Some books are undeservedly forgotten; none are undeservedly remembered.
[W. H. Auden]

Monday, October 31, 2005

Sonority and Me

I can't sing. If I were to make a list of those activities I am good at and those I am not so good at, singing would without a doubt be at the top of the latter. Although I enjoy music, I am by no means competent. I never had any training as a child, which might have affected any potential talent. Regardless of the reasons, singing has become somewhat of a trial, unless I am listening to the radio alone. So, I suppose I shall have to continue writing songs, not performing them.
Senior night for football was on Friday; they were mercy ruled. Both games.
Karissa stayed with us over the weekend; she and I were headed downtown to Treasures of the Past on Saturday, as she wanted to inspect their jewelry (which is now 50% off). Since I knew making a left turn on Main would be close to impossible, and traffic was especially crazy considering the sidewalks and crosswalks were swarming with masked and costumed children out ravaging the businesses of their candy, I advised her to turn left the street before. Of course, that happens to be a one way street...going right. Fortunately, there were no cars in that lane, and she zipped into a nearby parking lot. *sighs...idiot* Anyway, after I nearly had us klled, we arrived at the antique store where I promptly bought an elegant silver bracelet and earring set inlaid with pink and purple rocky stuff. The earrings I converted into a necklace, considering I don't have my ears pierced. (I did once, but I decided the experience of nearly blacking out each time I attempted to take the earrings in or out--wasn't worth it.)
I had ninety-one pictures developed last Saturday, all from springtime events. Developing photos in my family is extremely difficult; we always end up procrastinating for months. I spent the rest of the weekend scrapbooking with Kari.
This week has been somewhat slow, since I don't have any highschool classes; tomorrow the pace will be picking up, with basketball officially starting. Friday should be a nightmare. Run to the roar, huh?

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

"To the Death, Mathilda Gokey..."

Does "ravenous" come from the same root as "raven"? Have you ever thought about the word "professional" and how ironic it is? *Sighs* I have...
I should never read books like A Northern Light which only fuel my literary geekdom by validating my preoccupation with words.

Cross-words, Similes and Chocolate

Yes, the title of this post is completely unrelated to its content, which is rather haphazardous anyway...

Earlier today, I was given this uber encouraging error message: "There has been a catastrophic error. Please stand by."

I am obsessed with making cards. Seriously. I have a box full. An isolated incident of creativity led to a common occurance which mutated to a hobby which became an obsession. The cards are becoming more and more extravegant or elegant or unique each passing day. I plan on purchasing some old black and white photos from a local antique store (there's a boat-load of them just sitting there) and incorporating them in the cards. Selling them would be nice, but I would have to find an outlet somewhere, and then I would be committed. *scratches chin thoughtfully* Hmmm.

fico (n. A fig; hence, the value of a fig, or the merest trifle; also, a gesture of contempt made by placing the thumb between two of the fingers or in the mouth)

Monday, October 24, 2005

Ah, Extra Credit...

Saturday was spent on a field trip testing water quality. (I am now a professional at measuring dissolved oxygen.) The trip took us from a canyon and water fall to hills and country roads and everything from historic ranches and odorous factories between. One of the most entertaining aspects of the day was the bus driver, who drove like a maniac and, considering his mediocre language skills, was constantly making a wrong turn or arguing with Pettigrove. The wooded hills and valleys were gorgeously adorned with multi-hued folliage and some of the streams we explored had trout. Beautiful country, this is. I was concerned, though, as this is only two weeks into hunting season, that someone might mistake our boisterous party for deer. You never know with hunters.
This is Idaho, after all.

Sunday, October 16, 2005

Inheritance Trilogy--Book One

OPENING DISCLAIMER: Although the scope of my reading is relatively small and I am often neatly impressed with less than perfect literature, I am also one of the harshest critics I know, and it is much easier for me to point out what I dislike about books than what I like. I will indicate if I'm going to give a plot spoiler. Fair warning.

Before I begin hacking away, let me say that I did enjoy Eragon. It was a decent book--not great, but decent. I make no claim that I could have written it any better, and for Christopher Paolini's age, it's outstanding; however, I must confess that if one were to ask me to describe Eragon with one word, it would be "cliche." Before I am verbally slaughtered by some dedicated fan, let me explain what some might view as harsh accusations:

First, the story as a whole. Hmmm. It had a basic foundation (lower class farm boy growing up in isolated location with uncle, unsure who his father was, mother presumably dead, discovers he has ancient-rooted, astounding powers), and almost from the start, it reminded me of Star Wars, with dragons instead of space-ships. Galbatorix, though we rarely meet him, seems a very Vader-ish villain, and Eragon-- being the first new Dragon Rider since the order was almost completely annihilated, guided by a mysterious, very Obi-Wanish teacher--is a lot like Luke. Now, as my mother pointed out, there seem to be only so many plotlines in our imaginations, and Paolini does an adequate job of surrounding a cliche foundation with excitement, albeit fairly predictable.

Perhaps I could have ignored the somewhat hackneyed plot easier if the characters had been a little more...defined. In fact, I think the biggest letdown of Eragon was...well, Eragon. I just couldn't get attached to the kid, especially as the begrudging hero. He was just, so...unoriginal--boy, destined for greatness, embittered by family death, seeking revenge while grappling with rising anger, power, crushed innocence, and a bigger, harsher world than he had imagined in his secluded Carvahal existance. And Brom...as I said, he's Obi Wan Kenobi regurgitated. You know, everyone in the Palancar Valley assumes he's a simple, crazy old man from no-one-really-cares-where, and it isn't until Eragon--the Luke Skywalker prototype--begins to discover his destiny that we realize he's much more; (spoiler warning) indeed, as Brom lay dying, we realize he is, in fact, a Jedi Knight...oh, whoops, I meant a Dragon Rider.

Now, there were characters I felt more empathy and respect toward. Saphira's straightforward personality was a pleasing contrast to Eragon's naivity and occasional stupidity. Murtagh was also a strong character (perhaps my favorite), whom I felt more sympathetic toward than Eragon. Arya was your somewhat standard but nonetheless fiercely intelligent and beautiful elf, with a satisfactory backstory behind her. Lesser characters, like the herbalist-witch Angela (close behind Murtagh in vying for my favor) from Teirm, and the Varden leader Ajihad were quite satisfactory and richly woven into the storyline. The Raz'zac (did anyone else notice that Raz'zac and Zar'roc are nearly the same name with the first syllable reversed?) were competently intruiging, as far as Nazgul-ish pawns of a crazed and wicked Emperor can be.

*Sighs, glances at clock, wipes brow*...Well, now that my main critiquing is done, I'll give my ever sought-after opinion (haha) on Paolini's writing. At the beginning, I was quite impressed with his writing style, especially accounting for his age. However, I got used to it quickly and wasn't as captivated after the first hundred pages or so; other than that, he had flawless punctuation, good grammatical structure, decent structural variation, and great vocabulary. As to the latter, though, I do have one small complaint, and this is simply a result of my voracious love and anal critique of words. I like to be surprised by a word I've never seen before, and when an author inserts a somewhat uncommon word like galvanized or stymied more than twice in a book, be there well over a hundred pages between usages, I notice it and it irks me. But that's just me.

Lastly, the language Paolini created for this saga is perhaps the most impressive fascet. I can see where he derived some of the words from, uh, earthly languages, yet it is wholly a language of its own. It sounds as ancient and powerful as it should, and I am in awe of the feat of anyone inventing a new language. Impressive, indeed.

In conclusion, though it was disappointingly unoriginal in many areas, as I said earlier, it was still a decent book. And we shall see; Eldest may prove itself to be not only good, but great...

Editor's note: This post probably wouldn't have been so confoundedly long if not for a discussion I had with Aunt Bee, who found Eragon to be a most outstanding accomplishment for young Paolini, which I willingly submit it to be, and had trouble understanding my complaints; as I tend to be more concise in writing than spoken dialogue, I decided to blog my frustrations--and delights--with the first installment of The Inheritance Trilogy.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

Creepy Crawly

There is an amusing conspiracy theory I inadvertently stumbled upon at http://kuoi.asui.uidaho.edu/idaho_does_not_exist.html (I have yet to figure out how to post a link without having the URL, but I'm working on it).

A lady from my church recently had an incident occur involving the stuff of nightmares. She lay in bed last Teusday having a disconcerting dream about ants crawling all over her; she awoke to discover hundreds of tiny spiders exploring her bed and feasting on her flesh (ugh, that's more film noir than I meant it to sound). Suffice it to say she was covered with bites the next morning.

Since I went to a (rather jejune) corn maze on Friday, I was thinking about how dangerous the whole scare-them-with-the-chain-saw concept is. Seriously, all it would take is one deleriously frightened child running into the corn in the wrong direction and that fad would be over...while the lawsuits would just be beginning.

On a cheerier note, Christmast season (holiday break, actually) starts, more or less, in 57 days. Of course, the stores are already in holiday merchandise full-swing. But, let it be. I suppose I have already started purchasing gifts or the supplies to make them. And just think, basketball season begins in two weeks! Whoo-hoo. Ugh, I had a nightmarish dream that we had to sprint 50 ladders (or suicides, what have you) the first practice because there is a 'manditory retreat' for the whole school the first week of practices, and we'll need to make up for those missed days, after all. I'm laughing at it now. Hopefully, it's not prophetic. Wouldn't that be memorable? (:

dra·ma·tur·gy (n. the art or technique of dramatic composition and theatrical representation)
drek (n. trash, rubbish)

Saturday, October 08, 2005

It's Official

Forget writing and law and art...I have decided, as of yesterday, what I want to pursue as a career (drum roll, please) neuro-psychology. And I intend to win worldwide respect, fame, applause, and possibly a Nobel Prize when I prove my Theory of Insanity. I would type my Theory here, but someone might attempt to appropriate my genius and gain credit for my brilliant mind.

Saturday's Word: Filch (v. to snatch quickly and surrepticiously; to appropriate furtively or casually)

Friday, October 07, 2005

Quaquaversal; Jejune

kwuh-kwuh-VUR-sal
(adj. sloping downward from the center in all directions)
juh-JOON
(adj. 1. Not interesting; dull.
2. Lacking maturity; childish
3. Lacking in nutrition.)

Bridezilla

If you were considering driving over to your local video store and renting Bride and Predjudice, stop. Right now. Put the keys away, find something else to do. Trusting what I thought was reliable advice from a reasonable source, I watched this--dare I disgrace the realm of film-making by calling it a movie?--modernization of Jane Austen's classic. Talk about a wasted two hours.
The modernization wasn't all that bad. It had potential, beginning in India, with the contrast between that and Western culture. Darcy was the rich American, Lalitha was from the Indian middle class. Plus, there were many British characters. They could have gone deep, made a study of the priorities of different cultures, or stuck with the original didacticity of Austen's book. But, they chose to keep it as shallow as possible, and add music instead of meaning.
Speaking of the music, that was, in my opinion, the breaking point of the movie. The first dance sequence was interesting, decently choreographed with a little culture added. But the rest left me confounded. In an effort to be dramatic (I guess), they ruined the film. For example, when Whickham and Lalitha are walking down the beach while singing ineffective love lyrics, is it really neccessary for over a hundred blue-robed choir members to be in the background singing along? Not to mention the surfer dudes, standing, aligned, in the waves and swaying--with their boards--to the beat? And earlier in the movie, when three of the sisters are experiencing a nice musical number in the streets of India, is there a point to the flabby men wearing halter tops wihle they, uhm, serenade the girls? There too many random, tedious, and badly-written dance sequences.
Add to this uninspired dialogue, mediocre (though well cast) acting, not enough character developement at the beginning, a guitar-wielding Lalitha and an un-accented Darcy, and you have an all-around mockery of film, Jane Austen, and the entire Gem State (sorry, Napoleon overcame me...again). Come to think of it, I think the best part of Bride was listening to the British thespians fake Indian accents. Quite entertaining, indeed.

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"...an artist cannot do anything slovenly."-- Jane Austen

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Anger Management

I was nearly in a wreck this morning. As I was making a right-hand turn onto the busiest street in town, a red truck decided he would change lanes, full speed, without a blinker, in the middle of the interesection. As I was already midway into the turn, there wasn't much I could do; fortunately, he was going just fast enough we avoided a collision. When I changed lanes and fell in beside him, he decided he would make a statement about drivers like me who don't foresee rash, illegal maneuvers by hollering his wrath out his window. It made me see the error of my ways. Really.*sighs* Truck drivers. (Warning: Generalization Ahead) They always have to be in control.
I hate the cold. I'm wearing gloves right now, in fact (no Michael Jackson comments, please). But I love winter--hot chocolate, holidays, basketball season, the hope of spring. Maybe I like it because it's the most idealistic season. Family. Friends. Warm fires, roasting chesnuts. A new year with new possibilites. Or maybe I just like the gifts. ( ;
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The only problem
with Haiku is that you just
get started and then
~Roger McGough

Sunday, October 02, 2005

Carrots

Write it on your calendar, folks, the football team actually mercy-ruled another team, instead of vica-versa, and for Homecoming to boot. I am still in shock, a bit.

I realized how rusty my basketball skills are, with only one month before the season starts, at the bonfire after the game on Friday. My mediocre shooting was the first revelation; when a junior high punk stole the ball as I was dribbling, it really hit home--hard. Although I worked on my skills this summer more than I have in the past, it still wasn't near as much as I could--or should--have. Sure, I have pety excuses to passify my conscience, but the fact is, I was fairly lazy and apathetic through August and September. With one month remaining, I still have time to put some effort out before practices start. October 3 will be the starting line.

"Carrots!" (No, I don't expect you to understand that)