a story, the intersection of a wish and the tip of a pencil
*yawn*
Can it be the weekend now? If the rest of this week is anything like today... no, you know what? I don't even want to contemplate that, though I am totally ready to crawl into bed and not come out again until Christmas.
One good thing about today was Chuck. Who didn't see THAT coming? I'm glad they didn't actually drag it out any longer, to be truthful. Poor Chuck. I don't even ship Chuck/Sarah (Sarah/Casey, maybe, or Chuck/Sarah/Casey), but I did not like Jill impinging on them. The koolaid spray was hilarious. As was Morgan totally working some spy moves of his own to get Millbarge off Chuck's back. Plus there was more Chuck/Casey subtexty slapstick, which is always amusing. And also, "I don't even care about my own feelings." Bwah! You tell him, Casey.
I also finally got a chance to read this essay by Michael Chabon, which someone linked me to last week (a couple weeks ago?): Secret Skin: An essay in unitard theory.
If I were less exhausted, I would totally talk more about it, about the power of narrative, the way we shape our selves, our lives, with the stories we tell, to others, and to ourselves. Chabon says it better than I could, anyway:
We say "secret identity," and adopt a series of cloaking strategies to preserve it, but what we are actually trying to conceal is a narrative: not who we are but the story of how we got that way-and, by implication, of all that we lacked, and all that we were not, before the spider bit us. Yet our costume conceals nothing, reveals everything: it is our secret skin, exposed and exposing us for all the world to see. Superheroism is a kind of transvestism; our superdrag serves at once to obscure the exterior self that no longer defines us while betraying, with half-unconscious panache, the truth of the story we carry in our hearts, the story of our transformation, of our story’s recommencement, of our rebirth into the world of adventure, of story itself.
***
Can it be the weekend now? If the rest of this week is anything like today... no, you know what? I don't even want to contemplate that, though I am totally ready to crawl into bed and not come out again until Christmas.
One good thing about today was Chuck. Who didn't see THAT coming? I'm glad they didn't actually drag it out any longer, to be truthful. Poor Chuck. I don't even ship Chuck/Sarah (Sarah/Casey, maybe, or Chuck/Sarah/Casey), but I did not like Jill impinging on them. The koolaid spray was hilarious. As was Morgan totally working some spy moves of his own to get Millbarge off Chuck's back. Plus there was more Chuck/Casey subtexty slapstick, which is always amusing. And also, "I don't even care about my own feelings." Bwah! You tell him, Casey.
I also finally got a chance to read this essay by Michael Chabon, which someone linked me to last week (a couple weeks ago?): Secret Skin: An essay in unitard theory.
If I were less exhausted, I would totally talk more about it, about the power of narrative, the way we shape our selves, our lives, with the stories we tell, to others, and to ourselves. Chabon says it better than I could, anyway:
We say "secret identity," and adopt a series of cloaking strategies to preserve it, but what we are actually trying to conceal is a narrative: not who we are but the story of how we got that way-and, by implication, of all that we lacked, and all that we were not, before the spider bit us. Yet our costume conceals nothing, reveals everything: it is our secret skin, exposed and exposing us for all the world to see. Superheroism is a kind of transvestism; our superdrag serves at once to obscure the exterior self that no longer defines us while betraying, with half-unconscious panache, the truth of the story we carry in our hearts, the story of our transformation, of our story’s recommencement, of our rebirth into the world of adventure, of story itself.
***