(no subject)
Ah, ah, ah! I have been, ahem, following my yuletide recipient. So much research! I have to learn all about [edited for reasons of SECRECY and AWESOME] to get this to work. I am freaking out with glee here, mainly, and it's great.
Also, also. I have been reading all afternoon, and not just John Barton's dick moves in Michael Greenwald's Directions by Indirections, about dramaturgical justification. Geoffrey Woods, hello to you and hello to you too, A History of Gay Literature! Even though you seem reluctant to back your assertions up with facts and reality. Paul Coates, and The Gorgon's Gaze: German Cinema, Expressionism and the Image of Horror, we meet again, especially p 32 with your oppressive semantic theory which kills me dead! Edith Clowes, Fiction's Overcoat: Russian Literary Culture and the Question of Philosophy I would like you to be over before we have to do Dostoevsky together! Lentricchia and Dubois, with Close Reading: The Reader...I should probably open you!
I am, perhaps, a little punchy, but omg, I have notes and books, and fine, two reasonably dull papers about textual history and the creation of form to do, but these are less thrilling than almost anything else. Even Close Reading: The Reader, which pretty much signifies everything that is wrong with everything. CR:TR, you are emblematic DESPITE YOUR BEST EFFORTS. Also, you kind of look like "culture" in a hilarious German, or possibly dyslexic, way.
"Well," she says resignedly, "that's the trouble with having children less beautiful than yourself."
Horatio's head spins a little, because, he'd known that Hamlet's family was weird, but not this weird. Gertrude is an extraordinarily beautiful woman, he knows that; when they were younger, it was the running joke, that Hamlet's mom was a fox. Over the years, Horatio has occasionally visited, during college, and then the Christmas after Hamlet left school, and he has noticed that Gertrude, now nearly, oh, sixty, is still magnetically attractive. Hamlet has her full lips, when he's not tightly narrowing them, her wide brown eyes, and even some of her broad charm. Horatio likes these things, can aesthetically appreciate them in Gertrude, loves them in Hamlet, and can hardly believe what she's said.
"Ah." He wisely remarks.
This grows...increasingly less hilarious, every single line I add to it. DAMN. Perhaps I will say some things about it later, and be a huge jerk! I will then go on to chew razorblades and make fun of my coworkers while irrationally justifying my every move as entirely textually based and really very logical.
Also, also. I have been reading all afternoon, and not just John Barton's dick moves in Michael Greenwald's Directions by Indirections, about dramaturgical justification. Geoffrey Woods, hello to you and hello to you too, A History of Gay Literature! Even though you seem reluctant to back your assertions up with facts and reality. Paul Coates, and The Gorgon's Gaze: German Cinema, Expressionism and the Image of Horror, we meet again, especially p 32 with your oppressive semantic theory which kills me dead! Edith Clowes, Fiction's Overcoat: Russian Literary Culture and the Question of Philosophy I would like you to be over before we have to do Dostoevsky together! Lentricchia and Dubois, with Close Reading: The Reader...I should probably open you!
I am, perhaps, a little punchy, but omg, I have notes and books, and fine, two reasonably dull papers about textual history and the creation of form to do, but these are less thrilling than almost anything else. Even Close Reading: The Reader, which pretty much signifies everything that is wrong with everything. CR:TR, you are emblematic DESPITE YOUR BEST EFFORTS. Also, you kind of look like "culture" in a hilarious German, or possibly dyslexic, way.
"Well," she says resignedly, "that's the trouble with having children less beautiful than yourself."
Horatio's head spins a little, because, he'd known that Hamlet's family was weird, but not this weird. Gertrude is an extraordinarily beautiful woman, he knows that; when they were younger, it was the running joke, that Hamlet's mom was a fox. Over the years, Horatio has occasionally visited, during college, and then the Christmas after Hamlet left school, and he has noticed that Gertrude, now nearly, oh, sixty, is still magnetically attractive. Hamlet has her full lips, when he's not tightly narrowing them, her wide brown eyes, and even some of her broad charm. Horatio likes these things, can aesthetically appreciate them in Gertrude, loves them in Hamlet, and can hardly believe what she's said.
"Ah." He wisely remarks.
This grows...increasingly less hilarious, every single line I add to it. DAMN. Perhaps I will say some things about it later, and be a huge jerk! I will then go on to chew razorblades and make fun of my coworkers while irrationally justifying my every move as entirely textually based and really very logical.