I like For Whom the Bell Tolls.
I really like it.
I'm on page 146 and going strong.
Expect the tsunamis and fireballs to arrive any day now.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
Dear Old Hemingway
I'm giving dear old Hemingway another chance.
I had an unfortunate incident with The Sun Also Rises in 11th grade (I've mentioned this before). The unfortunate incident was that I hated the book. To this day, when I think Sun Also Rises, I think man lying on his bed in a dark, European apartment whining about his 'war injury' (I didn't catch what the 'injury' was until my English teacher explained it to the class. Thanks, Mrs. Nelson).
And then, last winter, Hemingway's Snows of Kilimanjaro managed to edge out Fitzgerald's Winter Dreams in my American Lit. class.
Despite my professor calling Ernest a "crazy genius bastard," I was not amused.
However, being the noble, selfless, forgiving person that I am (translation: he's on my list of authors I need to read), I'm giving dear old Hemingway another chance.
I'm reading For Whom the Bell Tolls.
It's a war novel.
Oh my.
P.S. On a lighter note, I'm thinking of reviving the Expatriate's Club in Paris. Anyone interested?
P.S.Again. I just realized that Hemingway would probably absolutely hate the fact that I refer to him three times as "dear old Hemingway." Not very masculine, is it?
I had an unfortunate incident with The Sun Also Rises in 11th grade (I've mentioned this before). The unfortunate incident was that I hated the book. To this day, when I think Sun Also Rises, I think man lying on his bed in a dark, European apartment whining about his 'war injury' (I didn't catch what the 'injury' was until my English teacher explained it to the class. Thanks, Mrs. Nelson).
And then, last winter, Hemingway's Snows of Kilimanjaro managed to edge out Fitzgerald's Winter Dreams in my American Lit. class.
Despite my professor calling Ernest a "crazy genius bastard," I was not amused.
However, being the noble, selfless, forgiving person that I am (translation: he's on my list of authors I need to read), I'm giving dear old Hemingway another chance.
I'm reading For Whom the Bell Tolls.
It's a war novel.
Oh my.
P.S. On a lighter note, I'm thinking of reviving the Expatriate's Club in Paris. Anyone interested?
P.S.Again. I just realized that Hemingway would probably absolutely hate the fact that I refer to him three times as "dear old Hemingway." Not very masculine, is it?
Thursday, June 23, 2011
In Which A Trip to Half Price Books Straightens Me Out
Did anyone ever tell you that studying abroad involves a lot of paperwork? No one ever told me.
But paperwork has been my game these past few days. Visa application, financial aid schtuff, hideous passport pictures, etc.
I was coming out of the bank this afternoon after getting a signature notarized (not as exciting as I thought it would be), when all of the sudden my visa application blew out of my hands and across the parking lot. As it twirled towards the highway, and as I ran after it, all I was thinking was "if this darn thing blows into speeding traffic, you had better believe I'm going after it." Luckily, it didn't, so I didn't have to. But I would have.
I'm almost done with everything, though, and then all I'll have to worry about will be brushing up on my German and shopping for Europe-worthy clothes (you know: scarves, sweaters, more scarves, lederhosen. That type of thing).
In other news, I've been in a bit of a book funk ever since school ended; I've been starting books and not finishing them. I hate this funk. I hate not being able to write up finished books in my Read-a-Thon notebook. I hate puttering around listlessly in front of my bookshelf. I hate watching TV in desperation (although Billy Elliot was on the other night. Good movie).
Thankfully, a recent trip to the library, and a more recent trip to Half Price Books seem to have straightened me out.
Here are my HPB finds:
1. As I Lay Dying (with a sweet inscription to Kristi on the inside cover)-$3.00
2. My Antonia-$1.00
3. This Way for the Gas, Ladies and Gentlemen (because how could I pass up a collection of concentration camp stories collected under a title like that?)-$6.98
4. The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (I've wanted it ever since I read The Bell Jar last winter)-$9.98
5. Lolita (Am I going to actually read a Russian novel at last? Does this count as a Russian novel seeing as Nabokov didn't actually live in Russia for most of his life?)-$6.98
Feeling that my literary-fueled life has purpose again-priceless.
But paperwork has been my game these past few days. Visa application, financial aid schtuff, hideous passport pictures, etc.
I was coming out of the bank this afternoon after getting a signature notarized (not as exciting as I thought it would be), when all of the sudden my visa application blew out of my hands and across the parking lot. As it twirled towards the highway, and as I ran after it, all I was thinking was "if this darn thing blows into speeding traffic, you had better believe I'm going after it." Luckily, it didn't, so I didn't have to. But I would have.
I'm almost done with everything, though, and then all I'll have to worry about will be brushing up on my German and shopping for Europe-worthy clothes (you know: scarves, sweaters, more scarves, lederhosen. That type of thing).
In other news, I've been in a bit of a book funk ever since school ended; I've been starting books and not finishing them. I hate this funk. I hate not being able to write up finished books in my Read-a-Thon notebook. I hate puttering around listlessly in front of my bookshelf. I hate watching TV in desperation (although Billy Elliot was on the other night. Good movie).
Thankfully, a recent trip to the library, and a more recent trip to Half Price Books seem to have straightened me out.
Here are my HPB finds:
1. As I Lay Dying (with a sweet inscription to Kristi on the inside cover)-$3.00
2. My Antonia-$1.00
3. This Way for the Gas, Ladies and Gentlemen (because how could I pass up a collection of concentration camp stories collected under a title like that?)-$6.98
4. The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (I've wanted it ever since I read The Bell Jar last winter)-$9.98
5. Lolita (Am I going to actually read a Russian novel at last? Does this count as a Russian novel seeing as Nabokov didn't actually live in Russia for most of his life?)-$6.98
Feeling that my literary-fueled life has purpose again-priceless.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Saturday, June 18, 2011
In Which I Do the Unprecedented
I made the Dean's List. I finally, finally made that darn Dean's List. It took 4 semesters.
But I don't talk about that.
The point is that I have a big, pompous, maroon and gold certificate, and that I'm going to hang it up somewhere like I used to do with spelling awards when I was little.
In other news, last night I got to attend a production of "Little Shop of Horrors." As a member of the Press. I went by myself, even though they had reserved two tickets for me; I wanted it to just be me the first time. To drink it all in and all (and all). Well, I ended up wishing I had brought someone, because I was probably the only person under 65 at the show. This was okay most of the time, except when the old man behind me would stage whisper things. Like "watch out!" and "would you look at how low her top is?" (at least he didn't yell Macbeth, although I bet he was thinking about it. He really didn't like that Seymour was murdering people: "Unethical young folks! Who do they think they are?"
I brought a notebook along to jot things down in, and most of my notes ended up being about the audience. Here are some direct quotes: (please note: I don't understand/remember what some of these mean. I wrote them last night. Should I be worried?)
-"Back in the meat locker!"
-Evidently the Errol Flynn mustache is coming back
-They brought blankets (Okay. This one's about the 65+ers.)
I'm going to be hard pressed to keep this review focused on the play.
But I don't talk about that.
The point is that I have a big, pompous, maroon and gold certificate, and that I'm going to hang it up somewhere like I used to do with spelling awards when I was little.
In other news, last night I got to attend a production of "Little Shop of Horrors." As a member of the Press. I went by myself, even though they had reserved two tickets for me; I wanted it to just be me the first time. To drink it all in and all (and all). Well, I ended up wishing I had brought someone, because I was probably the only person under 65 at the show. This was okay most of the time, except when the old man behind me would stage whisper things. Like "watch out!" and "would you look at how low her top is?" (at least he didn't yell Macbeth, although I bet he was thinking about it. He really didn't like that Seymour was murdering people: "Unethical young folks! Who do they think they are?"
I brought a notebook along to jot things down in, and most of my notes ended up being about the audience. Here are some direct quotes: (please note: I don't understand/remember what some of these mean. I wrote them last night. Should I be worried?)
-"Back in the meat locker!"
-Evidently the Errol Flynn mustache is coming back
-They brought blankets (Okay. This one's about the 65+ers.)
I'm going to be hard pressed to keep this review focused on the play.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
An Interesting Scene
I couldn't find the hand weights. So I did my workout using a bottle of ketchup and a bottle of Canada Dry.
And then I had fries and a gin and tonic.
And then I had fries and a gin and tonic.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
A Few Things
A few things:
1. Boy, am I clunky when I'm tired. I must have bashed my hip against a dozen different things today at work. Aforementioned tiredness stemmed from all of our smoke alarms going off at 3:38 a.m. this morning. For no apparent reason. And then, despite there being no apparent reason (Mom and I scoured the house), I couldn't get back to sleep. I kept thinking I smelled smoke, and then I had to mentally run through my fire escape route (I'm going traditional: out the window). And THEN I had to figure out which items I would save from my room in case of a fire****. Poetry book from my grandpa, my journal, and my laptop. If I really have lots of time, I would probably go for my 'writing' drawer as well.
2. My Mom just got a Facebook. My Mom just got a Facebook and friend requested me. I must be some sort of demon child, because I'm actually thinking about whether or not I should accept. It's not like I ever put anything really private or really crazy on FB that I wouldn't want my mother to see, it's just that FB is my thing. It's a young adult thing. It's uncharted parent-kid territory. And I don't know if I want to go there.
3. I mowed the lawn for the very first time today. I've wanted to try it for years and years, but since we have a ride mower, and since our yard is hilly and perilous, the job was always better left up to Dad. However, since the lake is down so many feet, and since the grass down there (where water used to be) is fluorishing, I decided to drag the push mower down and have at it. Mowing was actually kind of fun. In fact, the only downside was that my arms started to ache after awhile because the handle (?) was way too low. Another downside would be the dead fish. Another downside would be accidently running over a dead fish and having its half-rotted skin shoot out from under the mower and hit your bare leg. Another downside would be that when you screamed, you forgot that screams echo across lakes. Another downside would be that a fisherman in a boat far away heard you and looked up at you with annoyance and then shook his head. Another downside would be that you haven't read The Old Man and the Sea, so you can't even make a brilliant allusion here. Other than those things, though, mowing was good.
4. We are finally finally finally going to see Water for Elephants. I'm even behaving and refraining from reading reviews ahead of time. When I read reviews ahead of time, I tend to get really cynical about movies. This annoys my darling sister, who likes to give even the worst films some credit. So I'm staying away from IMDB. For now.
****Note: This is assuming that all family members/pets/pets who are family members are already safely out of the house.
1. Boy, am I clunky when I'm tired. I must have bashed my hip against a dozen different things today at work. Aforementioned tiredness stemmed from all of our smoke alarms going off at 3:38 a.m. this morning. For no apparent reason. And then, despite there being no apparent reason (Mom and I scoured the house), I couldn't get back to sleep. I kept thinking I smelled smoke, and then I had to mentally run through my fire escape route (I'm going traditional: out the window). And THEN I had to figure out which items I would save from my room in case of a fire****. Poetry book from my grandpa, my journal, and my laptop. If I really have lots of time, I would probably go for my 'writing' drawer as well.
2. My Mom just got a Facebook. My Mom just got a Facebook and friend requested me. I must be some sort of demon child, because I'm actually thinking about whether or not I should accept. It's not like I ever put anything really private or really crazy on FB that I wouldn't want my mother to see, it's just that FB is my thing. It's a young adult thing. It's uncharted parent-kid territory. And I don't know if I want to go there.
3. I mowed the lawn for the very first time today. I've wanted to try it for years and years, but since we have a ride mower, and since our yard is hilly and perilous, the job was always better left up to Dad. However, since the lake is down so many feet, and since the grass down there (where water used to be) is fluorishing, I decided to drag the push mower down and have at it. Mowing was actually kind of fun. In fact, the only downside was that my arms started to ache after awhile because the handle (?) was way too low. Another downside would be the dead fish. Another downside would be accidently running over a dead fish and having its half-rotted skin shoot out from under the mower and hit your bare leg. Another downside would be that when you screamed, you forgot that screams echo across lakes. Another downside would be that a fisherman in a boat far away heard you and looked up at you with annoyance and then shook his head. Another downside would be that you haven't read The Old Man and the Sea, so you can't even make a brilliant allusion here. Other than those things, though, mowing was good.
4. We are finally finally finally going to see Water for Elephants. I'm even behaving and refraining from reading reviews ahead of time. When I read reviews ahead of time, I tend to get really cynical about movies. This annoys my darling sister, who likes to give even the worst films some credit. So I'm staying away from IMDB. For now.
****Note: This is assuming that all family members/pets/pets who are family members are already safely out of the house.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Lay Mizz
Some midnight thoughts from page 48 of Les Miserables:
1. How does one put the slash above the e?
2. This book is messing with my summer reading. I am officially 11 books behind last year's count.
3. Do I really have to look up these French Revolution references? I don't wanna.
4. Is it legal for me to read another book on the side? Will said side read cause me to put away Les Mis, possible forever?
(yes)
5. How in the world is this the abridged edition? It's 800+ pages long! Pleasehigherpowersdon'tsmitemeforreadingabridgedIswearIdidn'tknowwhenIboughtit.
6. So far, when people have asked me what I'm reading, I've said, "Les Mis" (pronounced Lay Mizz). This abbreviation stems from my lack of confidence in my French pronunciation. I hope no one's on to me.
Goodnight from page 49.
1. How does one put the slash above the e?
2. This book is messing with my summer reading. I am officially 11 books behind last year's count.
3. Do I really have to look up these French Revolution references? I don't wanna.
4. Is it legal for me to read another book on the side? Will said side read cause me to put away Les Mis, possible forever?
(yes)
5. How in the world is this the abridged edition? It's 800+ pages long! Pleasehigherpowersdon'tsmitemeforreadingabridgedIswearIdidn'tknowwhenIboughtit.
6. So far, when people have asked me what I'm reading, I've said, "Les Mis" (pronounced Lay Mizz). This abbreviation stems from my lack of confidence in my French pronunciation. I hope no one's on to me.
Goodnight from page 49.
Non-Morose Activities
I guess my last few posts have been kind of morose. But I'm not morose anymore, I swear!
To prove it, here are some non-morose activities I've engaged in this weekend:
1. Shopping at MOA with my mother and sister. Now, don't get the wrong impression. I hate shopping for clothes. I do. But I like clothes, and I really needed them. So off we went. And it turned out pretty well. My sister is a master bargain shopper, so we had fun digging through racks of 50% off in Gap and Banana Republic and other stores that I would probably never pay full price in because Good Lord I don't want to end up destitute in the middle of Europe this Fall.
2. Graduation parties. I attended 3 total this weekend, and they were all really great. It's always a little awkward to do the mingling-small-talk thing, but I think that's unavoidable at any party.
3. Lock-in with 50+ sugared-up, sleep-deprived 1st-8th graders. My darling mother (a teacher at the school where the lock-in was held) volunteered to take charge of the gym activities. Amy and I went along to help and ended up playing Medic*** for 3+ hours. It was a lot of fun, but it was also a bit of a shock for me because
a) holy cow I've been sore for the past three days
and
b) when did kids get so mean? I love kids, but I don't love them so much when they're screaming at each other (and me) about who should be the medic, and who is too terrible at life and at all things athletic to be medic. Amy, who is the most even-tempered person I know, spent half the night whipping balls at this one 5th grader who was being an absolute jerk. He was throwing balls back at her, but man, Amy has an arm, and what's more, she was MAD. Forgive me, but it was fun to watch.
4. Work. Always, always work. I still love working at Target, but sometimes I feel like I come off as kind of a bonehead because I always have to ask questions and I always have these embarrassing space cadet moments (mostly stemming, I would like to point out, from lack of sleep). Sometimes I want to scream for the whole store to hear that I'm an Honors student, that I go to Morris, that I can do a mean crossword puzzle. But I guess I'd rather come off as stupid than crazy.
***Here's Medic for those of you who had slightly joyless childhoods: the gym is divided in half, 1 team on either side. A million of those soft, foam-filled balls are released. Each team throws balls at the other team, trying to hit them. Once you're hit, you have to sit down, and you cannot get up until your team's designated medic touches your shoulder and 'heals' you. If one of the medics is hit by a ball, they also have to sit down, and can't get up again until they manage to hit someone on the other team (from their sitting position). A team wins when all of the opposing team's players are down, including their medic.
To prove it, here are some non-morose activities I've engaged in this weekend:
1. Shopping at MOA with my mother and sister. Now, don't get the wrong impression. I hate shopping for clothes. I do. But I like clothes, and I really needed them. So off we went. And it turned out pretty well. My sister is a master bargain shopper, so we had fun digging through racks of 50% off in Gap and Banana Republic and other stores that I would probably never pay full price in because Good Lord I don't want to end up destitute in the middle of Europe this Fall.
2. Graduation parties. I attended 3 total this weekend, and they were all really great. It's always a little awkward to do the mingling-small-talk thing, but I think that's unavoidable at any party.
3. Lock-in with 50+ sugared-up, sleep-deprived 1st-8th graders. My darling mother (a teacher at the school where the lock-in was held) volunteered to take charge of the gym activities. Amy and I went along to help and ended up playing Medic*** for 3+ hours. It was a lot of fun, but it was also a bit of a shock for me because
a) holy cow I've been sore for the past three days
and
b) when did kids get so mean? I love kids, but I don't love them so much when they're screaming at each other (and me) about who should be the medic, and who is too terrible at life and at all things athletic to be medic. Amy, who is the most even-tempered person I know, spent half the night whipping balls at this one 5th grader who was being an absolute jerk. He was throwing balls back at her, but man, Amy has an arm, and what's more, she was MAD. Forgive me, but it was fun to watch.
4. Work. Always, always work. I still love working at Target, but sometimes I feel like I come off as kind of a bonehead because I always have to ask questions and I always have these embarrassing space cadet moments (mostly stemming, I would like to point out, from lack of sleep). Sometimes I want to scream for the whole store to hear that I'm an Honors student, that I go to Morris, that I can do a mean crossword puzzle. But I guess I'd rather come off as stupid than crazy.
***Here's Medic for those of you who had slightly joyless childhoods: the gym is divided in half, 1 team on either side. A million of those soft, foam-filled balls are released. Each team throws balls at the other team, trying to hit them. Once you're hit, you have to sit down, and you cannot get up until your team's designated medic touches your shoulder and 'heals' you. If one of the medics is hit by a ball, they also have to sit down, and can't get up again until they manage to hit someone on the other team (from their sitting position). A team wins when all of the opposing team's players are down, including their medic.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
In Which a Nightmare Rights Some Wrongs
It's amazing how many wrongs you can right before 10 a.m.
I slept horribly last night; I was so worried about the whole voicemail situation. I had the "racing thoughts" they always talk about in Lunesta ads.
Early this morning, after about 6 hours of sleep, I woke up out of a nightmare. The nightmare was gruesome and terrifying. Most of all, though, it was ironic; in it, I was running from something, and then I was captured, and then I was tortured. Lovely, right? The climax of the entire dream was when I was being dragged down to the dungeon by this evil hag, and I thought to myself, "Why couldn't I have just pretended to be someone else? If I hadn't struggled so much, if I hadn't made such a display of stubborness, I wouldn't be here right now."
And then my alarm went off, and I smiled at the irony of it all, and I set out to right my wrongs.
I did the phone interview I was supposed to have done a month ago for the story I was supposed to have begun weeks ago. I called the leaver of the voicemail to make amends. It was me that had to make amends, you know. She was just being honest. I was being unreliable and immature and lazy. I'm 20 years old, but I still seem to be rather good at those three things.
Perhaps I shouldn't complain about not being treated like an adult unless I'm acting like one.
I slept horribly last night; I was so worried about the whole voicemail situation. I had the "racing thoughts" they always talk about in Lunesta ads.
Early this morning, after about 6 hours of sleep, I woke up out of a nightmare. The nightmare was gruesome and terrifying. Most of all, though, it was ironic; in it, I was running from something, and then I was captured, and then I was tortured. Lovely, right? The climax of the entire dream was when I was being dragged down to the dungeon by this evil hag, and I thought to myself, "Why couldn't I have just pretended to be someone else? If I hadn't struggled so much, if I hadn't made such a display of stubborness, I wouldn't be here right now."
And then my alarm went off, and I smiled at the irony of it all, and I set out to right my wrongs.
I did the phone interview I was supposed to have done a month ago for the story I was supposed to have begun weeks ago. I called the leaver of the voicemail to make amends. It was me that had to make amends, you know. She was just being honest. I was being unreliable and immature and lazy. I'm 20 years old, but I still seem to be rather good at those three things.
Perhaps I shouldn't complain about not being treated like an adult unless I'm acting like one.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Jens and Jutta
I just received quite a gem of a voicemail.
Since this is a public blog, and since my name is on said public blog (great idea, Hol), I can't go into much detail.
In short, the voicemail questions the quality of my education, accuses me of stealing, and has a tone of overall doubt that I am a person worth leaving a voicemail for.
I'm keeping this one forever.
I have it saved.
Because you know what?
I've never had a problem with being young. I've never hated my age because "adults don't take me seriously." Adults do take me seriously. At least, all the adults I've been lucky enough to know so far do. I rarely feel like I'm being talked down to, I rarely feel like what I have to say holds no weight. Maybe this is just a side effect of being a college student; college is like the real world, except you're treated better, I guess.
In the real world, however, as this voicemail so kindly informs me, if you're under 25, you don't really count. You're ill-equipped.
Sure I'm ill-equipped. But what if you equip me before you jump down my throat for my lack of competence? What if you tell me how before blaming me for not knowing how? What if you answer my questions without sneering at me for having them in the first place?
It's like in my German class when we would look at a series of pictures with captions and put them into order. It doesn't make sense for Jens to get a D on his test before he even takes the test. It doesn't make sense for Jutta to be grounded before she even breaks the vase.
Evidently, Jens and Jutta only exist in Beginning German.
Since this is a public blog, and since my name is on said public blog (great idea, Hol), I can't go into much detail.
In short, the voicemail questions the quality of my education, accuses me of stealing, and has a tone of overall doubt that I am a person worth leaving a voicemail for.
I'm keeping this one forever.
I have it saved.
Because you know what?
I've never had a problem with being young. I've never hated my age because "adults don't take me seriously." Adults do take me seriously. At least, all the adults I've been lucky enough to know so far do. I rarely feel like I'm being talked down to, I rarely feel like what I have to say holds no weight. Maybe this is just a side effect of being a college student; college is like the real world, except you're treated better, I guess.
In the real world, however, as this voicemail so kindly informs me, if you're under 25, you don't really count. You're ill-equipped.
Sure I'm ill-equipped. But what if you equip me before you jump down my throat for my lack of competence? What if you tell me how before blaming me for not knowing how? What if you answer my questions without sneering at me for having them in the first place?
It's like in my German class when we would look at a series of pictures with captions and put them into order. It doesn't make sense for Jens to get a D on his test before he even takes the test. It doesn't make sense for Jutta to be grounded before she even breaks the vase.
Evidently, Jens and Jutta only exist in Beginning German.
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