1/27: Naivete is for me

An Ephesian Tale- the naive reading

What a totally awesome story!  OK, so I can't accomplish that level of naivete but I will try a reading of this story without my skin of sarcasm and skepticism. In my mind this story is what Romeo and Juliet would look like with a happy ending.  In fact while reading this entire piece with my post-Shakespearean concept of true love I was constantly on the edge of my seat waiting for the death shoe to drop.  Waiting and waiting, until the story was done, finito, and they didn't die.  Horror of horrors they lived happily ever after.  And I was shocked.  We all have become so ready for disappointment that when it doesn't happen we're surprised.  And isn't nice to be surprised by something?  I assumed that all these stories would be so predictable that I would know the ending by page 2 and yet it surprises me every time.  I like love stories, both kinds.  I'm naive and I like it!
                                                              

1/25 Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

Why can't we simply enjoy stories without analyzing them to death?
- Because it's human nature.  We all want to know who's behind the curtain.  Stories are our OZ and authors are our Wizards.  And we can never be satisfied with what's given to us.  No. We must know what is behind that curtain.  Who is the author?  What's his story and how has his past affected his writing?  What did he intend? How?Why?  Questions, questions and yet more questions.  But why must we know?  Why must we disillusion ourselves, the world will do that plenty.  Perhaps we question so that we are never taken unawares, untrusting, and unwilling to believe in something because everything is too good to be true.
Or maybe, just maybe, within each of or breasts beats the heart of an author, longing to have her/his words live forever.  Perhaps we are just looking for the way, always looking for the path that leads to greatness and  we hope that by seeing how others have done this finding how we might accomplish this ourselves.



























*Thanks Breanna for writing down all these blog topics and taking fantastic notes!

2/1- Sex Sells

Hello and welcome to the worst movie of all time.  In fact as soon as the film was mentioned in class there was a quite audible groan that emanated from every corner of the room.  We have quite a diverse class, with students of wide varying ages who come from a wide variety of hometowns with a wide ranging variety of taste.  And yet we all, or at least all who were vocal in class, unanimously disliked this film, including me.  But yet we all still have such vivid memories of it.  I don't know about everyone else, but I have a tendency to block out things like this and yet I've never been able to block out this film.  And no one else has been able to either.  So what does that imply?  Is it possible that there is a good element to be found in this celluloid disaster?  Or perhaps we all are just attracted to the excess of sex?  And is that a bad thing?



It certainly worked in Daphnis and Chloe.  And ever since reading Daphni and Chloe I can't help but see the myriad of connections that are played out between the story and the movie.  Young lovers exploring their sexuality, facing trials and tribulations, pirates (my personal favorite element of every story.  Thanks Johnny Depp!).  So it's obviously an age old truth: Sex Sells.

1/25 Topic- What did you like in stories when you were six

     

Thanks Breanna for writing down all these blog topics!

      Ok, truth be told,when I was six I loved oddities.  The book that stands out most clearly in my mind is Mrs. Piggeywiggles something or other.  I remember that my mother used to use the as a threat to what would happen if I didn't listen.  In one story in particular, there is a young girl who doesn't like to bath.  Infact she simply won't.  So the dirt piles up on her skin so deep that seeds actually start to sprout.  I'm sure the story was meant to encourage bathing but I thought it was fabulous that you could get that! dirty. so dirty that you could grow something on your skin and I'm fairly certain I did try to plant something.  Didn't work though.
                                                           

My favorite story though was actually a movie.  It was called the Last Unicorn.   In it the heroine is the very last of her kind because the evil bull loves the sight of unicorns so much that he is completely unwilling to share with the world so he captures them.  While the unicorn wanders around the woods she is captured by an evil witches caravan who puts her in her traveling zoo.  Then, when there is a threat of the bull coming, the evil witch transforms the unicorn into a women.  Some kindly zoo keeper lets her escape and she returns to the woods. Thus begins her quest to find the rest of her kind.  Along the way she meets the handsome prince.  They fall madly in love, maybe he more than she, and they continue together to find the rest of the unicorns.  They do find them, and defeat the red bull.  Then comes the ultimate choice for her return to her own form and own kind to save the unicorns or choose love.  So she sacrifices her desires for the love of something greater.  I loved the music, and the adventure.  I loved that it was a girl who was the hero and made the choices for herself.



                          

And there we have it.  My all time childhood favorite stories.

Catching up Blogs

Thank goodness for Breanna and Rio taking notes for all of us.  Since I've been a monumental procrastinator as far as blogging goes I've been reading their blogs to remind of the myriad of blog topics and class topics that we've had over the semester.  So with those two wonderfull sources, my multiple scraps of papers portraying themselves as notes and my quircky but sometimes helpful memory I'll be catching up on these blogs.  Today.  Right Now.

Kubla Khan

Once upon a fevered dream, Kubla Khan did appear it seems.  This poem was destined for greatness,and if it wasn't for an untimely visitor it would give up more than the scene staging.  But alas that is really all that we have- a great beginning.  We start with the introduction of Mr. Khan, or Kubla for I prefer to be on a first name basis with the characters.  And in his Eden-like kingdom he creates a pleasure dome.  It has a river and caverns running through it, with lots of gardens and hills.  But below the dome lies the great chasm, a savage place, with a woman moaning for her demon lover, while the echoes scream war.  But in the dome there is also an alabaster lady who enchants Kubla with her beauty, and then...nothing.  The End.
So what makes this one of the ideal romances?  I think it must be not only the poem, but also the circumstances surrounding it's creation.  I myself have had many a fantastical dream, though I only remember fragments.  But to have such a clear picture in ones mind, to actually be able to put it into words,and then to be interrupted just at the beginning of the good stuff!  Or worse, to be forever known as the one who did the interrupting and prevented the story from being fully told.  Oh the agony.  But perhaps that is what makes this story truly great is that like any amazing romance, you come to the end wanting more.  More adventures with the characters you have come to know and love.  Or in my anti-romantical case- characters that you want to see descend into the depths of darkness and chaos.  There is light and darkness, the lady on the hilltop and the one in the chasm.  You have the chance to encounter a demon lover, who just screams of death.  Now if only there were pirates this would be my choice for Ideal Romance.  Pirates and cross-dressing.

Displaced FairyTale

In 1999, in Minneapolis, Minnesota there lived a boy named Prince.  And all Prince wanted was a girl to call his princess and wear his raspberry beret.  He traveled all around the world in search of his pop rock princess.  He searched and searched and always came up empty handed- but all his possible princess' turned out to be cross dressers stuck in the 80's with rock hair.  Finally he went so crazy he actually lost his name.  Then one night, the artist formally known as Prince was auditioning opening acts.  He got a little tired and left the auditions to the club manager.  All that night it was lightning and pouring a purple rain. Just as the auditions were coming to a close the door slammed open and in walked a young lady dripping from head to toe.  The old queen, for that's what the manager was called, knew from the second he saw the girl in soaking wet pink cashmere that this was the one.  The pop princess that Prince was looking for- the girl to give him back his sanity and his name.  But just to be sure, he devised a test for her.  On the night of the big show the old queen went into the girls dressing room and placed a small pill under the couch cushions.  Then came twenty layers of crushed velvet and black leather pillows.  The singer soon came in to take her customary nap before she went on.  As she stood there at the edge of the stage the old singer came over and asked how she had slept.  Well, she said, I tossed and turned for a good long time, until I found the reason.  Someone had put a strange pill under the cushions.  Well, what did you do then? asked the old queen.  I took it of course! Said the girl.  And with that the old queen knew that this was the real thing- a real pop princess for Prince.