Now, in the spirit of all things academic, I wish to impart to you a brief list of some of the literary characters to whom I feel a ridiculously deep emotional attachment. Ready? Here we go!
•Raskolnikov from Crime and Punishment
•Sydney Carton from A Tale of Two Cities
•Henry Rearden from Atlas Shrugged
•Terence from A.E Housman's poem
•Tea Cake from Their Eyes Were Watching God
•Ulysses from Tennyson's poem
•Violetta from La Traviata
•Nora from A Doll's House
•Dante from The Inferno
•Eustacia from Return of the Native
•The Creature from Frankenstein
•Rinaldi from A Farewell to Arms
There are plenty more, but for the life of me, I can't remember who they are, so I shall add to this list when the mood strikes me. But aren't these guys like the most adorable ever? I love them. Yesterday, I was doing my Ace Review on Crime and Punishment and I just... Rasky is the cutest little antisocial crazyass mofo ever. He's such a nihilist, but he's really not, and he's so weird and paranoid all the time, but he's actually so goodhearted it just makes you want to cry! Love him. Ooh, so I thought of this beautiful theory. You know how all the characters are pretty flat? They're all really stereotypes, or at least archetypes, and they're really only exposed (if that's the word I'm looking for, you know, like exposition) when they have to do with Rasky. Sonia is totally the Meek Female Character (I know this because I was reading all these theses about Dostoevsky when I was supposed to be doing calculus, but I'm pretty sure I could have figured it out on my own too), and Razumihin is the archetype of the loyal friend, and Marmeladov is the drunken failure, and so on. Svidrigailov is the only supporting character who's really complex. And I think that's because he's a double for Rasky (this was in another paper I read comparing Dostoevsky's "double" theory to Sylvia Plath's, but it makes a lot of sense, right? I mean, Svidrigailov is like the manifestation of all Rasky's bad points). You see, a central theme of the novel is the Superman or Overman thing, with Rasky thinking he's all superior to everyone else, and the fact that he is the only really characterized character just brings this out. We can see that he's a nihilist because of the point of view. I'm not expressing this very well, but it seems legit in my head. Isn't literature beautiful? This is what I do for fun. Oh life.
We didn't start the fire! It's been burning since the world's been turning. I love this song. While I was working on analyzing Raskolnikov's characterization, I was listening to all this classic rock, and it was making me so happy. There's something so eminently rock-able about it, y'see, and that's a good thing for music, I always think. Unless it's opera. But even opera has a groove of its own.
Ooh, I didn't say this before, but Kitty got asked to prom! Dude! The guy popped out in a suit and tie with a guitar and roses, and sang to her. It was very romantic. The note he gave her ungrammatically proclaimed her "the one who [he] treasure[s] the most," but this didn't seem to bother her as it would me. I mean, she's a freshman, and she's already got a chance to go to junior/senior prom, there ain't nothing you can do to top that. Well, maybe you could go with someone who doesn't look like a shoe and is roughly the size of Bilbo Baggins, but that's a little secondary at this point. We can't all be Francisco D'Anconia, after all. This is all a little humbling for me, I must admit. I feel like the ugly older sister, opprobriously going with a group of girls instead of a dashing, dapper, cavalier (which poor Chris is not, but that's beside the point). Well, I suppose I am. Older, that is. Not ugly. But I mean, here I am, out here on my own, while she's accruing romance whether she wants it or no! I don't want it either, now that you mention it, so I don't know what I'm complaining about. And of course, I've had my fair share of love in the past (and still could now if I so desired). We're all good now! Let us close with the statement that Kitty is a badass and let it go at that.
I got a nine on my last essay! It was on "One Art" by Elizabeth Bishop, and the teacher appreciated the fact that I knew it was a villanelle, and I got everything quite accurate, even though I ran out of time and had to trail off in the middle of the third paragraph. Fish Face got a seven. Whee! Now I just need to be sure that I beat S-hole, and life will be perfect. He's not a good writer, though, so I think we may be A-ok. I love Lit, did I mention that? Kbye.
We're doing a medley from Little Shop of Horrors in choir for our final concert. All the choirs do show choir there, and it's all pop art and funk, and I'm desperately hoping our choreographers will put me in the back where no one will see me and my horrible dancing. I almost knocked someone over when we had to step off the risers and clap and have a gospel hoedown during Shambala, and that wasn't even dance. If Kitty is Terpischore, I'm the furthest opposite. Maybe a cyclops? I wouldn't think they'd have much coordination. Anyway, I'm actually scared. We start choreography on Monday, and in case you didn't know, it's horribly awkward to dance when you're the Alfonso Durpenhogen of the group. Especially if you look like a dying whale whenever you try to move. I mean, gurrrl, come on now. What am I to do? I suppose I'll have to change my name to Kevin and be done with it, as that is now my fate in life.
I love the music though. Even though we have to say "sh-bop."
Sungmin has found our old karaoke machine, and he's playing all these dubiously rendered folk songs with artistic interest. Every so often, he breaks into song. It's rather funny, actually. Maybe he can put out an album someday and get rich and help me pay for college. Like, "One Man Kidz Bop: Country Style!" or something. I'm sure it would be fairly popular in some circles. Crop circles, maybe. Cuz like, crops, and country, and ugh I got three hours of sleep last night I'm so tired I'm seeing pathetic fallacies dancing before me pore ole eyes. I told Austin to buy me penguins and write a book called "Nocturnal Nietzsche for the Nebulous," and that was rather normal, considering. Fortunately, he is a wonderful person, and shared his own book, "Why is I stuped," with me. So that turned out well. No penguins for me though.
Ah well, the hour is late, and I need a shower, so I'm going to go take one. Bye now!
Ew, that was abrupt. I really am a Kevin.
