A lot has happened in this past month.  Some were great things (yay for family visits, promotions, and ladder climbing in a job I actually love!), but many more were not-so-great things, and while I’ll probably write a post about losing Hamlet, I can’t yet.  It’s not for lack of trying, it’s just that once I start writing, my computer screen blurs and takes on this awkward watery vibe, and I have to stop because if I continue it only gets worse.  I’ll see about getting that fixed. 

In the mean time, I’ve found some things that have brought some joy to my world over these past few weeks, and I hope they bring as much joy to you.

• Stuff No One Told Me (but I learned anyway):

Stuff no One Told Me (but I learned anyway)

• I Am Your Canadian Boyfriend:

• Cassie Boorn’s 20-Something Self Letters:

This one has no fun image to go along with it, but it sure did capture my attention when I found it through a downward spiral of link-clicking.  Back on May 22, 2010, Cassie put a call out to women to share their wisdom with other young women.  The concept is for you to write a letter to your 20-year-old self.  It can be advice, warning, inspiration, whatever… but one thing I’ve found in reading each of the ones submitted is that they are always interesting and always touching.  I have been thinking of composing my own and sending it over.  Maybe you should too. 

Random note:

I miss writing fiction. A lot. The characters have gone quiet on the stage, and they’re growing weary from the wait.  I must remedy that soon.

… What is “A place you don’t want to find yourself at night, Alex?”….

Here’s what I remember…

• Scraggly, old, skinny, sunburned monk leading me through
• A shadow-filled Gothic cathedral lit by tea-light 20’s spotlights and candles with mazes of side corridors and staircases lit by torches
• A baptismal font being used as a water fountain and waterfall for  a potted plant that was pampered because it had “consciousness”
• A stage within the cathedral adorned and built as though it were renovated to be used as a performance hall or vaudeville stage
• Balconies full of eager performers all dressed more or less from the 20s and 30s. (This is where it all turned very strangely Noir-ish)
• Two exaggerated caricature hosts/judges of an audition for a musical performance TV show or movie. They were picking audience members at random (Let’s Make A Deal style) to perform complex choreography and musical numbers on the spot, without preparation (causing quite a bit of anxiety).  Failures were met with Hulk sized bodyguards ushering them to the stage where they were beaten and tortured for the audience’s pleasure (and there were plenty of cheers and applause)
• An abusive “agent/boyfriend” of one performer in a Sam Spade hat and trench coat, and a seer sucker suit smoking and spinning a gun
• A performer in a red and black sequined costume with short black bobbed hair who was threatened by the boyfriend to be perfect when she was selected by the hosts to sing a solo
• A surreal moment of realization that the female performer couldn’t sing “the Cell Block Tango” because I hadn’t submitted permissions requests to use it in a dream sequence, and I hadn’t checked my budget for the dream to estimate copyright costs
• A Tarantino-style murder of the Abusive agent/boyfriend by the female performer (who was singing one line from the Chicago tune over and over — “He had it comin’…” (that’s all she could sing before I would have to pay to use the song)
• a Very graphic, bloody, and sound-rich pistol whipping of the boyfriend in the balcony by the female performer.  Blood splattered on the camera lens as it focused in on a shot of his wide brimmed hat splashed with blood
• Applause sign blinking, with three letters partially burned out
• All of this occurred as a musical with running music and every word sung Broadway style.

See what it’s like in my head when I’m asleep?  I usually have pretty lucid dreams, but this was just… bizarre.  I have a lot on my mind, so I’m not surprised that my dreams are becoming more and more …. odd.

I’m woefully behind on updates here, too.  I’ve been incredibly busy, and I have a number of things that I am aiming to post, and hopefully I’ll get to them this week, or this weekend.  If not, I’ll just pick up as usual and go from there. 

Here’s to hoping I can carve out some time!

Last Friday on Salon.com, Jeanette Domain shared her experience sifting through the amateur reviewer comments (I’m hesitant to call them “reviews” as most don’t follow any professionally accepted format) on Amazon.com for various classic works of literature.  To Kill a Mockingbird was considered a blatant stereotype, Jane Eyre was boring readers to death with description, 1984 was summarily dismissed as soon as Winston began having a relationship,  Where the Wild Things Are was too violent and promoted bad behavior in children, and even the Bible was lampooned by one reader (though I’m comfortable believing that review was intended to be read as a joke, regardless of how I feel about the work).  Each was subject to harsh, one star ratings and reviews by everyday readers.

This brought to mind an incident I wrote about a few years ago (”What if Poe were in your Creative Writing Class?” 4/9/07), where Joshua Bell stood in plain clothes, a DC metro station playing on a Stradivarius for 43 minutes, only to be routinely ignored.

The question still stands.  What constitutes a masterpiece, or classic work of art, be it musical, visual, or written?  Is it the consensus of the masses?  If so, then how was it that Bell only made a whopping $32 and change?  Shouldn’t everyone listening to one of the world’s greatest violinist play classical music stop and be awe struck?  If the masses didn’t recognize it, then how can it be a genius work, or how can the violinist be a virtuoso?  Who decides what’s worthy?

My question is the same for literature.  I’m not going to pretend that Shakespeare is the be-all-end-all of literary masters, but I appreciate his work.  I could make an argument for you that his popularity is a direct result of the machinations of the crown and custom.  Even today using knowledge of his works as an intellectual status symbol is a direct result of those initial pushes of his work. 

How many of you read Romeo and Juliet at some point through your Pre-college schooling?  The Scarlet Letter?  How about Antigone, or A Tale of Two Cities?  Why should you have been forced to read those particular works?  You were told they were all classics and masterpieces, and that they had heavy impact on society or literature.  Does that mean if you don’t like them, you’re a philistine?

I can admit, I hate Lord of the Flies.  I think the writing is atrocious, the story is bland, and I can’t be bothered to even reread it a second time.  When I mention this in public I get a very strange response.  For the most part, outside of academia or a group of literary enthusiasts, I receive an expression of shock and horror.  Inside the walls of academia, I get nods of agreement, or a lively debate to illustrate my point. 

So I’m curious.  What classic work  do you dislike that has been thrust in your face as a masterpiece (Consider music, literature, art, or dance — I hate modern dance too, for the most part.  Sorry.).  And are you embarrassed to admit it in social circles?