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Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Fine, Here's Mine...
Monday, January 15, 2007
I'm dreaming of a white... January!
Snow!
It comes down, or it came down, but the present tense sounded more poetic. But the snow is a white blanket over the neighborhood. It's not as deep as I would have liked, but it's deep enough to be fun.
My brother and I went and froliced, if you define frolic as "Wrestling and throwing about in a manner that hurts considerably less on snow than on mere cold hard ground." Snowballs have been exchanged, and I would like to think that I have been coming out ahead in the conflicts, though my brother would beg to differ. However, he also thinks that The Phantom Menace is a good movie, so we'll let that rest where it is.
We went out and did the Obligatory Shoveling of the Driveway and Front Walk, and I even liked that, because it was out in the snow and also something of a work-out (especially when you factor in the Obligatory Abandoning of Shoveling to Run About and Put Snow Down People's Necks). One of the neighbors had a little pine tree in their yard, and the white Christmas lights were still up, and it looked really... neat. (Note studious avoidance of the phrase 'pretty.') At another time I might have thought they were overdue for taking the Christmas lights down, but tonight I just thought that THIS was the setting where those lights belonged, not on 40-degree nights with grass still green and a season that jumps up and down and says in a squeaky voice, "Look at me! I really AM Winter! Be frozen! Be cold... Please be cold?" And then it pouts, as if that will help its cause.
But I ramble on. Anyway, snow-- I like it. :-D
It comes down, or it came down, but the present tense sounded more poetic. But the snow is a white blanket over the neighborhood. It's not as deep as I would have liked, but it's deep enough to be fun.
My brother and I went and froliced, if you define frolic as "Wrestling and throwing about in a manner that hurts considerably less on snow than on mere cold hard ground." Snowballs have been exchanged, and I would like to think that I have been coming out ahead in the conflicts, though my brother would beg to differ. However, he also thinks that The Phantom Menace is a good movie, so we'll let that rest where it is.
We went out and did the Obligatory Shoveling of the Driveway and Front Walk, and I even liked that, because it was out in the snow and also something of a work-out (especially when you factor in the Obligatory Abandoning of Shoveling to Run About and Put Snow Down People's Necks). One of the neighbors had a little pine tree in their yard, and the white Christmas lights were still up, and it looked really... neat. (Note studious avoidance of the phrase 'pretty.') At another time I might have thought they were overdue for taking the Christmas lights down, but tonight I just thought that THIS was the setting where those lights belonged, not on 40-degree nights with grass still green and a season that jumps up and down and says in a squeaky voice, "Look at me! I really AM Winter! Be frozen! Be cold... Please be cold?" And then it pouts, as if that will help its cause.
But I ramble on. Anyway, snow-- I like it. :-D
Friday, January 12, 2007
The Deeper Meaning of Raymond
For a long time my family have been fans of the TV show Everybody Loves Raymond. But it only recently occurred to me what the characters on the show represent: they are each one of the Seven Deadly Sins. (I am using the envy, sloth, gluttony, wrath, pride, greed, lust model.) I am not saying this show is a study of the seven deadlies; there is really no 'lust' character, for example. But I think each MC is based on one sin. (As a side note, the Barones on the show ARE Catholic, so the seven deadly sins fits here rather nicely.)
Long-time viewers of the show wrinkle their nose at this, but it makes sense if you think about it. Observe:
Raymond: Raymond is Sloth. Obviously. His character might be summed up as someone who wants to get home from work, sit on the couch, and watch TV. (Leaving his wife, of course, to care for the children, cook the meals, do the laundry, etc.) Entire shows are predicated on the idea that Ray not only does not help with ANYTHING at home, but hinders his wife's work as well. And even in shows where this is not the main focus, it's at least a running joke.
Debora: Debora is Wrath. She is the other side of the running joke about Raymond's Sloth-- it is that Sloth which incites her to wrath. She is not exaggerated to the point of being the type of character who flies into a rage at the drop of a hat, but she does have a quick temper. In one episode, a group of old women who don't know them THAT well conclude, "If I were Debora, I would be nicer to Raymond."
Robert: Robert, Raymond's older brother, who lives with his parents for about half the seasons on the show, then lives by himself, then lives with his wife, and in the final episode moves with his wife back in with his parents, represents Envy. One of the other characters, in mockingly summing him up, says that while others are talking about lawns, Robert's comment would be, "I don't even have a lawn, Raymond has a lawn." Raymond also has a house, a high-paying jobs, kids, and (at least in Robert's eyes) a perfect wife, which Robert wishes he had. A large part of his character is self-pity, but he often has the idea that "If I had what Raymond has, then I'd be happy," which qualifies him for Envy.
Frank: Robert and Raymond's father is the hardest to pin down, but I will call his character Gluttony. He is fond of eating, and he is fond of doing whatever he wants, whenever he wants to. Fifty years ago he might have been called a boor. He could qualify for Greed, as these two are somewhat similar sins, and he could even qualify for a sort of near-harmless, old man sort of lust, but Gluttony seems chief among them.
Marie: The matriarch of the family, Marie represents Pride. Her obnoxious behaviour and narcissism are the base of the conflict for probably a majority of the episodes. She is very arrogant and vain, also, but the closest thing I could find on our list was pride.
Now, when watching the show, you don't think of these people in such harsh theological terms. These are not evil people; they are what we would probably call decent. Yet they are sinners, as is evinced in every single episode of the show. I seem to be building up to some sort of conclusion here, but I lost it; I suppose I just wanted to point out that these characters, at least, have a strong set of moral values, even if it is sometimes an unclear set, and that (morally, at least) puts them far above much of what's on TV these days.
Long-time viewers of the show wrinkle their nose at this, but it makes sense if you think about it. Observe:
Raymond: Raymond is Sloth. Obviously. His character might be summed up as someone who wants to get home from work, sit on the couch, and watch TV. (Leaving his wife, of course, to care for the children, cook the meals, do the laundry, etc.) Entire shows are predicated on the idea that Ray not only does not help with ANYTHING at home, but hinders his wife's work as well. And even in shows where this is not the main focus, it's at least a running joke.
Debora: Debora is Wrath. She is the other side of the running joke about Raymond's Sloth-- it is that Sloth which incites her to wrath. She is not exaggerated to the point of being the type of character who flies into a rage at the drop of a hat, but she does have a quick temper. In one episode, a group of old women who don't know them THAT well conclude, "If I were Debora, I would be nicer to Raymond."
Robert: Robert, Raymond's older brother, who lives with his parents for about half the seasons on the show, then lives by himself, then lives with his wife, and in the final episode moves with his wife back in with his parents, represents Envy. One of the other characters, in mockingly summing him up, says that while others are talking about lawns, Robert's comment would be, "I don't even have a lawn, Raymond has a lawn." Raymond also has a house, a high-paying jobs, kids, and (at least in Robert's eyes) a perfect wife, which Robert wishes he had. A large part of his character is self-pity, but he often has the idea that "If I had what Raymond has, then I'd be happy," which qualifies him for Envy.
Frank: Robert and Raymond's father is the hardest to pin down, but I will call his character Gluttony. He is fond of eating, and he is fond of doing whatever he wants, whenever he wants to. Fifty years ago he might have been called a boor. He could qualify for Greed, as these two are somewhat similar sins, and he could even qualify for a sort of near-harmless, old man sort of lust, but Gluttony seems chief among them.
Marie: The matriarch of the family, Marie represents Pride. Her obnoxious behaviour and narcissism are the base of the conflict for probably a majority of the episodes. She is very arrogant and vain, also, but the closest thing I could find on our list was pride.
Now, when watching the show, you don't think of these people in such harsh theological terms. These are not evil people; they are what we would probably call decent. Yet they are sinners, as is evinced in every single episode of the show. I seem to be building up to some sort of conclusion here, but I lost it; I suppose I just wanted to point out that these characters, at least, have a strong set of moral values, even if it is sometimes an unclear set, and that (morally, at least) puts them far above much of what's on TV these days.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Tristan and Isolde: Another Great Story Botched by Hollywood Literalists
(This is the Blog Edition of something I will turn in for school. The school version will look different from this. Less... digressive, for one thing.)
Tristan + Isolde is a movie released in 2005, based on the legend that bears the same or similar names. The story is a great one, long one of the most powerful in western literature. The movie is another matter.
The movie, from a purely aesthetic point of view, is so-so. The set design is beautiful, though gloomy; Sophia Myles is wonderful as Isolde; and the fights scenes are well done. However, the other actors range from mediocre to bad. The script is terrible, and historical accuracy seems to have been fed to the dogs. My brother and I came up with a drinking game based on it: you take a shot every time there's a historical inaccuracy. The problem is, you'd be blind drunk in the first half hour.
In fact, the movie was so bad, that it caused me to want look for the story that inspired it (the logic works if you don't think about it too hard).
The first thing I discovered was that there are many versions of the story, from nearly every nationality in Europe, with as many variations on it. J. Bedier, a lifelong scholar of this legend, determined that there must have been a common source for it, an original tale, now lost.
The basic themes and events of every version of the story, however, are very similar. Tristan's mother dies in childbirth, and gives him a name which literally means 'child of sorrow.' He is sent from his home to be raised in the court of his uncle, King Mark of Cornwall, where he grows into a great knight. He defeats an Irish knight, come to challenge the king, but is fearfully wounded in doing so. He is sent on a raft over the sea, and washes up on the shore of Ireland, where Isolde, sister of the knight he killed, heals him, without knowing who he is. In some versions they develop great affection for each other at this point; some versions are silent on this matter.
Tristan returns to Cornwall, but is shortly sent back to Ireland to bring Isolde home, to be Mark's queen and forge peace between the lands. (In some versions, this is the result of negotiations; in some, Tristan slays a dragon to win her, or wins a tournament.) Isolde's mother, apparently a great sorceress, sends a love potion with the girl's maid, a potion that will bind whoever drinks it in undying love. It is intended to be slipped into Mark and Isolde's drinks. Tristan and Isolde are mistakenly given it to drink. Guess what happens.
There is much variation in the next part of the story. To give the gist, Tristan and Isolde carry out their affair, trying to keep it a secret, but of course this is impossible. They are found out. Sometimes the king banishes them, or sentences the to be killed and they escape. At any rate, because he loves both Tristan and Isolde, there is a plethora of second chances, of returning of trust, which is always violated by the pair's adultery. Tristan is finally banished, and dies. Usually he dies because a bitter woman who loved him but whom he did not love tells him that Isolde does not love him, and he dies with her at the gate of the castle he rests in.
The legend probably began life as an oral tale, and was commonly told by bards in the Middle Ages. Many of the earliest extant versions were copied down by monks in Ireland, England, or France. The story found a niche in the expansive King Arthur mythos. After Malory's Le Morte D'Arthur, it lay dormant until the 19th Century, when there was a revival in Arthurian mythology. Its best-known incarnation was in Wagner's19th-Century opera, Tristan und Isoud.
What has made this legend so fascinating to so many people over so many centuries?
The most obvious reason is the basic fascination this type of story holds; the theme of forbidden love, of star-crossed lovers, seems to strike a deep chord with people. One thinks of the obvious example of Romeo and Juliet. But this particular story goes beyond simply a pair of lovers who cannot be together. For the third player, King Mark, is usually portrayed sympathetically: he is Tristan's beloved uncle, a good man, and a wise king. This is the most heart-wrenching part of the tale; for neither Tristan nor Isolde wishes to betray the king, yet neither seems either willing or able to cease loving one another, thus betraying the king anyway.
To its credit, the movie portrays this aspect very well. However, it leaves out another point of interest entirely.
"The mystery which is the cause of all this suffering, the love potion," says Prof. Alan Fedrick, in his introduction to Beroul's The Romance of Tristan, "Is undeniably an essential part of the legend's fascination.... The theme of the love potion is probably the best known distinguishing feature of the Tristan legend, and it is in their attitude to this theme that later authors differ most widely."
This is not to say that one must blame the potion for the adultery that follows; the potion might function, as in Shakespeare's plays, as a symbol for the unreasoning nature of love. A Midsummer Night's Dream is not about the love potion, despite the fact that it seems to make the lovers in that play act in ways they would not normally; for all four lovers in that play, from an objective viewpoint, are equally suited to one another: all are good looking, young, prospersous. But the vagaries of Love seem to elevate one particular person above the rest.
Similarly with Tristan, Isolde and Mark: Both men are equally suitable husbands; and for Isolde, loving Mark would cause no problems such as bringing kingdoms to their knees. But Isolde, love potion or no love potion, loves Tristan.
So how does the movie deal with the love potion? Quite simply, it doesn't. It throws it out entirely. In an interview, writer Dean Georgaris said he took out the love potion "Because I thought it would be nice if they fell in love simply because they fell in love." Well that's nice, but you've just thrown out a thousand years of literary tradition. He elaborates, "So our version of the story is a stripped-down, more realistic version."
This is the key to the movie's failure. There has been a trend recently of stripping down old legends, trying to make them more "realistic". This was the watch word of the Jerry Bruckheimer-produced King Arthur (2004). The idea was to set King Arthur in just barely post-Roman Britain, where his legend probably began, and eliminate all the extraneous characters. However, this would have meant eliminating Guinevere (whose character was a Medieval French invention), Lancelot (also a later French addendum), and Merlin. And without these three, there's really no legend to tell.
So they were kept, and given rationalizations for being there. But really all the record there is of this old Roman Arthur is of some battles he fought. So the movie had to fill up an hour and a half of screen time based on events that might have happened, based on what we know of the cultural conditions of the time. Basically, it was creating its own myth.
This is what happens when you strip myths of their mythology: you are left with a jumble of characters, a realistic setting, and some basic themes that you have far less tools to use to work into a story. You end up reinventing the wheel, trying to create a new myth that is not the old myth and yet is the old myth.
This is partly where the movie fails: without the love potion, and without the trappings of chivalry, Tristan and Isolde simply appear as two adulterers, for there is now no way to show that intagible thing, love. The potion worked as a symbol for it; that is gone. The accounts of Tristan's rescuing Isolde from death have been eliminated. Gone too, is the scene where the pair meet a hermit, who challenges them morally; and with this goes any hint of the ambiguous morality the pair is engaged in. They go from a pair holding their love against their duty, and trying and failing to reconcile the two, to a pair engaging in their affair because the laws and customs that keep them apart are wrong anyway. They become moral judges, rather than sinners.
A further aspect of the movie is its gloominess. The sets are dark, and when they are not, the story is dark, the dialogue depressive, the directing apparently set up to accentuate misery. The poem of Beroul, and most of the rest of the legends incarnations, have at least some hint of irony. There is the irony of God seeming to engineer things to protect the lovers; the irony of Isolde's ambiguous oaths. Sometiems the whole story, the idea of two adulterers as heroes, is treated as ironic. And, in the best retellings, real humor can be elicited from these situations, while not betraying the tragic mode.
The legend of Tristan and Isolde has a long history of reinterpretation and derivation.However, its central themes, those of love, sacrifice, passion, irony, and moral ambiguity, have always remained the same. And it is in betraying these themes, more than the shoddy production, that the movie ultimately fails.
READING:
I recommend a translation of Beroul's The Romance of Tristan if you're interested in the story. It's one of the best.
APPENDIX
Anyone who even read THIS far deserves congratulations. Below is just some extras; take them or leave them. ;-)
(The original opening line, which I liked so much I wanted to save.)
Recently (okay, it was a while ago, but recently sounds better) I watched the movie Tristan + Isolde. I will skip the typical sarcastic typographical posturing and simply say, it was a horrible movie.
Here is a list of variations JUST IN BLOODY SPELLING I found:
Tristan, Tristam, Tristram, Trystan
Isolde, Isold, Iseult, Isolt, Yseut, Isoud, Ysoud, George Foreman.
An extended opinion on the best part of the movie:
Sophia Myles plays Isolde with as much intensity and passion as the character calls for. She seems able to deliver the hokiest lines and make them, at least, ALMOST palatable. Too bad her co-star, Jamie Franco, had all the intensity of a slug.
And for anyone who read all THAT I have a gold-plated award of some kind.
slainte,
Ethan
Tristan + Isolde is a movie released in 2005, based on the legend that bears the same or similar names. The story is a great one, long one of the most powerful in western literature. The movie is another matter.
The movie, from a purely aesthetic point of view, is so-so. The set design is beautiful, though gloomy; Sophia Myles is wonderful as Isolde; and the fights scenes are well done. However, the other actors range from mediocre to bad. The script is terrible, and historical accuracy seems to have been fed to the dogs. My brother and I came up with a drinking game based on it: you take a shot every time there's a historical inaccuracy. The problem is, you'd be blind drunk in the first half hour.
In fact, the movie was so bad, that it caused me to want look for the story that inspired it (the logic works if you don't think about it too hard).
The first thing I discovered was that there are many versions of the story, from nearly every nationality in Europe, with as many variations on it. J. Bedier, a lifelong scholar of this legend, determined that there must have been a common source for it, an original tale, now lost.
The basic themes and events of every version of the story, however, are very similar. Tristan's mother dies in childbirth, and gives him a name which literally means 'child of sorrow.' He is sent from his home to be raised in the court of his uncle, King Mark of Cornwall, where he grows into a great knight. He defeats an Irish knight, come to challenge the king, but is fearfully wounded in doing so. He is sent on a raft over the sea, and washes up on the shore of Ireland, where Isolde, sister of the knight he killed, heals him, without knowing who he is. In some versions they develop great affection for each other at this point; some versions are silent on this matter.
Tristan returns to Cornwall, but is shortly sent back to Ireland to bring Isolde home, to be Mark's queen and forge peace between the lands. (In some versions, this is the result of negotiations; in some, Tristan slays a dragon to win her, or wins a tournament.) Isolde's mother, apparently a great sorceress, sends a love potion with the girl's maid, a potion that will bind whoever drinks it in undying love. It is intended to be slipped into Mark and Isolde's drinks. Tristan and Isolde are mistakenly given it to drink. Guess what happens.
There is much variation in the next part of the story. To give the gist, Tristan and Isolde carry out their affair, trying to keep it a secret, but of course this is impossible. They are found out. Sometimes the king banishes them, or sentences the to be killed and they escape. At any rate, because he loves both Tristan and Isolde, there is a plethora of second chances, of returning of trust, which is always violated by the pair's adultery. Tristan is finally banished, and dies. Usually he dies because a bitter woman who loved him but whom he did not love tells him that Isolde does not love him, and he dies with her at the gate of the castle he rests in.
The legend probably began life as an oral tale, and was commonly told by bards in the Middle Ages. Many of the earliest extant versions were copied down by monks in Ireland, England, or France. The story found a niche in the expansive King Arthur mythos. After Malory's Le Morte D'Arthur, it lay dormant until the 19th Century, when there was a revival in Arthurian mythology. Its best-known incarnation was in Wagner's19th-Century opera, Tristan und Isoud.
What has made this legend so fascinating to so many people over so many centuries?
The most obvious reason is the basic fascination this type of story holds; the theme of forbidden love, of star-crossed lovers, seems to strike a deep chord with people. One thinks of the obvious example of Romeo and Juliet. But this particular story goes beyond simply a pair of lovers who cannot be together. For the third player, King Mark, is usually portrayed sympathetically: he is Tristan's beloved uncle, a good man, and a wise king. This is the most heart-wrenching part of the tale; for neither Tristan nor Isolde wishes to betray the king, yet neither seems either willing or able to cease loving one another, thus betraying the king anyway.
To its credit, the movie portrays this aspect very well. However, it leaves out another point of interest entirely.
"The mystery which is the cause of all this suffering, the love potion," says Prof. Alan Fedrick, in his introduction to Beroul's The Romance of Tristan, "Is undeniably an essential part of the legend's fascination.... The theme of the love potion is probably the best known distinguishing feature of the Tristan legend, and it is in their attitude to this theme that later authors differ most widely."
This is not to say that one must blame the potion for the adultery that follows; the potion might function, as in Shakespeare's plays, as a symbol for the unreasoning nature of love. A Midsummer Night's Dream is not about the love potion, despite the fact that it seems to make the lovers in that play act in ways they would not normally; for all four lovers in that play, from an objective viewpoint, are equally suited to one another: all are good looking, young, prospersous. But the vagaries of Love seem to elevate one particular person above the rest.
Similarly with Tristan, Isolde and Mark: Both men are equally suitable husbands; and for Isolde, loving Mark would cause no problems such as bringing kingdoms to their knees. But Isolde, love potion or no love potion, loves Tristan.
So how does the movie deal with the love potion? Quite simply, it doesn't. It throws it out entirely. In an interview, writer Dean Georgaris said he took out the love potion "Because I thought it would be nice if they fell in love simply because they fell in love." Well that's nice, but you've just thrown out a thousand years of literary tradition. He elaborates, "So our version of the story is a stripped-down, more realistic version."
This is the key to the movie's failure. There has been a trend recently of stripping down old legends, trying to make them more "realistic". This was the watch word of the Jerry Bruckheimer-produced King Arthur (2004). The idea was to set King Arthur in just barely post-Roman Britain, where his legend probably began, and eliminate all the extraneous characters. However, this would have meant eliminating Guinevere (whose character was a Medieval French invention), Lancelot (also a later French addendum), and Merlin. And without these three, there's really no legend to tell.
So they were kept, and given rationalizations for being there. But really all the record there is of this old Roman Arthur is of some battles he fought. So the movie had to fill up an hour and a half of screen time based on events that might have happened, based on what we know of the cultural conditions of the time. Basically, it was creating its own myth.
This is what happens when you strip myths of their mythology: you are left with a jumble of characters, a realistic setting, and some basic themes that you have far less tools to use to work into a story. You end up reinventing the wheel, trying to create a new myth that is not the old myth and yet is the old myth.
This is partly where the movie fails: without the love potion, and without the trappings of chivalry, Tristan and Isolde simply appear as two adulterers, for there is now no way to show that intagible thing, love. The potion worked as a symbol for it; that is gone. The accounts of Tristan's rescuing Isolde from death have been eliminated. Gone too, is the scene where the pair meet a hermit, who challenges them morally; and with this goes any hint of the ambiguous morality the pair is engaged in. They go from a pair holding their love against their duty, and trying and failing to reconcile the two, to a pair engaging in their affair because the laws and customs that keep them apart are wrong anyway. They become moral judges, rather than sinners.
A further aspect of the movie is its gloominess. The sets are dark, and when they are not, the story is dark, the dialogue depressive, the directing apparently set up to accentuate misery. The poem of Beroul, and most of the rest of the legends incarnations, have at least some hint of irony. There is the irony of God seeming to engineer things to protect the lovers; the irony of Isolde's ambiguous oaths. Sometiems the whole story, the idea of two adulterers as heroes, is treated as ironic. And, in the best retellings, real humor can be elicited from these situations, while not betraying the tragic mode.
The legend of Tristan and Isolde has a long history of reinterpretation and derivation.However, its central themes, those of love, sacrifice, passion, irony, and moral ambiguity, have always remained the same. And it is in betraying these themes, more than the shoddy production, that the movie ultimately fails.
READING:
I recommend a translation of Beroul's The Romance of Tristan if you're interested in the story. It's one of the best.
APPENDIX
Anyone who even read THIS far deserves congratulations. Below is just some extras; take them or leave them. ;-)
(The original opening line, which I liked so much I wanted to save.)
Recently (okay, it was a while ago, but recently sounds better) I watched the movie Tristan + Isolde. I will skip the typical sarcastic typographical posturing and simply say, it was a horrible movie.
Here is a list of variations JUST IN BLOODY SPELLING I found:
Tristan, Tristam, Tristram, Trystan
Isolde, Isold, Iseult, Isolt, Yseut, Isoud, Ysoud, George Foreman.
An extended opinion on the best part of the movie:
Sophia Myles plays Isolde with as much intensity and passion as the character calls for. She seems able to deliver the hokiest lines and make them, at least, ALMOST palatable. Too bad her co-star, Jamie Franco, had all the intensity of a slug.
And for anyone who read all THAT I have a gold-plated award of some kind.
slainte,
Ethan
Monday, January 01, 2007
2007!
Well hello. It seems we have made it through another year. I seem to have little to say. It's been a good year, all things considered. I got to stop being a Junior halfway through; I became of full legal age to see an R-rated movie. Saw PotC at the midnight showing, with the crowd that sang along and cheered for Jack Sparrow, and so forth. And went to THE FEAST, which was maybe the best thing all year. Also went to the HT retreat in November. I definetly feel closer to my HT and MH friends than at the beginning of the year.
As for last night, well, it was just the family at home. But it was a great way to begin the year. Why? I'll tell you: We beat the bloody Bears! 26-7! I mean, come on, the Bears are supposed to go to the Super Bowl. It won't get us into the playoffs or anything, but it feels great to be able to say that even when they had their best team in twenty years and we had... well, not our best team, certainly, we still beat them on their own bloody field. hehe.
(My apologies to any Bears fans reading this. Sort of. Not really. :P)
Well, If I was smart, I'd have something deep to say in this spot. But all I can think of right now is what our pastor said last night, "Give thanks for 2007, another year of Grace." May it be a blessed one for all of you.
Slainte!
Ethan
As for last night, well, it was just the family at home. But it was a great way to begin the year. Why? I'll tell you: We beat the bloody Bears! 26-7! I mean, come on, the Bears are supposed to go to the Super Bowl. It won't get us into the playoffs or anything, but it feels great to be able to say that even when they had their best team in twenty years and we had... well, not our best team, certainly, we still beat them on their own bloody field. hehe.
(My apologies to any Bears fans reading this. Sort of. Not really. :P)
Well, If I was smart, I'd have something deep to say in this spot. But all I can think of right now is what our pastor said last night, "Give thanks for 2007, another year of Grace." May it be a blessed one for all of you.
Slainte!
Ethan
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Happy New Year's Eve!
The full version is the best version:
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?
CHORUS:
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup of kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!
And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I'll be mine,
And we'll tak a cup o kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!
We twa hae run about the braes,
And pou'd the gowans fine,
But we've wander'd monie a weary fit,
Sin auld lang syne.
We twa hae paidl'd in the burn
Frae morning sun till dine,
But seas between us braid hae roar'd
Sin auld lang syne.
And there's a hand my trusty fiere,
And gie's a hand o thine,
And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,
For auld lang syne
-lyrics by Robbie Burns
(A slight glossary, for those not up on their Scottish dialect):
auld lang syne - times gone by
be - pay for
braes - hills
braid - broad
burn - stream
dine - dinner time
fiere - friend
fit - foot
gowans - daisies
guid-willie waught - goodwill drink
monie - many
morning sun - noon
paidl't - paddled
pint-stowp - pint tankard
pou'd - pulled
twa - two
A Happy and Blessed New Year to all of you!
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?
CHORUS:
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup of kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!
And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I'll be mine,
And we'll tak a cup o kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!
We twa hae run about the braes,
And pou'd the gowans fine,
But we've wander'd monie a weary fit,
Sin auld lang syne.
We twa hae paidl'd in the burn
Frae morning sun till dine,
But seas between us braid hae roar'd
Sin auld lang syne.
And there's a hand my trusty fiere,
And gie's a hand o thine,
And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,
For auld lang syne
-lyrics by Robbie Burns
(A slight glossary, for those not up on their Scottish dialect):
auld lang syne - times gone by
be - pay for
braes - hills
braid - broad
burn - stream
dine - dinner time
fiere - friend
fit - foot
gowans - daisies
guid-willie waught - goodwill drink
monie - many
morning sun - noon
paidl't - paddled
pint-stowp - pint tankard
pou'd - pulled
twa - two
A Happy and Blessed New Year to all of you!
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Merry Christmas Eve!
Merry Christmas! I really don't have time for a substantial post, so here are some Christmas quotes I've found more or less lately.
The xmas holidays have this high value: that they remind Forgetters of the Forgotten, & repair damaged relationships. - Mark Twain in a letter to Carlotta Welles, December 30, 1907
The sense of loneliness and of being without a family often becomes deeper and more painful at Christmas time. ... Jesus, the child of Christmas, did not come to this world for those who are healthy and successful. God doesn't act like the Santa Claus. God doesn't give His gift for nice children but for us who are sinful, weak and unsuccessful ... The deepest Christmas message is the light that can shine in the darkness of our own life. - Päivi Räsänen, Finnish politician
And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.
And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.
And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.
And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,
Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.
-Luke 2:8-14, KJV
The xmas holidays have this high value: that they remind Forgetters of the Forgotten, & repair damaged relationships. - Mark Twain in a letter to Carlotta Welles, December 30, 1907
The sense of loneliness and of being without a family often becomes deeper and more painful at Christmas time. ... Jesus, the child of Christmas, did not come to this world for those who are healthy and successful. God doesn't act like the Santa Claus. God doesn't give His gift for nice children but for us who are sinful, weak and unsuccessful ... The deepest Christmas message is the light that can shine in the darkness of our own life. - Päivi Räsänen, Finnish politician
And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.
And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.
And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.
And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,
Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.
-Luke 2:8-14, KJV
Sunday, December 17, 2006
If Only I'd Had More Than Three Years to Study...
You are 71% Lutheran! This is most certainly true.
Not a perfect score. What does this mean? You have room for growth in understanding Lutheran terminology and culture. Good thing Salvation is by Grace and not by merit. We can add nothing to what God has done for us in Christ Jesus. But it never hurts to learn a little more about the church on earth. Thanks for taking the quiz!
How Lutheran Are You?
Create a Quiz
Monday, December 11, 2006
Silliness
Is Ethan going to write an intelligent reflection on the topic of silliness? Yes. Will he accomplish this? Let us find out...
So last night I finished reading Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes. (It's a great book, which everyone should read, even though there are spoilers below. Ahem.) At the end of the book, Will's father is pursued by the dark forces that are determined to do away with him. They attack him with their dark, occult powers, and are slowly destroying him. He is powerless to stop them, until... He laughs. He laughs in their face, and this saves him.
As Jim lies near death, near being consumed by the evil powers, Will and his father have only one way to save him-- they laugh. They cavort, and play bad music. They act silly, and the darkness is defeated, and Jim is saved.
At first this looks almost ridiculous-- Go out, have a romp in the grass, and Evil will be driven from the world? Eh? But look at the power of, well, silliness. Monty Python, for example, is beloved by millions. It is ridiculous, nonsensical--silly. What makes grown men dress up as old women, roll about in a mud puddle, and very seriously claim to be reenacting Pearl Harbor? They know people will laugh. And that is where the power of silliness lies: it creates laughter, it warms the heart; it acts as a healing balm.
But laughter often masks fear; and silliness can be a diversion, a denial, of the ultimate power of death (this is one of the underlying themes in Something Wicked). As Christians, we know that Christ died for us to defeat death. He rose again to give us life. Thus, the sting of death is ended, the victory of the grave is shattered. In Christ, we are given the ability to laugh in the face of death. I mean this not as frivolity, but as a celebration of the great gift we have been given: Christ gives us the ability to be silly.
As a side note, I think this is something that MHers, and actually most of the people working for Higher Things, understand very well, at least subconsiously. It's why you'll find the Anti-Olive Brigade next to threads about the Eucharist. We have the Christian freedom to, well, be silly.
So last night I finished reading Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes. (It's a great book, which everyone should read, even though there are spoilers below. Ahem.) At the end of the book, Will's father is pursued by the dark forces that are determined to do away with him. They attack him with their dark, occult powers, and are slowly destroying him. He is powerless to stop them, until... He laughs. He laughs in their face, and this saves him.
As Jim lies near death, near being consumed by the evil powers, Will and his father have only one way to save him-- they laugh. They cavort, and play bad music. They act silly, and the darkness is defeated, and Jim is saved.
At first this looks almost ridiculous-- Go out, have a romp in the grass, and Evil will be driven from the world? Eh? But look at the power of, well, silliness. Monty Python, for example, is beloved by millions. It is ridiculous, nonsensical--silly. What makes grown men dress up as old women, roll about in a mud puddle, and very seriously claim to be reenacting Pearl Harbor? They know people will laugh. And that is where the power of silliness lies: it creates laughter, it warms the heart; it acts as a healing balm.
But laughter often masks fear; and silliness can be a diversion, a denial, of the ultimate power of death (this is one of the underlying themes in Something Wicked). As Christians, we know that Christ died for us to defeat death. He rose again to give us life. Thus, the sting of death is ended, the victory of the grave is shattered. In Christ, we are given the ability to laugh in the face of death. I mean this not as frivolity, but as a celebration of the great gift we have been given: Christ gives us the ability to be silly.
As a side note, I think this is something that MHers, and actually most of the people working for Higher Things, understand very well, at least subconsiously. It's why you'll find the Anti-Olive Brigade next to threads about the Eucharist. We have the Christian freedom to, well, be silly.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
50,000! (Sleep!)
Yes, I know I said I'd update throughout last month, but *mumbleexcusemumble*.
So I wrote fifty thousand words last month. Actually I did more; the story I wrote was 56,900 words, or something in that neighborhood, though I finished the actual story on December 1st. The words didn't flow as well this year, I think mainly because I had been thinking about last year's story for about a year before I wrote it, and had it outlined in advance; this year I had two main characters, a few supporting characters (some of whom I had written of before), some ideas for key scenes, and a background. Which all sounds great, but it doesn't put words on the page like having an idea of the story does... I got sick mid-month, which may have contributed to the increased difficulty of the story.
But it is done. I am supremely glad to have participated, even if I am undecided whether I love it or hate it. If anyone wants to see it, e-mail me, but be warned that it will still be a first draft, and we all know what Hemingway said about first drafts. <_<
I also want to congratulate everyone else who won (even those who finished before me <_<), and anyone who, as Heidi said, didn't finish but wrote more than they would have without entering NaNo! Congratulations all! *Gongs, trumpets, confetti*
Now I go sleep... :-D
slainte,
Ethan
PS. I am officially sick of talking about this... At least for now... Posts on other, hopefully more interesting topics to come...
So I wrote fifty thousand words last month. Actually I did more; the story I wrote was 56,900 words, or something in that neighborhood, though I finished the actual story on December 1st. The words didn't flow as well this year, I think mainly because I had been thinking about last year's story for about a year before I wrote it, and had it outlined in advance; this year I had two main characters, a few supporting characters (some of whom I had written of before), some ideas for key scenes, and a background. Which all sounds great, but it doesn't put words on the page like having an idea of the story does... I got sick mid-month, which may have contributed to the increased difficulty of the story.
But it is done. I am supremely glad to have participated, even if I am undecided whether I love it or hate it. If anyone wants to see it, e-mail me, but be warned that it will still be a first draft, and we all know what Hemingway said about first drafts. <_<
I also want to congratulate everyone else who won (even those who finished before me <_<), and anyone who, as Heidi said, didn't finish but wrote more than they would have without entering NaNo! Congratulations all! *Gongs, trumpets, confetti*
Now I go sleep... :-D
slainte,
Ethan
PS. I am officially sick of talking about this... At least for now... Posts on other, hopefully more interesting topics to come...
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Marshall Retreat Quotes
(EDIT: This post has been updated since the fifth, with all the things I Should Have Remembered. If anybody thinks of any more, do tell me. ;-))
Okay, I want to post quickly now and say the Marshall Retreat was AWESOME! Aaron, Heidi, Tarja, Rachels, we missed those of you who weren't there. And Now I miss those that WERE there too, because they're, well, not here. (On the bright side, I do hear that I may be able to make long-distance calls inexpensively soon.)
Anyway, what follows is mainly quotes that I had to get down while they were still in my head. Bits of it are written in Aaron's Feast-Farce style, and there is even a little exposition. Oh, and despite what it may seem, we DID learn alot of great stuff. Pastor Preus was great, and he usually is; the other sectional speakers were great too; I think the sectionals were even better than the ones in Indianapolis.
--
Paul: Zeke, I have a joke about the sun. But it's way over your head.
Zeke: (Indignantly) No it's not!
--
(Actually this is a mesh of several conversations, but oh well.)
Paul: Evangelicals give us Lutheran nerds swirlies.
(Later)
Me: If the evangelicals give us Lutheran nerds swirlies, would that make the Orthodox those weird artsy people? And the Catholics the prim "good citizen" types who sit at the front of the class?
Paul: Yeah...
Zeke: And who would be the valley girls?
Dad: Mainline liberal Protestants.
Zeke: How about Benny Hinn and those guys?
Me: They're the Special Ed class.
Zeke: And the Baptists...
Paul: Are just the Bapetists.
--
(While pulling into the church, Paul having been in the car for six hours, Nat and Maggie for approximately three.)
Maggie: Wait! We've been in here this long, and we haven't discussed a single serious thing!
Nat: Alright, everybody say serious things!
Me: Um, scientist... Neutron...
Nat: What about Literary Theory?
Paul: Galileo!
Nat: Oh, like that song by Queen!
Maggie: Galileo! Galileo!...
Me: Ah well, it was a noble effort.
--
(Okay, my brother, Zeke, has a ahem, a self-imposed OCD where he HAS to say "Moo" every time someone says "Cow.")
Zeke: So whenever I go past a cow moo...
Paul: Wait, a cow moo?
Zeke: Moo.
Paul: Ohhhh, a cow moo moo.
Zeke: Moo.
Paul: Wait, a cow moo moo moo?...
--
Paul: I have decided that I have to say "cow" every time he says "moo."
Me: Interesting. Cow.
Zeke: Moo.
Paul: Cow.
Zeke: Moo.
Paul: Cow...
--
(Scene: The church, on our almost late arrival)
Paul: Rae, where is my wet noodle?
Rae: Ack! I have forgotten to bring a wet noodle!
Paul: (Shaking head sadly) Then we shall have to find something lamer to assassinate Ethan with.
Maggie: I have a plastic pistol! Bang! (Everybody dies)
--
Maggie: Ethan, here is your Ego. (Stomps on it.)
Ethan: Ack. Life is not worth living.
Maggie: Don't worry. Not everybody wants to kill you.
Ethan: I feel slightly better now.
Maggie: (Stomps on Ego again)
--
Despite the fact that I have mostly stopped taking notes at this type of thing because I rarely go back and read them, I ended up taking copious notes. Some examples follow:
"TOGA!" (In response to Seth G.'s note, "PARTY!")
Me: This is a picture of: Santa (naked) feeding an albinoe reaindeer marshmallows in a blizzard.
If I can get the Paint program to match up, I may attempt to post some replicas of other cartoons we did.
--
(Free time, Saturday afternoon)
Paul: MouthHouse Clue!
Rae: Vault and Mt. Dew!
MHers: I hope these walls are sturdy, 'cuz we're about to bounce off them!
(Some MouthHousers play Clue, meanwhile Nat and Paul and I talk. Eventually Nat and I get into Gaiman and Americans Gods, discussing the story as well as the possible metaphoric ramifications of its conclusion.)
Paul: So, how 'bout those Cubs?
Nat: What? What are you talking about?
Paul: Just trying to bring the conversation to a level we ALL can understand.
Me: But none of us know ANYTHING about baseball.
Nat: Yeah.
Paul: Oh yeah, that's right.
(Some lightsaber fighting went on during free time as well.)
--
(At the banquet Saturday night. I dressed in a black dress shirt, black pants, a white tie, gray jacket, and my fedora. I wasn't sure how well it all hung together, but people who knew more about it than I did said it looked good, though apparently I looked like a mobster.)
Rae: Let us all talk in proper British accents, since we are dressed so properly.
Me: Indeed. Except that mine always sounds more like, "Eh wot then, sweep your chimney, guv? Eh, no what I mean, nudge nudge, say no more, say no more?"
Zeke: No what I mean, eh, nudge nudge, say no more?
Nat: [ditto]
Ethan, Nat, Zeke: Eh what, know what I mean? Nudge nudge...
...
Me (Actually doing upper-class Brit accent): Zeke and Seth (G.) are acting even wilder than the rest of us; in fact they are acting like uncultured peasants. Therefore, I am their lord, Paul is the overseer, Nat is my assisstant, and these three (Maggie, Rae, Elizabeth) are the court.
(Everybody but the peasants cheer.)
...
Maggie (in gestures, as the speaker was speaking): Ethan, turn your head this way. Yes. (Later, with the speaker done): Here is a picture of you looking like a mobster and being serious. This is what happens when I am hyper and it's bottled up.
Me: It's lovely. No one shall ever see it. (Several people do anyway.)
--
One of my favorite things was the mixer after the dinner. We went across teh street to the church, and they taugh us all how to play euchre. We promptly switched to slaps. After a while, most of the MHers got bored, and started kind of congregating in a corner. We, ahem, we played "Ring -Around-the-Rosy." (It was, I beleive I've got this correct, Rae, Maggie, Paul, Harris, and me.)
After that we adjourned outside, to have a party in the parking lot. What was great about this is that we had nothing you usually have for a party: no boom box, games, even edibles. we just had the bunch of us, my fedora, and Maggie's cowboy hat, and we had enormous fun anyway. More than we'd been having inside.
Rae: I don't think this would be half as much fun if you didn't look like a '40s mobster.
Maggie (To me): Hello, I'm your stalker.
Me: Gasp.
Maggie (to someone else): I'm your stalker.
Ethan: I thought you were my stalker?
Maggie: I'm everybody's stalker.
...
Seth: They turned me into a newt! (Everybody looks at him.) It got better.
Seth: (Remarking on the MHers who kill and are killed and are up walking around mere seconds later) It's like somebody discovered the Philosopher's Stone, or something.
--
The next day, after leaving, we stopped by Rae's (family's) new house and had pizza, and saw their creepy bridge (my brother was the only one dumb enough to go over it). Then we hung around for a while, and listened to some music and danced badly and played air guitar and air drums (or air fiddle-- to Green Day (?)).
All too soon, it was time to go home.
Nat and Maggie were with us for a while. My ego suffered much abuse (oh, what's it worth, anyway?) It currently has a sword, arrow, and several boxes of toothpicks in it.
Me: Thanks alot, you just stuck a toothpick in my ego.
Maggie thinks she has my ego currently, and I will let her think that.
[This is Maggie's addendum, left in the Comments, but I put them here because they should be part of my patchy account. The "Me"s in this section are Maggie.]
I had a ton of Mary Janes, which are disgusting candies that look really old no matter what, and Nat looked at the wrapper of one to try to figure out what it's made of…Nat: CORN SYRUP, DRY ROASTED PEANUTS, SUGAR, MOLASSES, PARTIALLY HYDROGENATED VEGETABLE OIL [COTTONSEED, SOYBEAN], SOY LECITHIN, SALT, MONO & DIGLYCERIDES, HYDROGENATED VEGETABLE OIL [RAPESEED, COTTONSEED & SOYBEAN], GLYCERINE, NATURAL FLAVOR.
Nat: *something about there being a girl named Mary Jane, who was chopped up and put into these candies*
Me: And that's why they can't make any new ones!
Ev'rybody: * laugh laugh*
Me: This is the intellectual conversation you craved! (we had not so long ago dropped off some others, and when we got back in the car someone said that now we could have some intellectual conversation)
Ethan: Galileo!
(Later)
Me: *draws blob in scetch pad* Ethan! Do you like this blob? The shape?
Ethan: I guess…
Me: *writes in blob "Ethan's Ego"* *draws arrow through it*
Ethan: Oh! Life isn't worth it!
--
In conclusion, I would like to say that I told Seth J. of Aaron's orders for me to kill him with a butter knife. since he knew, and I knew, and I knew he knew, no such attempt was made. However, just before we left, I managed to sneak a pen steb under his defenses, and Nat made impromptu throwing stars out of playing cards, assassinating Seth-- twice. Blood was everywhere.
And yet, afterwards I saw him up and walking around. Go figure.
Okay, I want to post quickly now and say the Marshall Retreat was AWESOME! Aaron, Heidi, Tarja, Rachels, we missed those of you who weren't there. And Now I miss those that WERE there too, because they're, well, not here. (On the bright side, I do hear that I may be able to make long-distance calls inexpensively soon.)
Anyway, what follows is mainly quotes that I had to get down while they were still in my head. Bits of it are written in Aaron's Feast-Farce style, and there is even a little exposition. Oh, and despite what it may seem, we DID learn alot of great stuff. Pastor Preus was great, and he usually is; the other sectional speakers were great too; I think the sectionals were even better than the ones in Indianapolis.
--
Paul: Zeke, I have a joke about the sun. But it's way over your head.
Zeke: (Indignantly) No it's not!
--
(Actually this is a mesh of several conversations, but oh well.)
Paul: Evangelicals give us Lutheran nerds swirlies.
(Later)
Me: If the evangelicals give us Lutheran nerds swirlies, would that make the Orthodox those weird artsy people? And the Catholics the prim "good citizen" types who sit at the front of the class?
Paul: Yeah...
Zeke: And who would be the valley girls?
Dad: Mainline liberal Protestants.
Zeke: How about Benny Hinn and those guys?
Me: They're the Special Ed class.
Zeke: And the Baptists...
Paul: Are just the Bapetists.
--
(While pulling into the church, Paul having been in the car for six hours, Nat and Maggie for approximately three.)
Maggie: Wait! We've been in here this long, and we haven't discussed a single serious thing!
Nat: Alright, everybody say serious things!
Me: Um, scientist... Neutron...
Nat: What about Literary Theory?
Paul: Galileo!
Nat: Oh, like that song by Queen!
Maggie: Galileo! Galileo!...
Me: Ah well, it was a noble effort.
--
(Okay, my brother, Zeke, has a ahem, a self-imposed OCD where he HAS to say "Moo" every time someone says "Cow.")
Zeke: So whenever I go past a cow moo...
Paul: Wait, a cow moo?
Zeke: Moo.
Paul: Ohhhh, a cow moo moo.
Zeke: Moo.
Paul: Wait, a cow moo moo moo?...
--
Paul: I have decided that I have to say "cow" every time he says "moo."
Me: Interesting. Cow.
Zeke: Moo.
Paul: Cow.
Zeke: Moo.
Paul: Cow...
--
(Scene: The church, on our almost late arrival)
Paul: Rae, where is my wet noodle?
Rae: Ack! I have forgotten to bring a wet noodle!
Paul: (Shaking head sadly) Then we shall have to find something lamer to assassinate Ethan with.
Maggie: I have a plastic pistol! Bang! (Everybody dies)
--
Maggie: Ethan, here is your Ego. (Stomps on it.)
Ethan: Ack. Life is not worth living.
Maggie: Don't worry. Not everybody wants to kill you.
Ethan: I feel slightly better now.
Maggie: (Stomps on Ego again)
--
Despite the fact that I have mostly stopped taking notes at this type of thing because I rarely go back and read them, I ended up taking copious notes. Some examples follow:
"TOGA!" (In response to Seth G.'s note, "PARTY!")
Me: This is a picture of: Santa (naked) feeding an albinoe reaindeer marshmallows in a blizzard.
If I can get the Paint program to match up, I may attempt to post some replicas of other cartoons we did.
--
(Free time, Saturday afternoon)
Paul: MouthHouse Clue!
Rae: Vault and Mt. Dew!
MHers: I hope these walls are sturdy, 'cuz we're about to bounce off them!
(Some MouthHousers play Clue, meanwhile Nat and Paul and I talk. Eventually Nat and I get into Gaiman and Americans Gods, discussing the story as well as the possible metaphoric ramifications of its conclusion.)
Paul: So, how 'bout those Cubs?
Nat: What? What are you talking about?
Paul: Just trying to bring the conversation to a level we ALL can understand.
Me: But none of us know ANYTHING about baseball.
Nat: Yeah.
Paul: Oh yeah, that's right.
(Some lightsaber fighting went on during free time as well.)
--
(At the banquet Saturday night. I dressed in a black dress shirt, black pants, a white tie, gray jacket, and my fedora. I wasn't sure how well it all hung together, but people who knew more about it than I did said it looked good, though apparently I looked like a mobster.)
Rae: Let us all talk in proper British accents, since we are dressed so properly.
Me: Indeed. Except that mine always sounds more like, "Eh wot then, sweep your chimney, guv? Eh, no what I mean, nudge nudge, say no more, say no more?"
Zeke: No what I mean, eh, nudge nudge, say no more?
Nat: [ditto]
Ethan, Nat, Zeke: Eh what, know what I mean? Nudge nudge...
...
Me (Actually doing upper-class Brit accent): Zeke and Seth (G.) are acting even wilder than the rest of us; in fact they are acting like uncultured peasants. Therefore, I am their lord, Paul is the overseer, Nat is my assisstant, and these three (Maggie, Rae, Elizabeth) are the court.
(Everybody but the peasants cheer.)
...
Maggie (in gestures, as the speaker was speaking): Ethan, turn your head this way. Yes. (Later, with the speaker done): Here is a picture of you looking like a mobster and being serious. This is what happens when I am hyper and it's bottled up.
Me: It's lovely. No one shall ever see it. (Several people do anyway.)
--
One of my favorite things was the mixer after the dinner. We went across teh street to the church, and they taugh us all how to play euchre. We promptly switched to slaps. After a while, most of the MHers got bored, and started kind of congregating in a corner. We, ahem, we played "Ring -Around-the-Rosy." (It was, I beleive I've got this correct, Rae, Maggie, Paul, Harris, and me.)
After that we adjourned outside, to have a party in the parking lot. What was great about this is that we had nothing you usually have for a party: no boom box, games, even edibles. we just had the bunch of us, my fedora, and Maggie's cowboy hat, and we had enormous fun anyway. More than we'd been having inside.
Rae: I don't think this would be half as much fun if you didn't look like a '40s mobster.
Maggie (To me): Hello, I'm your stalker.
Me: Gasp.
Maggie (to someone else): I'm your stalker.
Ethan: I thought you were my stalker?
Maggie: I'm everybody's stalker.
...
Seth: They turned me into a newt! (Everybody looks at him.) It got better.
Seth: (Remarking on the MHers who kill and are killed and are up walking around mere seconds later) It's like somebody discovered the Philosopher's Stone, or something.
--
The next day, after leaving, we stopped by Rae's (family's) new house and had pizza, and saw their creepy bridge (my brother was the only one dumb enough to go over it). Then we hung around for a while, and listened to some music and danced badly and played air guitar and air drums (or air fiddle-- to Green Day (?)).
All too soon, it was time to go home.
Nat and Maggie were with us for a while. My ego suffered much abuse (oh, what's it worth, anyway?) It currently has a sword, arrow, and several boxes of toothpicks in it.
Me: Thanks alot, you just stuck a toothpick in my ego.
Maggie thinks she has my ego currently, and I will let her think that.
[This is Maggie's addendum, left in the Comments, but I put them here because they should be part of my patchy account. The "Me"s in this section are Maggie.]
I had a ton of Mary Janes, which are disgusting candies that look really old no matter what, and Nat looked at the wrapper of one to try to figure out what it's made of…Nat: CORN SYRUP, DRY ROASTED PEANUTS, SUGAR, MOLASSES, PARTIALLY HYDROGENATED VEGETABLE OIL [COTTONSEED, SOYBEAN], SOY LECITHIN, SALT, MONO & DIGLYCERIDES, HYDROGENATED VEGETABLE OIL [RAPESEED, COTTONSEED & SOYBEAN], GLYCERINE, NATURAL FLAVOR.
Nat: *something about there being a girl named Mary Jane, who was chopped up and put into these candies*
Me: And that's why they can't make any new ones!
Ev'rybody: * laugh laugh*
Me: This is the intellectual conversation you craved! (we had not so long ago dropped off some others, and when we got back in the car someone said that now we could have some intellectual conversation)
Ethan: Galileo!
(Later)
Me: *draws blob in scetch pad* Ethan! Do you like this blob? The shape?
Ethan: I guess…
Me: *writes in blob "Ethan's Ego"* *draws arrow through it*
Ethan: Oh! Life isn't worth it!
--
In conclusion, I would like to say that I told Seth J. of Aaron's orders for me to kill him with a butter knife. since he knew, and I knew, and I knew he knew, no such attempt was made. However, just before we left, I managed to sneak a pen steb under his defenses, and Nat made impromptu throwing stars out of playing cards, assassinating Seth-- twice. Blood was everywhere.
And yet, afterwards I saw him up and walking around. Go figure.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Sigh...
Yesterday I ended with 4400 words. Today I slept through or forgot to turn on my alarm, I'm not sure which. I woke up and the clock by my bed said ten o'clock. I was supposed to be at the library by 9:30. I ran out to the living room before realizing I had left them set ahead to trick myself into getting up early. I just barely got to the Library on time.
Sigh.
I wrote 350 words during break. I hope to pile up some words tonight and early tomorrow morning, before we leave.
I have learned to write faster by not obsessively going back and correcting every single bloody mistake, bu tI thnk its affecting my othere web posting.
slainte,
Ethan
Sigh.
I wrote 350 words during break. I hope to pile up some words tonight and early tomorrow morning, before we leave.
I have learned to write faster by not obsessively going back and correcting every single bloody mistake, bu tI thnk its affecting my othere web posting.
slainte,
Ethan
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