharpening new pencils. And, going back to school, of course, means the taste of fall is soon to come.
So many famous authors and poets write the most beautiful words regarding the autumnal season:
"My sorrow, when she's here with me, "Every leaf speaks bliss to me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain Fluttering from the autumn tree."
Are beautiful as days can be; - Emily Bronte
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane."- Robert Frost
"I cannot endure to waste anything as precious as autumn sunshine by staying in the house. So I spend almost all the daylight hours in the open air." -Nathaniel Hawthorne
"Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns." - George Eliot
This last one by George Eliot, aka Mary Anne Evans, is my favorite. I think it would be most spectacular to travel the world so that I could always have fall in the palm of my hand.
My readers, it is my parting wish for you to remember to step outside during the crisp weather and breathe in the fresh air. If you do not live in a place where the fall season truly touches, than close your eyes and imagine. Because as Anne tells Matthew Cuthbert in Anne of Green Gables, "When you are imagining, you might as well imagine something worthwhile."
Sincerely,
Me
The drama's done.
Those were the words that the epilogue to Moby Dick began with. Do you know what that means? I have finished the novel. It is finally over. Ahab died, the White Whale lived and Ishmael survived the wreckage to tell the tale. I must admit, though I bemoaned the majority of this classic a few posts back, the last one-hundred pages were well worth the year-long struggle. These last few chapters captured the adventure and suspense that I originally anticiapted when buying Melville's classic. Alas matey's, it is finished, and I am proud to say I read it. In the future, when I boast this difficult feat, I may hesitate in how many months it actually took me to read it, but you, my dear readers, have the privilege of knowing the truth.
Now, no more on Moby Dick. I have exhausted it beyond my own want and it is not like I am going to get a reward for my plug. So, on to more interesting things...I hope.
On Sunday morning (and by morning I mean before the sun even has a chance to yawn), I will be travelling south until next summer. Unfortunately, travelling south leaves little promise of crisp fall weather.
I love the fall. It makes me want to buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address.
Since I sometimes tend to have no original thoughts, I am certain that you can guess where I just pulled that ^ quote from. I'll give you a minute to think on it.............
Time's up. Ready? You've Got Mail. If you guessed correctly, than I thank you for heeding my advice and watching. If not, then I can only shake my head and move on in hopes that you will do so. I know, my constant quoting from that movie is getting rather monotonous, but doesn't it just fit so perfectly?
As I was saying, I love the fall. I love the brilliant colors which illuminate the trees. The crunching sound of the fallen leaves under this seasons new brown boots. The matching scarves. The thick and comforting sweaters. Apple Cider. Pumpkin Pie. Bonfires. The whistling wind. But most of all, I love the crisp fresh air that awakens every muscle as soon as you step outside. You know the weather; the kind that waters your eyes after sitting in warmth all day; that lets you inhale a clean and deep breath after a week-long cold; that smothers any hint of remaining humidity and lays down a chilly path towards winter. I live for this kind of weather. In Maryland, it usually lasts for a solid handful of weeks.
In North Carolina, I am lucky for a few short weeks of this delightful air. Sometimes, it doesn't even last for a few. But I hope this year, it will. This weather makes me feel alive and invigorated. It confirms that I cannot possibly live anywhere that doesn't have a wonderful fall season. I refuse to plant myself somewhere for the rest of my life where the weather does not possess the acceptable amount of crispiness.
I realize that it is too early for me to be writing of such things. But it cannot be helped. Going back to school means dusting off the backpacks and the crayola markers and sharpening new pencils. And, going back to school, of course, means the taste of fall is soon to come.
So many famous authors and poets write the most beautiful words regarding the autumnal season:
"My sorrow, when she's here with me, "Every leaf speaks bliss to me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain Fluttering from the autumn tree."
Are beautiful as days can be; - Emily Bronte
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane."- Robert Frost
"I cannot endure to waste anything as precious as autumn sunshine by staying in the house. So I spend almost all the daylight hours in the open air." -Nathaniel Hawthorne
"Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns." - George Eliot
This last one by George Eliot, aka Mary Anne Evans, is my favorite. I think it would be most spectacular to travel the world so that I could always have fall in the palm of my hand.
My readers, it is my parting wish for you to remember to step outside during the crisp weather and breathe in the fresh air. If you do not live in a place where the fall season truly touches, than close your eyes and imagine. Because as Anne tells Matthew Cuthbert in Anne of Green Gables, "When you are imagining, you might as well imagine something worthwhile."
Sincerely,
Me
Sunday, August 5, 2012
It's All a Part of Me, That is Who I am
Dear Whoever You Might Be,
Since birth, and many times when still in the womb, children are encouraged to "be themselves". That it is completely normal to "be different" and "not fit in." I too was comforted during the tumultuous middle-school years by my mom saying it is better to "be myself and not a cookie-cutter girl." Basically, why on earth would I want to be exactly the same as every other person around me? What fun is there in that? Makes sense, doesn't it?
In the world of entertainment, there are more movies, books, plays and television shows about the "underdog who rises to the top due to their individuality" than I can count. One that we all know by heart is the Christmas classic, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Rudolph was born with a different nose than all the other reindeer; his nose was red. His parents, especially his father, tried to cover up his unique feature with the encouragement from Santa. Santa! Rudolph, once his secret is revealed, is mocked and shunned from playing the reindeer games. He soon befriends the wanna-be dentist Hermey. Hermey too was different because he didn't want to be an average elf who made toys. No, he wanted to be a dentist so he ran away to escape his toy-maker fate. On their journey, they encounter the comical Yukon Cornelius and together, the three friends find themselves on the Island of Misfit Toys. On this snowy isolation resides the toys that were not wanted because they were too "different." Among the many toys are Charlie-in-the-Box, a cowboy who rides an ostrich, an airplane that cannot fly and a spotted elephant. These misfits are overcome with sadness and loneliness and just wish that they could be loved like all the other toys. In the end, Rudolph's red nose saves Christmas and he is suddenly praised and adored for his used-to-be deformity. Hermey, removes the teeth from the terrifying Abominable Snow Monster which tames the beast. The Misfit Toys are picked up by Santa and given out to boys and girls for Christmas. All is right in the world again and the "underdogs" saved the day.
I have always loved Rudolph and always will. I plan to make my children love it as much as I do. But here is what I do not understand. The movie is clearly in praise of the individuality of Rudolph, Hermey and the Misfit Toys, right? Well that is all fun and good, but it also seems to almost criticize the "regular" characters. After watching the movie, no one wants to be the normal reindeer or the toy-making elfs. And why not? What is so wrong with them?
One of the biggest mysteries in life is why it is O.K. to be different sometimes and O.K. to be just like everyone else at other times. For example, I do not like crabs. This shocks most people I know because I live in the land of Maryland Crabs. I enjoy cream of crab soup and crab dip, but not much beyond that. No big deal, right? Wrong. Where I come from, it is not good enough. I am questioned with quizzical looks and stunned voices; "You live in Maryland. HOW can you NOT like crabs????" I just don't, that is how. My dietary preferences are deemed blasphemous and no one can understand why my personal disliking of crabs is different from everyone else's. Alright, so Maryland is famous for its blue crabs. But would you like to know another interesting fact about the seventh state? Its official sport is Jousting. That's right, Jousting. The pony-riding, stick-carrying, armor-wearing medieval sport....yes, jousting has evolved since than, but bear with me.
Now, if I supported jousting in the same way that people praised Maryland Crabs, I would be most likely be considered a little loose in the head. My peers would look at me like Luna Lovegood in Harry Potter. People would probably question my general sanity and up-bringing. I would be wierd and an oddball for enjoying a sport that isn't football, basketball, baseball or lacrosse. If I had posters and held Summer's Eve Jousting parties, no one would think I was expressing my individuality. No one would come. And yet, it IS the official state sport. I don't see all my crab-eating critics trotting off to Medieval Times because it's "what Marylander's do." So why is it acceptable for no one to like jousting and yet it is not acceptable for me to not like crabs?
Wow, that was a tangent, wasn't it? But think about it for a minute? Why does everyone want to be different and yet in certain cases (like disliking crabs), being different is shunned? I just cannot fathom societal behavior sometimes.
The other day, my brother told me a joke. Why did the hipster burn his mouth? Because he ate pizza BEFORE it was cool! Hah! Recently, being a "hipster" is the cool thing. Being hipster means being different. Not listening to mainstream music, drinking coffee from the privately-owned shop and not starbucks, wearing thrift store sweaters and just being all around "cool." Sometimes I secretly wish I was that "cool" but if everyone is trying to be "different", is there anyone who actually IS different?
When we are children, we are told to be ourselves no matter what people thinkg. But what if ourself just wants to be a princess like every other five year old girl? No one frowns upon that. What if ourself wants to eat glue? Sorry kid, you will be laughed at for years to come and will probably grow up with self-esteem issues and work in a cubicle and wear a pocket-protector. That is what happens, and it shouldn't. I know it sounds harsh but unfortunately, there is too much truth in what I just said.
There is nothing strange about liking what everyone else likes. There is nothing wrong or harmful. People consider it "conforming" but what if a child really DOES enjoy listening to Justin Beiber? What if someone's individuality prefers McDonalds over WholeFoods? Growing up all my friends had American Girl Dolls. Guess who didn't. Instead, I had Magic Attic Dolls. The two are very similar, indeed, but they have different names, stories and clothes. I was always proud to have unique dolls that none of my friends had. And yet, more than not, I felt isolated from my friends because I couldn't talk about the new Samantha clothes I unwrapped for my birthday. My friends never understood why I refused to want an American Girl Doll. Occassionally, I never understood either. But I loved my different dolls. I loved having something that no one else in my class did. Was I any better? No. Were they any better? No. We just wanted different things and yet it was always such a conundrum.
Recently there have been advertisements on television for a new animated movie called Paranorman. The trailer portrays a kid who is different from the other kids in town because he sees ghosts. In the end it is up to him to save the town from destruction. Sounds familiar, doesn't it? The narrator for the trailer says, "You don't become a hero by being normal." That assumption just absolutely appalls me. Normal people, average people can be heros in their own way. Sure, not everyone can be an olympian, a war veteran, a Mother Theresa. But people who are the "same" as everyone have just as much potential and capability as those who are "different." You just cannot presume that because someone lives in a suburban home with 2.4 children, owns a golden retriever and drives a minivan means that they aren't as good as someone who lives in a studio apartment and rides a bicycle to their pottery shop everyday.
I am different in many ways. I am absolutely one hundred percent nomal and average in many ways. I am not saying that being different is bad or good nor am I saying that being the same is bad or good. My point is, no matter what someone likes or doesn't like, it IS their individual preference. It shouldn't matter what society says, what your peers say or even what the movies say. What matters is what YOU say. Everyone is weird and silly and goofy and normal and average and special and just about everything. It just depends on who's judging.
Now that I have taken up so much of your time with my lengthy rant, I bid you all Adieu.
Sincerely,
Me
Since birth, and many times when still in the womb, children are encouraged to "be themselves". That it is completely normal to "be different" and "not fit in." I too was comforted during the tumultuous middle-school years by my mom saying it is better to "be myself and not a cookie-cutter girl." Basically, why on earth would I want to be exactly the same as every other person around me? What fun is there in that? Makes sense, doesn't it?
In the world of entertainment, there are more movies, books, plays and television shows about the "underdog who rises to the top due to their individuality" than I can count. One that we all know by heart is the Christmas classic, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Rudolph was born with a different nose than all the other reindeer; his nose was red. His parents, especially his father, tried to cover up his unique feature with the encouragement from Santa. Santa! Rudolph, once his secret is revealed, is mocked and shunned from playing the reindeer games. He soon befriends the wanna-be dentist Hermey. Hermey too was different because he didn't want to be an average elf who made toys. No, he wanted to be a dentist so he ran away to escape his toy-maker fate. On their journey, they encounter the comical Yukon Cornelius and together, the three friends find themselves on the Island of Misfit Toys. On this snowy isolation resides the toys that were not wanted because they were too "different." Among the many toys are Charlie-in-the-Box, a cowboy who rides an ostrich, an airplane that cannot fly and a spotted elephant. These misfits are overcome with sadness and loneliness and just wish that they could be loved like all the other toys. In the end, Rudolph's red nose saves Christmas and he is suddenly praised and adored for his used-to-be deformity. Hermey, removes the teeth from the terrifying Abominable Snow Monster which tames the beast. The Misfit Toys are picked up by Santa and given out to boys and girls for Christmas. All is right in the world again and the "underdogs" saved the day.
I have always loved Rudolph and always will. I plan to make my children love it as much as I do. But here is what I do not understand. The movie is clearly in praise of the individuality of Rudolph, Hermey and the Misfit Toys, right? Well that is all fun and good, but it also seems to almost criticize the "regular" characters. After watching the movie, no one wants to be the normal reindeer or the toy-making elfs. And why not? What is so wrong with them?
One of the biggest mysteries in life is why it is O.K. to be different sometimes and O.K. to be just like everyone else at other times. For example, I do not like crabs. This shocks most people I know because I live in the land of Maryland Crabs. I enjoy cream of crab soup and crab dip, but not much beyond that. No big deal, right? Wrong. Where I come from, it is not good enough. I am questioned with quizzical looks and stunned voices; "You live in Maryland. HOW can you NOT like crabs????" I just don't, that is how. My dietary preferences are deemed blasphemous and no one can understand why my personal disliking of crabs is different from everyone else's. Alright, so Maryland is famous for its blue crabs. But would you like to know another interesting fact about the seventh state? Its official sport is Jousting. That's right, Jousting. The pony-riding, stick-carrying, armor-wearing medieval sport....yes, jousting has evolved since than, but bear with me.
Now, if I supported jousting in the same way that people praised Maryland Crabs, I would be most likely be considered a little loose in the head. My peers would look at me like Luna Lovegood in Harry Potter. People would probably question my general sanity and up-bringing. I would be wierd and an oddball for enjoying a sport that isn't football, basketball, baseball or lacrosse. If I had posters and held Summer's Eve Jousting parties, no one would think I was expressing my individuality. No one would come. And yet, it IS the official state sport. I don't see all my crab-eating critics trotting off to Medieval Times because it's "what Marylander's do." So why is it acceptable for no one to like jousting and yet it is not acceptable for me to not like crabs?
Wow, that was a tangent, wasn't it? But think about it for a minute? Why does everyone want to be different and yet in certain cases (like disliking crabs), being different is shunned? I just cannot fathom societal behavior sometimes.
The other day, my brother told me a joke. Why did the hipster burn his mouth? Because he ate pizza BEFORE it was cool! Hah! Recently, being a "hipster" is the cool thing. Being hipster means being different. Not listening to mainstream music, drinking coffee from the privately-owned shop and not starbucks, wearing thrift store sweaters and just being all around "cool." Sometimes I secretly wish I was that "cool" but if everyone is trying to be "different", is there anyone who actually IS different?
When we are children, we are told to be ourselves no matter what people thinkg. But what if ourself just wants to be a princess like every other five year old girl? No one frowns upon that. What if ourself wants to eat glue? Sorry kid, you will be laughed at for years to come and will probably grow up with self-esteem issues and work in a cubicle and wear a pocket-protector. That is what happens, and it shouldn't. I know it sounds harsh but unfortunately, there is too much truth in what I just said.
There is nothing strange about liking what everyone else likes. There is nothing wrong or harmful. People consider it "conforming" but what if a child really DOES enjoy listening to Justin Beiber? What if someone's individuality prefers McDonalds over WholeFoods? Growing up all my friends had American Girl Dolls. Guess who didn't. Instead, I had Magic Attic Dolls. The two are very similar, indeed, but they have different names, stories and clothes. I was always proud to have unique dolls that none of my friends had. And yet, more than not, I felt isolated from my friends because I couldn't talk about the new Samantha clothes I unwrapped for my birthday. My friends never understood why I refused to want an American Girl Doll. Occassionally, I never understood either. But I loved my different dolls. I loved having something that no one else in my class did. Was I any better? No. Were they any better? No. We just wanted different things and yet it was always such a conundrum.
Recently there have been advertisements on television for a new animated movie called Paranorman. The trailer portrays a kid who is different from the other kids in town because he sees ghosts. In the end it is up to him to save the town from destruction. Sounds familiar, doesn't it? The narrator for the trailer says, "You don't become a hero by being normal." That assumption just absolutely appalls me. Normal people, average people can be heros in their own way. Sure, not everyone can be an olympian, a war veteran, a Mother Theresa. But people who are the "same" as everyone have just as much potential and capability as those who are "different." You just cannot presume that because someone lives in a suburban home with 2.4 children, owns a golden retriever and drives a minivan means that they aren't as good as someone who lives in a studio apartment and rides a bicycle to their pottery shop everyday.
I am different in many ways. I am absolutely one hundred percent nomal and average in many ways. I am not saying that being different is bad or good nor am I saying that being the same is bad or good. My point is, no matter what someone likes or doesn't like, it IS their individual preference. It shouldn't matter what society says, what your peers say or even what the movies say. What matters is what YOU say. Everyone is weird and silly and goofy and normal and average and special and just about everything. It just depends on who's judging.
Now that I have taken up so much of your time with my lengthy rant, I bid you all Adieu.
Sincerely,
Me
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)