Utter Rubbish

Well, here I am at 4:42pm on a very busy Monday. It's been a good day, I think; keeping busy has that effect on a day.

( The rest awaits you... )

It's pouring outside right now.  It has been since last night.  I love and hate days like these; I love them when I'm allowed to be pensive and lazy, indulging in solipsistic reverie and hot-chocolate-enhanced reading splurges.  I hate days like these when I have *gasp* intense responsibilities like 30 pages of paper writing, lesson plans to review and finals to prepare for.  You like how I got in that little bit of whining?  Yeah, I did too.

Interlude: I meant to put this in a November 13th entry but didn't get around to it.  I wanted to say Viva La Raza, Eddie Guererro.  You were a great wrestler and entertainer who died way too young.  As one fan rightly put it, "Its about time Heaven had some Latino Heat".  RIP, Eddie: Vaya con Dios.

Interlude #2: Damn my cat is cute.

I had some thoughts the other day about the nature of writing.  My friend Casey has started writing a play called "Writing Sucks"; I wonder to what extent that is true.  My friend Sonya and I pondered this while bitching about essay writing, Grad-school style.  We came to the conclusion that Masters style essay writing no longer has anything to do with independent creative analysis about the text; instead, its really a critique on the critics who have written about your chosen topic.  You can't write anything worthwhile these days without consulting a zillion other critics and theorists.  The point of this activity is to humble the lowly grad student into a state of perpetual submission to their intellectual superiors, making them feel continually inadequately prepared to offer up their own carefully constructed and equally valid point of view on the subject matter.  

The best critical texts I've read so far are clear, concise, and have a point worth proving.  Yes, it may seem simple for a grad student devoted to higher learning but I am an advocate for reader-friendly academic arguments.  Every teacher I've had in college has put question marks by any prose I wrote that attempted to imitate this high-toned, obtuse analytical writing so favored by current academicians.  A professor I had last year  made my life by condemning such a confusing and overwrought style.  I have embraced that notion and hope to implement it as my academic life continues.  Can writing been affecting and creative and still have meaning, even in dense critical arguments? Of course!  For a great example, see Jerome McGann's Swinburne: An Experiment in Criticism. 

Does writing suck?  It doesnt have to, but sometimes thats unavoidable if you want to play the game.  As my AP English teacher once responded to a student who wondered why we had to write a certain way when people like Hemmingway and Camus gave high style the finger, "Only after you know all the rules can you learn how to break them".  I'll never forget it. 

Back to the rain theme, its really going to be raining hard on me proverbially for the next two weeks.  Heh, well aren't I only happy when it rains?

I have NO idea what was on my subconscious mind last night, but MAN I had the worst dreams about spiders. I'm not even an arachnaphobe but whoo, this one was a doozy. I just remember going upstairs in my old house (I think it was, at least) and heading to my room and seeing that these two HUGE funnel webs were behind the twin beds up in my new room. As if in response to my entering the room, two of the LARGEST spiders I have never seen in my life came out of those funnels. I'm talking Harry Potter size...at LEAST the size of a medium sized dog. They didn't attack me, but merely scuttled back into their funnels. Regardless, I didn't feel, I dunno, *safe* or at ease anymore in that room so I went elsewhere. But from what little I can remember, they seemed to pop up everywhere I went, thoroughly unsettling me and grossing me out. I could barely get up this morning due to the mental activity of the night before. Stupid spiders.

Before I drifted into dreamland, I remember feeling the most unusual sensation; a band of very light pressure curved over the middle of my brow. I almost felt like I was being eased into some sort of alternate state of being. Very strange, and kinda cool and interesting to my occult sensibility. For a brief moment, I really felt relaxed...more than I have in a long time. It was at that point that I drifted into what promised to be a peaceful dreamland. Stupid spiders.

Fencing has started up. Monday's practice was great...I always get the best feeling when I see the newbies interested in this sport. I'm always very envious of them for being at the serendipitous point at the beginning of their college career. As an old fart, I do miss those days sometimes. Either way, tonight's practice will hopefully find me getting to know new names and faces and getting my butt back in the shape it used to be in!

I've finally narrowed my subject matter down for my thesis. Whatever I write about, it will involve Sappho's influence upon Baudelaire and Swinburne. I haven't figured out the specifics yet, but I need to do something of the sort tonight before I present my thesis advisor with a working syllabus for our course of study. I really like this professor; she and I really connect when it comes to our tastes in literature. For example, she told me a few days ago that my topic really "seemed and felt right". In my relief, I told her the same; it DOES feel right to me and hopefully, the more I research, the more "right" my ideas will seem.

Classes have been great. My Feminist Criticism class continues to show me all the subtle (and not so subtle) nuances of a very involved political, and academical revolution. I'm not sure who I side with (since there ARE sides); the feminists of the 60s and 70s who worked hard at creating one voice for all women, and who focused mainly on women within male texts and recovery of female-authord texts, or whether I hold with the new trends that began in the 80s: the poststructualist and post-colonial camps that work on decentering the idea of gender identity by focusing on the differences between women today, taking into account race, culture, sexual preference and the like. Feminism is working hard to address all the issues that "white" feminism seemed to leave out in the 70's and in doing so, is now appealing to a wider range of groups. Its really fascinating stuff and its great to see new critics working out critical modes that dont splinter feminism through vitrolic attacks and blame placing on "who ruined our peaceful politic?" but would rather encourage its growth through exploration of these multifarious identity modes. Pretty neat stuff.

Well, tomorrow (the 8th) is a special day and a special anniversary. Check back tomorrow for a special entry. =^)

Why do we love the rogue? What is it about the "bad boy" that many people just cling to?

Arguably, both Lancelot and Wolverine have gained great popularity and respect in their respective genres, nearly impervious in battle but weak-kneed with love at the most unusual times. For each, is love a weakness or an impetus to great deeds? Do they provide the greatest threat to the stability of their respective round tables?

Both characters have mysteriously ambiguous pasts; Wolverine's origin remained in shadow until "The Origin" by Joe Quesada, and depending on the source material, Lancelot was a prince whose parents were ambushed and killed and who was subsequently rescued and raised by the Lady of the Lake. Each of them can boast a completely liminal background, thus contributing to their powerful state within their respective circles. Confused by that last assertion? Let me explain...

Lancelot entered the literary world in Chretien de Troyes' Le Chevalier de la charette or The Knight of the Cart. Unnamed until midway through the tale, this nameless chivalric force achieves many an impossible task and succeeds where Arthur's pitiful knights fail. I would suggest that Lancelot suceeds at his task because he does not have the same feudal and behavioral constraints like the other Knights of the Round Table. He bore the shame of riding in the cart because it brought him closer to his objective and dared all to save the damsel in distress. While many would censure his actions as those of a petulent, rash, foolish whoremonger, few can argue that he got the job done where others failed miserably, almost comically.

At the other end of the chronal spectrum, the modern Wolverine rides the fine line between man and beast. Barely civilized, the feral attitude that hides just below the surface intrigues and entices the reader. As a man, he is a fearless soldier, a rebel from authority "who uses a machete to cut through red tape". As a mutant, his wild, furious nature runs free and destruction/revenge/mayhem ensues. He embodies the very notion of reckless, lawless abandon: the very absence of civilization. Disgusted with excessive pacifism, he has no qualms about killing the bad guy when the need arises. One wonders if Batman had killed Joker or Two-Face, would there have been less crime, pain, death and destruction in Gotham City? Would he have rebuilt the town a little easier?

In addition to their brute strength and inexhaustible valor in the face of almost certain death, their devotion to their respective lady-loves knows no bounds. He crosses sword bridges with bare hands and feet, cut and bleeding; he rips open steel bars, also leaving his hands cut and bleeding, to penetrate the chambers of his lady love. He endures all sorts of humiliations at the tournament because she wishes it (see Chretien deTroyes' The Knight of the Cart for all of the above). All impressive and impetuous heroics aside, Lancelot's love for Guinevere arguably causes the dissolution of the Round Table and potentially the downfall of Arthur. At the very least, he risks almost certain censure and hatred were the affair to become public (which it does) and he breaks the first code of chivalry: honor thy lord, with both capital and lower-case L's. And yet, he does this all for the greater glory of love, which appeals to the romanticly-inclined spirit. Indeed, thoughts of Guinevere's peril propel him through the most dangerous and deadly tasks to save her. He transcends his mortal being and wins his status as the most powerful knight in the realm not for personal glory, but but for the look in her eyes when he returns victorious. It makes you just want to forget all that adultery business. Whether you approve of his conduct or not, from the first day he saw her, he lived his life for her.

Wolverine follows the trend of his predecessor in desiring another man's woman; no matter how many other women have fallen to his charms in the comic book universe, one has always emerged as the great passion of his heart: Jean Grey. I do believe that my namesake loves Wolverine deep in her heart, but like the darker aspects of the Phoenix that she wishes to keep hidden, this particular part of her being may never be satisfied within the regular universe. Wolverine, however, has no compunction about showing his feelings for her, especially in front of her boyfriend-lover-once husband-now widow Scott Summers aka Cyclops. Like King Arthur, Cyclops isnt really worth Wolverine's time; he knows that Jeannie loves him and subsumes it. There certainly is a connection between the two of them that is unusual. One recent comic book storyline had Wolverine trapped in an illusory dreamscape by the ladies Mastermind, stuck in a timeless setting where all his past loves come back to keep him company. Unfortunately, Sabretooth comes and "kills" them. Last, but not least, Jeannie appears to Wolvie and he greets her with this: "Of course...they saved the best for last...I dont care if this isn't real, Jeannie...I wont let them kill you" (X Men The End 2: Part 5). It doesnt matter whether he dated Seraph, married Mariko Yashida, had a romantic interlude with Storm, whatever. She's always going to be number one in his book. Interestingly enough, the real Phoenix takes the dream Jeannie's place, causing Wolverine to really believe that "This must be true love". Ultimately, she will be the one that gives him purpose, someone to fight for, someone to trust when he trusts no one else. For concrete examples of all my gushing, remember the moment when Magneto rips the adamantium out of Wolverine's body, nearly killing him. He then attempts to push Jeannie out of an air lock, and her screams bring Wolvie back to life. Both men sacrifice their body to save their lady love (Ibid for Wolverine, crossing the sword bridge for Lanny), giving up all the inessentials for her well being. One powerful moment came right after "Magneto" gave Jeannie a universe-sized magnetic surge of a heart attack (see New Xmen 150); Wolverine goes ABSOLUTELY feral and kills "Magneto" and after Jeannie dies, all we see on the page are his howls reaching into the darkness. Her death has uprooted him and has widened the gulf between him and Cyclops. In Astonishing Xmen 1, Wolverine confronts Scott in bed with his new lady love Emma Frost, accusing him of betrayal: "So, Summers, what stage of grief is this? Denial?" Say what you will, Wolvie has a point, and dead or not, he will defend his true love until doomsday, even if it means dissenting from the team. In the Age of Apocalypse, Jean was left behind the borders of enemy lines with no hope of rescue from her team members. Who defied all orders and odds and went? You guessed it. Our favorite Weapon X, who then got to run off with her and enjoy a bit of the happiness he always wanted to have with her. What is the future for these star-crossed lovers? Only time (and Marvel) will tell...

To be continued....