A play, in one act.
Scene 1
Scene: JASON is at the computer, silently reading. TINA is on the couch across from the computer, rereading Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. The clock reads 5:30.
Silence, except for the clock ticking away the seconds TINA should be spending writing her paper for her Shakespeare class.
VOICE (singing faintly, from above): But I won't hesitate no more, no more--
VOICE trails off. TINA glances up from Harry Potter, and then back down. Silence and clock continue.
After a few minutes, JASON types on the keyboard, scrolls through the list of sites his Google search returned, and clicks on one in the middle of the page. TINA continues wasting time.
VOICE (again from above, louder): Look into your heart and you'll find love, love, love, love, love--
VOICE fades again.TINA smiles and chuckles softly without looking up, and then turns a page in what is not her Shakespeare paper. JASON continues silently reading.
A shorter time passes, marked by the ticking clock.
VOICE (from above, loudly): WA-OOOOOHHHHH WA-OOOHH WA-OH OH OH OH ha ha! I been spending way too long checking my tongue in the mirror--
TINA: (laughs loudly)
VOICE continues singing.
JASON: Yeah, that's been going on since I got home--at 2:30.
Curtain.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
The Circus Comes to Provo
See what I mean about being our own circus? (See my first post.) Now if only I could grow a beard, we'd be in business.
Friday, March 20, 2009
A Conversation
A conversation, via text, between me (Tina, 5'3") and John (oldest brother of Tina, 5'6") on John's birthday.
Me: Happy birthday, biggest brother! I hope it's a good one.
John: Biggest brother? Are you calling me fat? You jerk!
Me: Do you prefer that interpretation to the one in which "biggest" was a taunt about your height? Since it's your birthday, I'll let you choose.
John: Well played. A+.
Me: Happy birthday, biggest brother! I hope it's a good one.
John: Biggest brother? Are you calling me fat? You jerk!
Me: Do you prefer that interpretation to the one in which "biggest" was a taunt about your height? Since it's your birthday, I'll let you choose.
John: Well played. A+.
Friday, March 13, 2009
King Lear is a Comedy
King Lear is the tragedy of all Shakespeare's tragedies. All the evil forces, all the bad acts, all the betrayal of the other tragedies combine together in this play to make you feel that life may not be worth living after all. And yet I still found Lear extremely funny.
Top three reasons I found King Lear funny:
3. No one insults like Shakespeare, and he outdid himself with Lear.
Ex. "And from th' most extremest part upward of thy head/To the descent and dust below thy foot/A most toad-spotted traitor." 5.3. 136-39
I'm not exactly sure why I think "toad-spotted traitor" is so entertaining, but I do. What does "toad-spotted" mean anyway?
2. There's something infinitely entertaining about the image of a naked old man leading armed soldiers on a merry chase. And it's even funnier when the old man is not totally naked, but instead dressed only in sea weed.
1. The funniest thing about Lear, at least in my text, is that from the time he betrays his father until he dies, Edmund, the illegitimate son of the Duke of Gloucester, is simply called "Bastard" in his cues.
Ex. 4.2: Enter Goneril, Bastard, and Steward.
3.7: Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Bastard, and Servants.
I'm not sure if that was just meant to be a slight against the evil Edmund, but it's sure funny to read, especially if you read it as an intended insult, which I do.
Top three reasons I found King Lear funny:
3. No one insults like Shakespeare, and he outdid himself with Lear.
Ex. "And from th' most extremest part upward of thy head/To the descent and dust below thy foot/A most toad-spotted traitor." 5.3. 136-39
I'm not exactly sure why I think "toad-spotted traitor" is so entertaining, but I do. What does "toad-spotted" mean anyway?
2. There's something infinitely entertaining about the image of a naked old man leading armed soldiers on a merry chase. And it's even funnier when the old man is not totally naked, but instead dressed only in sea weed.
1. The funniest thing about Lear, at least in my text, is that from the time he betrays his father until he dies, Edmund, the illegitimate son of the Duke of Gloucester, is simply called "Bastard" in his cues.
Ex. 4.2: Enter Goneril, Bastard, and Steward.
3.7: Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Bastard, and Servants.
I'm not sure if that was just meant to be a slight against the evil Edmund, but it's sure funny to read, especially if you read it as an intended insult, which I do.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Goodbye Beautiful: The Tale of a Fateful Encounter with a Homeless Man
I don't fear very much, but I do fear homeless people. I know, this is unfair. I shouldn't fear someone because he or she is unwashed or maybe smelling of substances of questionable legality. And, in reality, that's not why I fear homeless people. It has more to do with the truly insane ones that I met on the docks of downtown Seattle when I was five and separated from my family. But that's another story.
This fear of homeless people...well, maybe it didn't increase so much as it shifted to "creeped out and slightly amused by homeless people" in December. I was leaving the Provo library (one of my favorite libraries, incidentally) to walk the three blocks home just after nine in the morning when I was approached by a homeless man.
He asked if he could speak to me for a minute, and I said sure, mostly because I feel guilty saying anything but yes to homeless people. Also,I'm a little afraid to say anything but yes to homeless people. But I digress.
So he starts telling me this story. I have to admit that I couldn't understand about three-quarters of what he was saying to me. It was a combination of accent, word choice, and fear that mushed his words to an incomprehensible jumble in my ears. But I did understand the start of his story, which was "I moved down here a few months ago," and the end, which was "And somehow I ended up homeless."
You know, somehow that ending didn't really make me sympathetic to his cause. I've never been homeless (which is perhaps another reason I fear homeless people--I fear the state of homelessness), but it seems to me that homelessness isn't one of those bombs that fate drops out of nowhere. I mean, there's usually a train--lose your job, can't pay rent, get kicked out, whatever. Sickness comes out of nowhere. Losing your job comes out of nowhere. Living under a bridge is usually one of those things you're able to fight against, or at least see coming.
And it seems to me that if "and somehow I ended up homeless" is the best slogan the homeless of Provo have, it's no wonder they're homeless. Perhaps the Provo library, where they all spend their days (doing what, I don't know) could offer some free marketing classes to their biggest patrons. Maybe "'Somehow I Ended Up Homeless' and Other Lines that Don't Get You Breakfast," "How to Gain the Sympathy and Money of Unsuspecting Victims," and "Looking Worse Off than You Actually Are" could be some possible topics. Just a suggestion.
But again, I digress. So after I told the homeless man that I had no money (the truth!) he asked if he could at least know my name. I told him my first name, and he told me his, which I couldn't understand. Something with "Jr." at the end. He shook my hand--and then held onto it. For much longer than necessary. And looked into my eyes.
I was getting pretty nervous, so I pulled my hand back and said that I had to go. And he concluded the whole interview with, "Goodbye, beautiful."
The whole meeting almost seems like a scene out of a bad romance, except for the incomprehensible homeless man playing the lead male role, which shifts the whole incident from "romantic" to "creepy." And I'm left wondering if I can actually take the his last words to me as a compliment. I mean, it's entirely possible that he would say the same thing to a six hundred pound walrus with a mustache if he thought the walrus would give him money, or at least a fish. Not that I need to hear compliments from strangers and homeless people. But it would maybe make me feel a little better about the whole episode.
(On a side note, I seem to keep coming back to fish, don't I? What's up with that?)
This fear of homeless people...well, maybe it didn't increase so much as it shifted to "creeped out and slightly amused by homeless people" in December. I was leaving the Provo library (one of my favorite libraries, incidentally) to walk the three blocks home just after nine in the morning when I was approached by a homeless man.
He asked if he could speak to me for a minute, and I said sure, mostly because I feel guilty saying anything but yes to homeless people. Also,I'm a little afraid to say anything but yes to homeless people. But I digress.
So he starts telling me this story. I have to admit that I couldn't understand about three-quarters of what he was saying to me. It was a combination of accent, word choice, and fear that mushed his words to an incomprehensible jumble in my ears. But I did understand the start of his story, which was "I moved down here a few months ago," and the end, which was "And somehow I ended up homeless."
You know, somehow that ending didn't really make me sympathetic to his cause. I've never been homeless (which is perhaps another reason I fear homeless people--I fear the state of homelessness), but it seems to me that homelessness isn't one of those bombs that fate drops out of nowhere. I mean, there's usually a train--lose your job, can't pay rent, get kicked out, whatever. Sickness comes out of nowhere. Losing your job comes out of nowhere. Living under a bridge is usually one of those things you're able to fight against, or at least see coming.
And it seems to me that if "and somehow I ended up homeless" is the best slogan the homeless of Provo have, it's no wonder they're homeless. Perhaps the Provo library, where they all spend their days (doing what, I don't know) could offer some free marketing classes to their biggest patrons. Maybe "'Somehow I Ended Up Homeless' and Other Lines that Don't Get You Breakfast," "How to Gain the Sympathy and Money of Unsuspecting Victims," and "Looking Worse Off than You Actually Are" could be some possible topics. Just a suggestion.
But again, I digress. So after I told the homeless man that I had no money (the truth!) he asked if he could at least know my name. I told him my first name, and he told me his, which I couldn't understand. Something with "Jr." at the end. He shook my hand--and then held onto it. For much longer than necessary. And looked into my eyes.
I was getting pretty nervous, so I pulled my hand back and said that I had to go. And he concluded the whole interview with, "Goodbye, beautiful."
The whole meeting almost seems like a scene out of a bad romance, except for the incomprehensible homeless man playing the lead male role, which shifts the whole incident from "romantic" to "creepy." And I'm left wondering if I can actually take the his last words to me as a compliment. I mean, it's entirely possible that he would say the same thing to a six hundred pound walrus with a mustache if he thought the walrus would give him money, or at least a fish. Not that I need to hear compliments from strangers and homeless people. But it would maybe make me feel a little better about the whole episode.
(On a side note, I seem to keep coming back to fish, don't I? What's up with that?)
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Wilkie Collins
I’ve formerly recommended Wilkie Collins’s books based solely on my experience reading The Moonstone, which I quite liked. And I promised an update when I finished reading The Woman in White, Collins’s earlier mystery novel. Here’s my consensus: Is it possible for me to grow up to be a 19th century male writer? Because I think he’s my new hero.
Collins’s novels aren't action packed, especially not in the way that modern mystery novels or movies are. While his plots are complex enough to keep you wondering how the forces of good will win in the end, his characters are the real reason to read. Each character is given a chance to speak for him- or herself, and they each express a unique voice and personality that draws you in, sometimes despite yourself. For instance, I ended up loving the villain, Count Fosco, despite—or maybe because of—his nefariousness. He loves white mice, vanilla bon bons, and the true heroine of the novel, Marian. His glee at duping the heroes is almost contagious, and I couldn’t help rooting for him, just a little.
The epistolary narrative style Collins favors might make you hesitate, but it shouldn’t. I felt that the broken narratives—written like letters or diary entries—helped me continue reading when the plot felt dry. After all, if I didn’t like the narrator, I could always look forward to a change in outlook in a few chapters.
I wouldn’t recommend reading Wilkie Collins on an every day, "entertainment reading" basis; his stories move a little too slowly for that. But if you're willing to read a little slower and you want to meet some of the most interesting fictional people in existence, you really should give Collins a try.
Collins’s novels aren't action packed, especially not in the way that modern mystery novels or movies are. While his plots are complex enough to keep you wondering how the forces of good will win in the end, his characters are the real reason to read. Each character is given a chance to speak for him- or herself, and they each express a unique voice and personality that draws you in, sometimes despite yourself. For instance, I ended up loving the villain, Count Fosco, despite—or maybe because of—his nefariousness. He loves white mice, vanilla bon bons, and the true heroine of the novel, Marian. His glee at duping the heroes is almost contagious, and I couldn’t help rooting for him, just a little.
The epistolary narrative style Collins favors might make you hesitate, but it shouldn’t. I felt that the broken narratives—written like letters or diary entries—helped me continue reading when the plot felt dry. After all, if I didn’t like the narrator, I could always look forward to a change in outlook in a few chapters.
I wouldn’t recommend reading Wilkie Collins on an every day, "entertainment reading" basis; his stories move a little too slowly for that. But if you're willing to read a little slower and you want to meet some of the most interesting fictional people in existence, you really should give Collins a try.
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