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Mar. 13th, 2003
I bought a copy of Ernest Buckler's The Mountain and the Valley from Maria in the English Lounge today for two dollars. Me being money-poor and credit-dependent, I simply owe her the money, but I have a copy, at last.
Why is this important? Well, for almost as long as I can remember--certainly long before I began my Honours essay, or entered university--I've never read fiction (or poetry) of its own merit, or at least rarely. I've always approached fiction through the medium of academic studies. This doesn't mean, mind, that I've never enjoyed reading fiction (or poetry), or looked forward to text being assigned. It just means that I've never taken the initiative, being rather more interested in taking the initiative in reading factual books--the social sciences, history, literary theory, and points further afield--than fiction.
I don't know why this is the case. Maybe it's a chance configuration in my reading habits. Maybe it's some kind of innate preference for facts and theory ahead of uncertain emotionally-laden judgements. Maybe it's some kind of subconscious fear of litrature.
Anyway, I bought that book because, today, I presented the conclusion of my Honours essay to Dr. MacLaine, and came back with the conclusion that it's good. The text (exclusive of title, contents, and bibliography) will be some 55 to 57 pages in length, and anyone who wants a final draft should E-mail me with their address and ask for a copy and I'll happily give them one. This means, though, that my undergraduate career will come to an end, to be followed by a graduate career (hopefully and I'd like to think probably at Queen's).
In between, though, there will be a gap.
This Tuesday, I had a meeting with my UPEI counsellor at student services. She suggested that in order to feel more emotionally free, I should do activities which require some degree of freedom of movement: dance, aerobics, something. I think that adding reading fiction to the list would be just as good an idea. (Refraining from reading non-fiction might be a good corollary to this; I certainly won't have to worry, if I take a break, from falling tragically behind.)
So, Buckler coming up.
I'm just finishing up my portfolio, getting all of the papers ready for insertion. I'm in the Robertson Library right now, having printed off some cover pages and getting ready to take some more books out.
I did a project, in modern drama, on the Belgian dramatist Maurice Maeterlinck and his play The Intruder, so his works seemed like a good place to start. (His essays Beyond the Great Silence and On Emerson, his plays The Buried Temple and Pelléas and Mélisande, and a mid-1970s critical rreview in French of his work. This should be fun.
Why is this important? Well, for almost as long as I can remember--certainly long before I began my Honours essay, or entered university--I've never read fiction (or poetry) of its own merit, or at least rarely. I've always approached fiction through the medium of academic studies. This doesn't mean, mind, that I've never enjoyed reading fiction (or poetry), or looked forward to text being assigned. It just means that I've never taken the initiative, being rather more interested in taking the initiative in reading factual books--the social sciences, history, literary theory, and points further afield--than fiction.
I don't know why this is the case. Maybe it's a chance configuration in my reading habits. Maybe it's some kind of innate preference for facts and theory ahead of uncertain emotionally-laden judgements. Maybe it's some kind of subconscious fear of litrature.
Anyway, I bought that book because, today, I presented the conclusion of my Honours essay to Dr. MacLaine, and came back with the conclusion that it's good. The text (exclusive of title, contents, and bibliography) will be some 55 to 57 pages in length, and anyone who wants a final draft should E-mail me with their address and ask for a copy and I'll happily give them one. This means, though, that my undergraduate career will come to an end, to be followed by a graduate career (hopefully and I'd like to think probably at Queen's).
In between, though, there will be a gap.
This Tuesday, I had a meeting with my UPEI counsellor at student services. She suggested that in order to feel more emotionally free, I should do activities which require some degree of freedom of movement: dance, aerobics, something. I think that adding reading fiction to the list would be just as good an idea. (Refraining from reading non-fiction might be a good corollary to this; I certainly won't have to worry, if I take a break, from falling tragically behind.)
So, Buckler coming up.
I'm just finishing up my portfolio, getting all of the papers ready for insertion. I'm in the Robertson Library right now, having printed off some cover pages and getting ready to take some more books out.
I did a project, in modern drama, on the Belgian dramatist Maurice Maeterlinck and his play The Intruder, so his works seemed like a good place to start. (His essays Beyond the Great Silence and On Emerson, his plays The Buried Temple and Pelléas and Mélisande, and a mid-1970s critical rreview in French of his work. This should be fun.
Quiz Time!
Mar. 13th, 2003 06:26 pm
Business minded and a natural leader, you are a canidate to be embraced by the Ventrue clan. You can be rather dominant with a high stamina however, you tend to have obsessive compulsive tendencies...especially when it comes to your food. You are the clan the others look to organize groups and factions. Generally princes are among this clan.
What Vampire Clan Do You Belong To?
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oronoda
And, TheSpark's Death Test:
I can expect to die on:
June 19, 2060
at the age of 80 years old.
On that date you will most likely die from: 
Cancer (37%)Heart Attack (12%)Alcoholism (11%)Third Degree Burns (6%)Contagious Disease (6%)Alien Abduction (6%)
The Head Heeb pointed me (and the rest of his growing readership) to a brilliant takedown by The Talking Dog of the insufferable, incorrect, and boring Steven Den Beste's
I was pointed to this rather disgusting story by CalPundit. It's interesting that Glenn Reynolds of Instapundit fame said ion his MSNBC column that:
I share in CalPundit's concern that "this silliness is rather quickly morphing into being both destructive and self-defeating." Renaming French fries "freedom fries" was bad enough. Now, after desecrating the graves of tens of thousands of soldiers who presumably didn't die so that the United States under an ambitious President could make Europe from the Atlantic to the Urals a vassal continent, can we do something utterly ridiculous like, oh, renaming French kisses "freedom kisses"?
Oh, I forgot; non-reproductive sex is a sign of European decadence and effeminacy. True American patriots only fuck in missionary position with people of the opposite sex to produce as many children as possible. Silly me.
You know, if the fucking loons currently in power in Washington D.C. remain in power, we'll be lucky if the United States has any allies left by decade's end. After all, if Dubya, who was elected in part on the basis of outreach to the Hispanic population fo the United States (including the Mexican-American population of his home state of Texas), and new foreign policy initiatives directed towards integrating the United States and Latin America, thinks that threatening Mexico and possibly Mexican-Americans with dire retribution if Mexico doesn't vote the way Dubya wants, there's really no hope for American alliances anywhere. Which is a terrible pity.
France, though mortally irritating, isn’t really our mortal enemy, it just feels that way sometimes. And in a long-term relationship, nondestructive ways of signalling more-than-typical annoyance have a lot of value. I still think that the French don’t appreciate just how much long-term harm they’re doing to relations with the United States. If something like this helps to get the message across, without being destructive or self-defeating like trade sanctions, it’s not such a bad idea. Even if it does seem kind of silly at first glance.
I share in CalPundit's concern that "this silliness is rather quickly morphing into being both destructive and self-defeating." Renaming French fries "freedom fries" was bad enough. Now, after desecrating the graves of tens of thousands of soldiers who presumably didn't die so that the United States under an ambitious President could make Europe from the Atlantic to the Urals a vassal continent, can we do something utterly ridiculous like, oh, renaming French kisses "freedom kisses"?
Oh, I forgot; non-reproductive sex is a sign of European decadence and effeminacy. True American patriots only fuck in missionary position with people of the opposite sex to produce as many children as possible. Silly me.
You know, if the fucking loons currently in power in Washington D.C. remain in power, we'll be lucky if the United States has any allies left by decade's end. After all, if Dubya, who was elected in part on the basis of outreach to the Hispanic population fo the United States (including the Mexican-American population of his home state of Texas), and new foreign policy initiatives directed towards integrating the United States and Latin America, thinks that threatening Mexico and possibly Mexican-Americans with dire retribution if Mexico doesn't vote the way Dubya wants, there's really no hope for American alliances anywhere. Which is a terrible pity.
I found this gem of an article--originally published in the New York Post--on Free Republic, well-known as a website where right-wing wackos of all kinds can post whatever articles they want, either to praise uncritically or condemn harshly.
I'll begin my admitting my prejudices: I quite like Ralph Peters. His novel War in 2020, while possessing all of the flaws of military technothrillers, did when I bought it a decade ago and still does now strike me as a well-written example of the genre. His Red Army, a book that is now an alternate history scenario given that it focuses upon a successful Soviet invasion of West Germany sometime in the late 1980s, also interested me, as did his subtle and entertaining Flames of Heaven. I enjoyed his geopolitical scenarios, thought highly of his writing, and generally respected the gentleman.
Unfortunately, as we say on soc.history.what-if, of late Ralph Peters has been struck by the geopolitician's version of the brain-eater disease. "Crocodile Tears" is a case in point.
***
CROCODILE TEARS
By RALPH PETERS
March 10, 2003 --
You know, if not for the last eight words in this sentence, Peters' introduction would have been a perfectly serviceable if somewhat boilerplate introduction to Robben Island.
( Read more... )
I'll begin my admitting my prejudices: I quite like Ralph Peters. His novel War in 2020, while possessing all of the flaws of military technothrillers, did when I bought it a decade ago and still does now strike me as a well-written example of the genre. His Red Army, a book that is now an alternate history scenario given that it focuses upon a successful Soviet invasion of West Germany sometime in the late 1980s, also interested me, as did his subtle and entertaining Flames of Heaven. I enjoyed his geopolitical scenarios, thought highly of his writing, and generally respected the gentleman.
Unfortunately, as we say on soc.history.what-if, of late Ralph Peters has been struck by the geopolitician's version of the brain-eater disease. "Crocodile Tears" is a case in point.
***
CROCODILE TEARS
By RALPH PETERS
March 10, 2003 --
I spent last month in Africa, pausing for a respectful visit to Robben Island, the former prison that confined Nelson Mandela for two decades. It was a physically beautiful setting spoiled by humankind's past intolerance and by the crocodile tears of European tourists.
You know, if not for the last eight words in this sentence, Peters' introduction would have been a perfectly serviceable if somewhat boilerplate introduction to Robben Island.
( Read more... )