revelations
11.26.02 @ 2:10 p.m.
That last entry was just 18 hours ago? Feels like an age. I don't quite know why.
Jodi's coming today, which means she'll spend the night and then drive me back up to Portland tomorrow for Thanksgiving. By this time on Thursday, I'll probably be all doped out on turkey and all the other wonderful food my dad makes. He's the best chef, simply the best... as long as he's not making tofu god-knows-what. And I have to say he's been slipping in his quality. Every fucking time I go home, every time, he makes tacos. It's a guarenteed win as far as he's concerned because it's a meal I like. I need to have a serious talk with him on the subject of the chicken-and-gravy meal, I am so damn sick of it. From now on, I will decree that this is a meal only acceptable with turkey because that's just the truth.
I should learn not to write entries when I haven't eaten all day.
So I find that Saunders is a contributer to a book called Rock Over the Edge: Transformations in Popular Music Culture. I must read this book. Seriously, though, it looks interesting. I love that one of his interests, according to his University bio, is "Anglo-American popular music." *cough cough I love the Who, The Beatles, and the Stones cough cough*
In all seriousness, I've decided that I'm not so much half in love with him as I just plain idolize the guy. He's brilliant. How often do you meet people who are FUCKING BRILLIANT?
I had revelations walking to Italian today, musing over some of the connections between the course material and my life. (I know I've been so remiss in summarizing the vagina thing, Liz, sorry. I'll get to it eventually, I swear.) One of the arguments on King Lear talked about how to gain immortality, men have children (sons, preferably). To do this, both the father and son have to "pass through" the body of the woman and each is (to some degree) fundamentally changed by the experience. The corruption (or one of them) of going through the woman is that the replication is imperfect. The father must admit to only half 'ownership' of the child, if that much. The only one who can truly, truly know the paternity of a child (in the days before daytime talk shows and "I Know You Is My Baby's Daddy!") is the mother. Only she has certain knowledge of who she had been with. So it is that every man wishes for replication of himself in his children, but that is not to be.
The connection to me is my dad and all the weird shit he pulls. Lately, I think he's been feeling maybe left out of my life, because he's made (highly uncharacteristic) comments about maybe reading some Shakespeare that I've read so we can talk about it. Hey, I'm all for that if I thought he could get down to reading something that wasn't a goddamn self-help/personality typing book. I'm feeling a desperate need to connect with me in a way that right now, he can't. He got upset with me last Mother's Day because I spent most of the time talking about Shakespeare plays with my intellectual-elitist uncle, Don. My dad's brother went to both Harvard and Yale, and Oxford a bit, too. (Damn, huh?) And I spend a lot of time raving about Saunders, too. Expressing grief over his immenint loss (now a real loss. I'll see him a bit next week when people do their performances, but it's not a grand lecture like we usually have.)
The reason this all popped into my head this morning (on my lovely, leaf strewn walk to Italian) (forgive the overuse of parenthesis) was that I was pondering the Fight Club connections and remembering that my dad rather liked the movie as a philosophical thing and a comment on masculinity. Bingo! I think, I should have dad read Coriolanussometime and tell him about all those similarities between Tyler Durden and Coriolanus. Second thoughts quickly intruded. I don't want Dad reading my copy of Coriolanus because of all the notes I've taken inside and the places where I've written my own thoughts. (Ex. "What is it with Shakespeare and soldiers fucking soldiers?" and "Virgilia is just like Fanny fucking Price from Mansfield Park... such a doormat!")(I hate Fanny Price. She does not deserve the happy ending she gets.) So yeah. There's a bit of a problem.
Not that I anticipate finding any good food, but my stomach is consuming itself, so I probably ought to go now.
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
