Anyone who enjoyed this should check out Eating The Document.
Good stuff.
Hiatus
9 months ago
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Guys, I'm Totally Blogging About This Later...
I am a blogger. At least, I tried to blog.
I have admitted several times in the past that this class was not my first blogging experience. Generally, blogging requires that one have a massive ego and that one be so opinionated that it makes normal socialization impossible. As such, I had a feeling that blogging was something I would be quite good at. Like most middle school and high school students, I had a Xanga profile and a Livejournal profile, but I was never able to click with those. Most of the posts made on there were very personal-too personal to even consider posting on the Internet-and it led me to the conclusion that no one really wanted to know about what was going on in my life.
(It did not help that my friends all used these sites as well, and their lives were somehow even more boring and pointless than mine was at that point.)
My first real blog, “Eating the Document,” was intended to be a summation of my very intense (and usually negative) opinions on a topic near and dear to my heart: popular music. It seems that people had become bored with my rants about music after an offhand comment I made about Nirvana was taken to be a personal affront to someone’s livelihood. While I took note that it wouldn’t be the best idea to offend everyone I met with opinionated bile about things that are, admittedly, severely overvalued, I liked the idea that my opinions could have such a strong effect on people. What I especially enjoyed about Eating the Document, though, was the vastness of the blogosphere of which I was a part: previously, on the other two blog sites I have mentioned, my responsive audience was only my friends and slight acquaintances. With Eating the Document, I now had a much larger audience, and only a handful of them-if any at all-knew who I was.
With this assignment, I went back to complaining and whining to a core group of people who knew who I was and who were shocked that I had nothing better to do than post things on the internet. Fortunately, we were all forced to be hopeless shut-ins, so we were free to develop our own personalities that became apparent in the blogs as the semester passed. Ultimately, that is what these blogs were: they were extensions of our personalities, yet they were not really us. Speaking from my own experience, the way I would be perceived based on my posts was always somewhere in my mind. I could say anything I wanted in class, but I’d have to own up to whatever I said in class on that Wednesday.
Blogging is a very therapeutic experience in general; a friend of mine started a blog on Black Friday solely for the purpose of complaining about the shoppers she had to deal with. However, the blog becomes a shaped image of us, one that we create and mold according to our needs and desires. It serves to complicate our lives; then again, nobody’s life is ever really simple, is it?
I have admitted several times in the past that this class was not my first blogging experience. Generally, blogging requires that one have a massive ego and that one be so opinionated that it makes normal socialization impossible. As such, I had a feeling that blogging was something I would be quite good at. Like most middle school and high school students, I had a Xanga profile and a Livejournal profile, but I was never able to click with those. Most of the posts made on there were very personal-too personal to even consider posting on the Internet-and it led me to the conclusion that no one really wanted to know about what was going on in my life.
(It did not help that my friends all used these sites as well, and their lives were somehow even more boring and pointless than mine was at that point.)
My first real blog, “Eating the Document,” was intended to be a summation of my very intense (and usually negative) opinions on a topic near and dear to my heart: popular music. It seems that people had become bored with my rants about music after an offhand comment I made about Nirvana was taken to be a personal affront to someone’s livelihood. While I took note that it wouldn’t be the best idea to offend everyone I met with opinionated bile about things that are, admittedly, severely overvalued, I liked the idea that my opinions could have such a strong effect on people. What I especially enjoyed about Eating the Document, though, was the vastness of the blogosphere of which I was a part: previously, on the other two blog sites I have mentioned, my responsive audience was only my friends and slight acquaintances. With Eating the Document, I now had a much larger audience, and only a handful of them-if any at all-knew who I was.
With this assignment, I went back to complaining and whining to a core group of people who knew who I was and who were shocked that I had nothing better to do than post things on the internet. Fortunately, we were all forced to be hopeless shut-ins, so we were free to develop our own personalities that became apparent in the blogs as the semester passed. Ultimately, that is what these blogs were: they were extensions of our personalities, yet they were not really us. Speaking from my own experience, the way I would be perceived based on my posts was always somewhere in my mind. I could say anything I wanted in class, but I’d have to own up to whatever I said in class on that Wednesday.
Blogging is a very therapeutic experience in general; a friend of mine started a blog on Black Friday solely for the purpose of complaining about the shoppers she had to deal with. However, the blog becomes a shaped image of us, one that we create and mold according to our needs and desires. It serves to complicate our lives; then again, nobody’s life is ever really simple, is it?
Thursday, November 27, 2008
The Things I Am Thankful For.
-Sweet potatoes basted in maple syrup, arguably the best food invention of the past 200 years.
-Having lived to witness the apocalypse.
-Living in an age in which I can manipulate information to suit my incredibly childish sense of humor.
-Having a forum on which I can expose the world to my incredibly childish sense of humor.
-Having a forum on which I can listen to some kick-ass tunes.
-Having a place at my disposal in which any slice of information counts, no matter how trivial or unimportant it may seem.
I have a semi-abusive relationship with the internet, which is why I am especially thankful for the real world.
(No, not this. Shame on you for even thinking that.)
-Having lived to witness the apocalypse.
-Living in an age in which I can manipulate information to suit my incredibly childish sense of humor.
-Having a forum on which I can expose the world to my incredibly childish sense of humor.
-Having a forum on which I can listen to some kick-ass tunes.
-Having a place at my disposal in which any slice of information counts, no matter how trivial or unimportant it may seem.
I have a semi-abusive relationship with the internet, which is why I am especially thankful for the real world.
(No, not this. Shame on you for even thinking that.)
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
HOUSE
I keep thinking about the darkened hallways in The Navidson Record, and their mysterious nature. Even though the intent of this picture is solely for humor, it's a decent visual representation of what the house could be like and, by association, what the story is. It seems to confound for the sake of confounding, yet the confusion isn't pointless. Again, I feel that the author is pushing the boundaries of language within literature and how language is used; I think he is challenging us to read in a way that is different than what we are used to. In that sense, he has divided by zero.
When A House Is Not A House...
Nothing is ever what it seems in a book. If Phillip Roth wrote about a can of soda, people will find a way to interpret it as a symbol for something greater. Literal connections don't ever seem to exist for an English class. Regardless of how this writer feels about this, there is no goddamn way that this house is just a house. How can it be, in a book in which the footnotes can't be considered reliable sources of information?
As was mentioned on a previous post, the house seems like a metaphor for art in the 21st century. In considering this, one can consider Harold Bloom's Western Canon, easily the worst thing ever to happen to literature in any time period. Art should be something that ultimately defines its time and goes beyond it to touch on some all-encompassing theme that lasts beyond any point in history. Defining what is art and claiming that those definitions are permanent still ties them down to a particular point in time. Consider that, at one point, Alfred Tennyson was absolutely reviled by writers and literary critics alike for the second half of the 19th century. Even today, I hear professors speak with disdain about certain novels. (The Old Man and The Sea comes to mind...)
In this century, though, the house expands; literature changes and is added on to with each passing second. Sometimes, it can be a very bad idea, a sign of an author's self-indulgence or a writer's lack of original ideas. Either way, though, it reinforces the fact that literature is not something entirely permanent, something that is tied to a particular place or time. It just keeps expanding, regardless of the roof that Bloom puts on it.
As was mentioned on a previous post, the house seems like a metaphor for art in the 21st century. In considering this, one can consider Harold Bloom's Western Canon, easily the worst thing ever to happen to literature in any time period. Art should be something that ultimately defines its time and goes beyond it to touch on some all-encompassing theme that lasts beyond any point in history. Defining what is art and claiming that those definitions are permanent still ties them down to a particular point in time. Consider that, at one point, Alfred Tennyson was absolutely reviled by writers and literary critics alike for the second half of the 19th century. Even today, I hear professors speak with disdain about certain novels. (The Old Man and The Sea comes to mind...)
In this century, though, the house expands; literature changes and is added on to with each passing second. Sometimes, it can be a very bad idea, a sign of an author's self-indulgence or a writer's lack of original ideas. Either way, though, it reinforces the fact that literature is not something entirely permanent, something that is tied to a particular place or time. It just keeps expanding, regardless of the roof that Bloom puts on it.
CHARACTER SKETCH
"That very photograph [of his moment of paralysis] hangs on Reston's office wall. It captures the mixture of fear and disbelief on Reston's face as he suddenly finds himself running for his life. One moment he was casually scanning the yard, and in the next he is about to die. His stride is stretched, back toes trying to push him out of the way. But he is too late"-p. 38
"...Billy Reston made several trips to the house where despite all efforts to the contrary, he continued to confirm the confounding impossibility of an interior dimension greater than an exterior one...since the area in question is the master bedroom, Reston must make his way upstairs each time he wishes to inspect the area."-p. 55
"The obvious choice would have been to structure the segment around Holloway's journey but clearly nothing about Navidson is obvious. He keeps his camera trained on Billy who now serves as the expedition's base commander."-p. 97
Bill Reston carries the characteristics of a formerly active alpha male who feels the need to compensate for a disability that was out of his controls. The scene on page 97 is an obvious example of this; since Reston cannot investigate the situation himself, he has to make himself the center of attention. Take the scene on page 555, as well; he seems very gung-ho about leaping into a situation about which he knows little, handicap be damned. The photograph of his paralysis would exist for some as evidence of his shortcoming, but Reston uses it as a badge of honor. He carries it around and shows it to Tom, just to make sure that Tom knows how awesome he is, even though he's in a wheelchair. Essentially, Reston is someone who feels he has to assert himself, which can only imply that he feels very empty about certain aspects of his life.
"...Billy Reston made several trips to the house where despite all efforts to the contrary, he continued to confirm the confounding impossibility of an interior dimension greater than an exterior one...since the area in question is the master bedroom, Reston must make his way upstairs each time he wishes to inspect the area."-p. 55
"The obvious choice would have been to structure the segment around Holloway's journey but clearly nothing about Navidson is obvious. He keeps his camera trained on Billy who now serves as the expedition's base commander."-p. 97
Bill Reston carries the characteristics of a formerly active alpha male who feels the need to compensate for a disability that was out of his controls. The scene on page 97 is an obvious example of this; since Reston cannot investigate the situation himself, he has to make himself the center of attention. Take the scene on page 555, as well; he seems very gung-ho about leaping into a situation about which he knows little, handicap be damned. The photograph of his paralysis would exist for some as evidence of his shortcoming, but Reston uses it as a badge of honor. He carries it around and shows it to Tom, just to make sure that Tom knows how awesome he is, even though he's in a wheelchair. Essentially, Reston is someone who feels he has to assert himself, which can only imply that he feels very empty about certain aspects of his life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)