Flesh and Bone

Somewhere outside that finish line
I square up and break through the chains
I head like a raging bull
Anointed by the blood I take the reins
I come from the core
Of the flag that bears the name
"Battle Born"
They call me the contender
I listen for the bell
My face flashing crimson from the fires of hell
(What are you afraid of?)
And what are you made of?
Flesh and Bone

Why the Insolence?

This will be one of my few personal posts, so here it goes.

Today I was standing in line at Urban Outfitters, minding my own business, when a very mean looking woman started yelling at me for "cutting" in front of her in line.  This woman was standing across the aisle at the jewelry table (which is quite a distance from the front of the line) when she began griping out me.  Rather than call her an incompetent noob, seeing as the line in this particular store traditionally starts in the trail of miscellaneous merchandise that has be placed in front of the registers, I expressed my embarrassment and told her that I was genuinely unaware that she was in line to begin with.  She, surprisingly (or should I say not surprisingly), replied with a rude response to my apology, and stormed in front of me.  Her insolence!  I was literally on the verge of tears, and probably would have smacked her in the face if she said one more thing to me.

This rant was inspired by the impatience and egocentric attitude of the people of the modern era.  I, in all honesty, am sick and tired of people being rude to one another, especially when they are rude without reason.  I would understand discourtesy if it were triggered by a legitimate cause, but to be rude to a stranger?  To be rude or dislike someone that you do not truly know, is just malicious. The past couple of months have really deteriorated my already lacking self-esteem, thanks to the inconsideration of others.  Why can people be so mean without justification?  Believe it or not, peoples words hurt.

The moral of this story?  Maybe if you took the time to be nice to others, you would feel a little bit better about yourself

I may or may not be referring to multiple occurrences other than today's happening at Urban.

I went gladly
to the underworld, never
looking back.
My fear of him was nothing
to the fear I felt
of her.
"Eat," he said, and smiled.
The berries were sharp
and sweet, my fingers
reddened.
Out there, Mother
closed down to the world.
Her fury was not
the fury of fire,
but of ice.
Whenever she went
it was winter--blasted
trees, fallow rock--hard
fields, no berries
anywhere.
The people mourned,
but their tears
could never warm her--
no more than mine.

Psychological Criticism--Did the Right One Slip In?

*There may be spoilers throughout this post

Wow. Just wow.  I would prefer writing my own personal response to Let Me In, by John Ajvide Lindqvist, but alas, I must abide by the rules of my second quarter challenge--to use four different criticisms to analyze four different works.  Both the Biographical and Psychological Criticism would work in the case of Let Me In, but I have concluded that the application of the psychological criticism would work best for this particular review.  Despite the obvious connection between Lindqvist and Oskar, the protagonist, the reappearance of homosexual tendencies and a skewed sense of self, influenced me to focus on the damaged psyche of three of the primary characters: Oskar, Eli, and Håkan. 

The book opens with an account of the bullied Oskar, a child in Blackeberg who is targeted by a group of boys at his school.  As the first chapter progresses, we find that Oskar fantasizes about getting the ultimate revenge on his oppressors--to end their lives.  He compensates for his powerlessness by binging on candy and shutting himself in his room, where he spies on the neighbors with a telescope and acts out sadistic serial-killer fantasies in front of the mirror.  He begins to prepare himself, physically and mentally, in order to take on his bullies: he goes to the gym on Thursdays with Mr. Avila, the gym teacher, and steals a knife from a local store.  He practices in the woods outside of his complex after school, releasing all of his pent-up frustration on the nearby trees.  As he stabs at the bark, he notices a girl watching him from the playground.  “We can’t be friends,” she tells him when they first meet in the courtyard where he likes to sit alone at night.  But of course they become friends anyway, forming a long lasting companionship.  The two are so psychologically damaged, that they find it easy to relate to one another.  Oskar does not judge Eli, and Eli does not judge Oskar.  Ignored by his mother and father, both of whom are separated, Oskar decides to become invisible.  In his mind, Oskar no longer exists.  He stays in Eli's apartment, where the two are able to find comfort in each others arms.  It is later discovered that Eli, has lost her gender identity over the centuries.  She, or he, was once a boy named Elias, but had been mutilated previous to her development of the sickness.  Oskar still loves Eli, even though she is not the girl that he believed her to be. 

The relationship between Oskar and Eli does not even compare to solely sexual encounters in the vampire novels of the modern era.  It is the union of two people, who were once controlled by an intense lonesomeness.  Håkan however, is unable to quell the solitude that he experiences in his everyday life.  Håkan serves as Eli's guardian.  He travels to neighboring villages and collects blood from unsuspecting townsfolk, hanging them from their feet like pigs as the blood slowly drains from their bodies.  Håkan is in no way a likeable character.  He has been attended a series of child prostitution rings, and has a sick obsession over Eli, bringing her blood in exchange for her body.  His psychological state worsens as the novel progresses.  He attempts to kill himself in order to protect Eli, but it can be argued that his attempted suicide was triggered by the hatred that he has for himself.  He later breaks back into the complex, and attempts to rape Eli.  Håkan is so mentally disturbed, that it is difficult for one to even feel sorry for him.  He has, in my mind, not a single redemptive quality. 

In summation, Let Me In was an intense, psychological thriller, that stands apart from Twilight, and Beautiful Creatures, and True Blood.  It was dark, and depressing, and inspiring all at the same time.  I could not help but fall in love with Oskar and Eli, despite their rather dangerous quirks.  I intend to read the remainder of John Ajvide Lindqvist's works, in the hopes that they will be as enjoyable as the first. 

This gets me every time, I swear

For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak with most miraculous organ

Why, why, why?

You want to know why?  This may sound cynical, but after days of pondering, here is why.

Rather than focus on government or politics, I am making a point to go straight to the heart of the evil that has occurred during the past six months: the people.  Why does such evil keep happening?  It is because of the people, those who ignore or improperly handle the threat that psychological disorders impose.  I have seen parents deny their children’s rather obvious disorders time and time again.  These children get no help regarding their psychological disturbances, and are thrust into a country where the accessibility of guns forms the foundation of evil.  People cannot blame the government for something that they are clearly at fault for.  Jean Paul Sartre would have described our country as being stuck in a state of bad faith.

You are absolutely right America.  Guns do not kill people.  Rather, people with stigmatized mental illnesses with little to no access to proper health care or therapy, and too much access to guns due to retailers and family members kill people.  We should be asking why a mother would keep guns in a house with her mentally dysfunctional child, or why people fail to alert the authorities to the men and women who serve a potential threat to society.  A single trip to the guidance counselor is not going to prevent these men and women from harming the innocent.  We cannot ignore the cause, the aggravation for this evil, and expect the problem to just go away on its own.

You can help by forgetting you ever read the names of these men, and remembering the name of at least one victim. You can help by donating to mental health research or supporting gun control, instead of pointing to the government as the source of the problem. You can help by turning off the news, and forming your own opinions regarding the horrific events of the past six months.  You can help, by sending your positive energy out to the victims of this evil, rather then sitting at home asking “why.”  All our words seem so small, so meaningless in the face of such horror, but we have the power to come together and stop this evil from ever tainting our country again.

The moral of this story?  Britain has the right idea, wielding batons and all.

64 Classics Read, More to Come?

I still have many more books that I wish to add to my "classics" list, and will formally address them so that I make a point to live up to my goal.
The Awakening
The Handmaid's Tale
Brave New World
A Street Car Named Desire
Catch-22
The Catcher in the Rye
The Stranger
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
Atonement
Rosencratz and Guildenstern are Dead
All the Pretty Horses
The Kite Runner, and more....?

Born to Die?

Is God a sadist, or does he just lack the power to control his own creation?  Why is it that Christians cannot provide me with a direct answer to these inquiries.  Sorry for my disrespect toward your God, but I am just extremely frustrated with the amount of evil that has occurred in the past sixth months, and cannot even begin to understand why this could happen in the first place.  Just, why?

My Idol, Howlin' Pelle Almqvist

Oh the Places I'll Go?

Amherst
American
Arcadia
Bennington
Macalester
Middlebury
or
Ursinus

Sexy Free and Single I'm Ready Too, Bingo?

The other day, someone asked me what kind of guys I normally go for.  Jack and Marcus, now they're my type.

To Tatt or Not?

 

I've been wanting a tattoo for a while now, and not because it "looks cool," or to make a statement of some sort, but to express some of my innermost feelings.  Tattoos, when done in good taste, can be truly beautiful--unfortunately, not everyone feels this way.  Anyways, I'm interested to hear other opinions regarding tattoos!  Comment away.

Barbara Palvin- I LOVE CHANEL

Reader's Response--A Dog's Journey?

*This post may or may not contain spoilers

"Dog is God spelled backwards."  I have loved dogs since I got my first dog at the age of four.  She was a Golden Retriever named Candy.  She was beautiful.  We used to roll around in the yard together.  One day her nose started bleeding.  The vet said that it was a tumor.  Candy is dead now, but I have three new dogs to love and care for; Andy, Ella, and my baby boy Charlie.  Charlie is a mutt (a Shih Tzu Yorkie mix).  I was recommended A Dog's Journey, by W. Bruce Cameron, after my mom bought it from her school's book fair.  I have to admit, I was kind of skeptical before actually reading the book.  I had done something that I vowed to never do--judge a book by its cover.  The little puppy and speech bubble on this particular cover screamed "Young Adult" (and I am not a big fan of Young Adult, excluding John Green that is).  It looked like it would be a quick read though, and I do love dogs.  Needless to say, I caved and read it anyway.  It was amazing.  I cried, multiple times.  This being said (if it was not made obvious by the preceding sentence fragments), I only saw it suiting that I recorded my response to the book in writing.

Before I begin, I would like to give a brief synopsis of the journey itself.  Buddy is a good dog.  After spending several, eventful lives in search of his purpose, Buddy has discovered that he has already fulfilled it--he lives to love and protect his master.  A Dog's Journey  follows Buddy as he lives, dies and returns to life, in the body of another dog.  Buddy becomes Molly, who later becomes Max, who finishes his journey as a sweet Beagle named Toby.  The most impressive part of this story, was the fact that it was told from the point of view of the dog.  Never did I stop to think, "Hmm, this doesn't sound like a dog," because it did, in fact, sound just like a dog.  I was drawn in with this approach, and was made to care deeply about the dogs, the people, and what happened to them.  I cannot always say that I get this involved with the characters, so when I do, one can assume that it was a very well written and heartwarming tale.  In fact, A Dog's Journey was far from just a "Young Adult" novel.  It was a book in which any person, of any age, can love and hold close to their heart.

One question remained after I finished this novel: do we take care of our pets, or do our pets take care of us?  I could not help but think about my little Charlie as I read through this book.  I imagined Charlie's first encounter with a mirror.  I imagined the time that Charlie so excited, that he sprinted around the house, jumping from chair to table in order to release some of his excess energy.  The loyalty expressed by Buddy in this story, crossed all boundaries, and I am sure that Charlie is moved by this same loyalty.  This book is the kind of emotional gut-wrench that makes me proud to care for a canine, and proud of the loyalty that they show to us.  If you are not a dog lover, or not even a dog liker, steer clear of this novel.  If you are like me however, grab yourself a copy of this wonderful book, and prepare yourself to laugh, smile, yell at imaginary people, cry, and seek out love from your furry friend. 

The Secret Society of Superheroes?

Superpower: Lashing you with his dreads.

Slick Chrome American Prince

 

Mythological Criticism--The Shadow People?

*This post may or may not contain spoilers.

You spot something from the corner of your eye.  It seems to be dark and shadowy, yet nothing is there. What was it?  Your imagination? Shia Labeouf?  Or perhaps, a shadow person--those creatures that are seen briefly out of the corner of one's eye. 

According to legend, these entities appear in a variety of forms.  They may simply pass through our bedroom as we sleep at night, or lurk in our doorways--watching, waiting.  These figures have become so widely recognized as paranormal entities, that people have taken up the study of these beings.  Several theories have been offered as an explanation of the origins of the Shadow Person.  They may be demonic entities, ghosts, inter-dimensional travelers, astral bodies, or just a figment of the imagination.  My research led me to the multiple classifications of the Shadow People: the benign shadow, negative shadows, red-eyed shadows, and hooded shadows.  The benign walk through one's room, never straying from their path and never paying the living any attention.  Their only purpose is to walk the Earth for the rest of eternity.  The negative shadows lurk, causing an unnatural feeling of terror.  The red-eyed shadows are a form of the negative, which stare at their victims with glowing, red eyes.  Supposedly the negative and red-eyed shadows feed off of their victims' fear.  The hooded shadows appear to be dressed in ancient garb, similar to that of a monk.  They appear to those who are experiencing an immense amount of rage.  Whatever these entities actually are, they each prove to be equally shocking for a human to come into contact with.

 David Wong made use of the "negative shadows" in his book, John Dies at the End.  People can rarely make out the features of these dark figures that lurk in the corners of your room.  After a shot of soy sauce however, John and David the ability to sense these "people" at all corners of the universe.  According to Mr. Wong, the Shadow People are dark messengers from a universe parallel to Earth.  His adaptation of the paranormal phenomena, described them as malicious, soul hungry beings that sought to take over the universe.  The Shadow People in John Dies at the End were the inter-dimensional beings described by the theorists that I came across during my research.  It is discovered toward the end of the novel, that an alternate dimension exists almost identical to that of the Earth.  The Shadow People from the alternate dimension, had found a way to intrude Earth in attempt to take over it's inhabitants.  The only difference between Mr. Wong's Shadow People and those of paranormal myth, is that they can cause physical harm to their victims.  They prove to be rather dangerous enemies, as John and David attempt to save the world. 

Rather than using the sun or the moon to foretell the end of the world, David Wong used the elusive Shadow People, a figure which many readers can recognize, in order to evoke a universal feeling of fear and terror.  John Dies at the End is recognized as one of the scariest books of the modern era.  Why is this so?  Well, it is primarily due to Mr. Wong's expert usage of myth and archetypes, both of which induce a realistic interpretation of the novel as a whole.  

After I finished the novel, I found myself thinking about the possibilities of an actual alternate universe, full of actual Shadow People.  Shaken by this thought, I set the book down and started a more lighthearted read.  The point of my saying this was to emphasize the effect that the Shadow People in John Dies at the End had on me.  I was terrified.  I found myself checking my back when I took my dog out late at night.  The shadows in the corner of my room seemed to take on a life of their own.  After experiencing that kind of fear, I would say that David Wong's use of a mythological archetype proved to be rather successful. 

Cancer is the reason that I don't believe?

I have been feeling very emotional lately (probably due to my recurring nightmares, but I won't get into that right now).  In short, I have been having trouble with my faith for the past couple of months, in the sense that I don't really believe in any god.  I believe in good morals--obviously--but I just do not believe that there is an outside force watching over what we do.  I don't believe in any sort of life after death.  When we die, we just die.  That's all there is to it.  Sometimes I like to pray despite these feelings, as a way to quell my fears for the time being. But is that worse than not believing?  Realizing that there is no god, but making one up anyway, so that life is more bearable? 

To get to the point, someone that is very dear to me has had cancer since before I can remember (since I was four to be exact).  This cancer has made me morally and spiritually stronger, but not necessarily religious stronger.  I always get really emotionally when I see someone with cancer, or something of the sort.  I hate it.  I hate it so much, but there is nothing I can do about it.  I feel so helpless, and watching the pain that it causes is more unbearable than suffering through it first hand. 

Ever since my first encounter with cancer, I have liked the idea of living in the present--the whole notion of carpe diem--but am not sure if a god resides in this present.  I believe that you have to be your own god.  Let me rephrase, I believe that you have to make the good in your life, despite all of the bad.  I am more than happy with the life I have been given, but I have an incessant sadness that resides inside of my subconscious.  I'm not depressed or anything, in fact, I'm quite the opposite.  I enjoy every day that I am given with the person, for I know that they could be taken from me in a different manner.  I have already been given 17 years with them, and hope that I may have 17 more.  Despite everything, I have been blessed with a truly wonderful life, whether it was by God--if there is a God--or by the luck of the draw. 

The Second Quarter Challenge

My posts for the entirety of the second quarter, will consist of a series of applications of the critical approaches to literature.  Why?  So that Mrs. Healey will be able to differentiate the legitimate posts from the ones that were "just for fun" (i.e. the pictures and Remark re-posts and the posts that have no real purpose other than to entertain).

Does John Die at the End?

A few things before I begin...
I knew absolutely nothing about John Dies at the End (aside from the title that is) before putting it on hold at the library.
It was a recommended read on a list of books to read around Halloween.
I wasn't quite sure what to expect from the novel, thus had no expectations beforehand.
It turns out that a movie version is hitting theaters this January, so I am naturally curious to see how the adaptation pans out (Paul Giamatti stars as Arnie in the film, hence the picture of Paul)
 

What did you say?  You want a short description of John Dies at the End?  Well, it’s a drug that promises an out-of-body experience with each hit. On the street they call it Soy Sauce, and users can drift across time and dimensions. But some who come back are no longer human.
Suddenly a silent, otherworldly invasion is underway, and mankind needs a hero. What it gets instead is John and David, a pair of college dropouts who can barely hold down jobs.
Can these two stop the oncoming horror in time to save humanity?
No. No, they can’t.

What's in a name?  Mr. Wong understands the importance of a title, and the impact that the title can have on the book, and it's interpretation among readers.  Titles, more often than not, have a direct reference to another work of literature or a pivotal point in the plot of their novel.  They can be taken seriously, or as a joke.  They can encapsulate the underlying meaning of the story.  Most importantly, titles have the ability to entrance a reader within a matter of seconds.  If the title does not catch the reader's eye, the book simply will not be read.  John Dies at the End, as a title, could be received in a variety of manners.  Does John actually die at the end?  Well, that is for you to find out.  Either way, the quirky title was the primary reason that I choose to read this book.

The 'Wrong' Kind of Christian?

While I sat in my room, contemplating the topic of my post for this week, an epiphany came to me in the form of Barack Obama.  According to an article that I had found on the interweb, some see Obama as the ‘wrong’ kind of Christian.  What does this even mean?  To summarize, the religious conservatives do not find Obama to be a true Christian (which is understandable considering that most conservatives are unable to understand any beliefs aside from their own).  Obama is a man of faith, and referred to his strong belief in God many times over.  He reads his Bible, just not literally, which is what the majority of the conservatives are doing.

Obama is a President that recognizes, and tolerates (emphasis on the word “tolerates”) other religious denominations that exist in the United States.  It is unfortunate that many people (specifically the conservatives), are still unable to recognize that there must be a separation between Church and state.  If Church was related to state, then the Magisterium mind as well take over the entire country.
At least Obama recognizes that not everyone in the U.S. is Christian, or even believes in God for that matter.

Whom Do I Love Moore?

*This post may or may not contain spoilers.

I have recently read a series of reviews regarding Christopher Moore's novel, Fool, and discovered that many of the readers had met an unfortunate consensus: they had despised this interpretation of Shakespeare's famous tragedy.  These critics described this interpretation as "vulgar," and "written in bad taste," yet I found myself enjoying every minute of it.  Maybe my humor is a bit immature, or maybe I have no censor when it comes to what is considered "vulgar" or "inappropriate."  Either way, I found Fool to be both witty and creative.  I was immediately drawn to the character Pocket, and appreciated him for his sharp tongue and tenacity.

Shakespeare's Fool made a few cameos throughout the course of King Lear, but failed to maintain a stable appearance in the drama.  Moore's Fool, however, was not only the protagonist of the novel, but the narrator.  This is Lear told from the point of view of a ridiculous court jester.  He gave Shakespeare's loyal audience what they had wanted--more of the Fool.  Pocket was everywhere.  He was telling the story (as mentioned previously).  He was a witness to the events that occurred.  He knew the Castle Lear inside and out, and he knew every secret that the royal family wanted to keep hidden.  Moore demonstrates an obvious respect toward the Bard through his interpretation, but does not hesitate while putting his own spin on the plot.  I am ashamed to admit this (due to the fact that Shakespeare is a literary genius), but I preferred Fool's ending to that of Lear's.  I never really saw the point of hanging the Fool in the original, and would have been rather disappointed if Pocket were hung after growing so attached to him.  Bravo Mr. Moore, for your interpretation of Lear was excellent.

I am a sucker for sarcasm and satire (hence my love of James Thurber and Stephen Colbert).  This being said, I absolutely adored Pocket.  Everything from his snarky remarks, such as "love needs room to grow, like a rose, or a tumor," to the equally sarcastic raven that resides by the castle, drew me into a literary trance.  By "literary trance," I am referring to the state in which a person is so enthralled with a book, that they cannot focus on anything other than the book itself.  Moore finds comedy in this original tragedy, a feat which must be very difficult to accomplish.  This accomplishment is part of the reason that I enjoyed Fool as much as I did.  While I very much enjoyed this aspect of the novel, others found it overbearing and idiotic--and not a good kind of idiotic.  Mr. Moore took a risk by throwing "bathroom humor" into his adaptation of a master work, which could be received in one of two ways.  On one end of the spectrum, the audience (myself included) recognized this humor as being characteristic of Moore's style of writing.  On the other end, the audience was rather disappointed with the use of this rather raunchy humor.  I found myself rather disappointed with the reviews regarding the latter end of the spectrum.  I enjoyed Moore's interpretation so much, that I took this negative criticism personally.  At the end of the day, everyone is entitled to their own opinion.  My opinion, however, is the right one.

Uncle Press as a Modern Gandalf?

*There may or may not be spoilers throughout this post.

I was reading through a list of "Open Ended AP Literature" questions, and came across the topic of the mentor- an acquaintance whose influence on a specific character, dramatically changes that character's view of not only him or herself, but their view of the world as well.  Rather than answering the question directly, I began to make a list of all of the mentors that I have come across through works of fiction; Obi Wan Kanobi, Yoda, Dumbledore, Gandalf (the Grey and White), Charles Xavier, Merlin, and the beloved Uncle Press.  After creating this list, I realized that the character of Uncle Press is very similar to Gandalf.  This being said, it is fitting that I write about the connection between the two mentors, and their impact on their apprentices.  Hobey ho, let's go!

"He wore a tall pointed blue hat, a long grey cloak, and a silver scarf.  He had a long white beard and bushy eyebrows that stuck out beyond the brim of his hat."  Gandalf the Grey is one of the most renown mentors in all of literature.  First appearing in The Hobbit as a fussy, old mage, Gandalf revealed himself to Bilbo as a wise and powerful being.  Orchestrating Bilbo's journey to the Lonely Mountain, Gandalf thrust Bilbo toward his destiny.  Gandalf also served as a mentor in The Hobbit's sequel, in which he introduced Frodo to the ring, and explained that he must destroy it.  He established the Fellowship of the Ring, which was charged with the duty of returning the ring to the fires of Mordor.  Gandalf died in the process of saving the Fellowship, primarily Frodo, only to return at a later point.  The death of Gandalf had an extreme emotional impact on the Fellowship, in which they were forced to overcome due to their ultimate goal: to destroy the ring. Gandalf the White, the revived form of Gandalf the Grey, continued his purpose as guardian of the Fellowship, and mentor to Frodo. 

The Pendragon series (which has occupied a special place in my heart since I first read the series) exhibits a mentor-like figure of its own--the one and only, Uncle Press.  Press Tilton made his appearance on the night of Bobby's birthday, introducing him to his destiny as a "Traveler."  Bobby secured his place at the rear of Uncle Press' motorcycle, and rode off toward an uncertain fate.  Uncle Press had trained Bobby from his childhood, so that he would be ready to take his place as the leader of the Travelers.  Uncle Press died in the second book of the series, so that Bobby would be able to continue to the Lost City of Faar.  Bobby had a difficult time recovering from the death of his beloved Uncle, but learned to fight on toward his ultimate destiny.  In his death, Uncle Press had promised Bobby that they would be reunited in the future.  This promise came true in Raven Rise--the ninth book of the series--in which all of the Travellers were reunited in a parallel universe, so that they could band together one last time in order to defeat the evil Saint Dane. 

Both Gandalf and Uncle Press introduced their apprentices to their destiny, thus affecting the course of their futures.  As a faithful opponent against the rising evils in Middle Earth, Gandalf "died" while preventing the Balrog from harming the rest of the Fellowship.  Uncle Press died while protecting a fellow Traveler, stating that his time in Halla was already coming to an end.  Both mentors reappeared later in the series, so that they could help their "students" toward their ultimate destinies.  For this reason, I believe that Uncle Press was created to represent a modern mentor.  Just like Gandalf, Uncle Press influenced a specific character, in this case Bobby Pendragon, in order to lead them toward his destiny, and change his view of himself and the world. 

Beta Males, Goth Girls, Outcasts--and Moore?

Christopher Moore has given life to a plethora of quirky characters.  Charlie Asher, star of A Dirty Job, is a beta male with a dirty secret.  The Gothic "Abby Normal," serves as a minion to the equally eccentric Countess Jody and Dark Lord Tommy Flood in the vampire love series.  The band of squirrel people, the "Emperor" of San Francisco, and Drool--the natural, and apprentice in Fool--are classified as the outcasts.  There are, of course, many other characters who represent many other archetypes, but Moore uses the above to create a very special relationship between his characters and his audience.

The beta male- an erratic, sarcastic man who is a major cause of road rage and uncomfortable situations. Charlie Asher makes everyone aware of his position as a beta male.  He is painfully self-conscious, finds it hard to concentrate in the presence of an attractive woman, and is vaguely reminiscent of a serial killer.  Mr. Asher never overcomes his life as a beta male, but does learn to become comfortable with himself--that is, until he is turned into a squirrel person.  Tommy Flood is another prime example of the beta male. Flood works at a supermarket in San Francisco, is friends with a bunch of guys who call themselves "The Animals," and is living as an unsuccessful writer who is doubted by both his parents and himself.  His life takes a more eccentric turn, when an extremely attractive redhead takes a suspicious liking to him.  Seeing as he is a beta male, and has an inkling for getting himself into sticky situations, Tommy turns into a vampire.  This new life however, does not prevent him from living out his life as a true beta male.  He continues his relationship with Jody, the attractive, redheaded vamp, and continues to be as self-conscious as ever.  Why does Christopher Moore take such a liking to the race of the beta male?  Perhaps Moore himself is a beta male.  Or perhaps, it is due to the fact that the majority of the male population consists of beta males.

Being the journal of Abby Normal, mistress of the night, Christopher Moore takes advantage of modern slang and stereotypical, Gothic language.  Kayso, Abby Normal is just your average, non-perky teenager, who has an inkling for stripped stockings.  Abby's best friend, and ironically her biggest rival, Lily, is another equally Gothic teenager, who makes her appearance in an entirely separate book.  Christopher Moore often uses characters, such as Abby Normal and Lily, to connect two separate, yet equal works.   Abby many come off as slightly annoying, but her placement in another one of the "insecure" archetypes enables the readers to identify themselves with her.  Everyone has gone through an identity crises at one point or another.  They dress outrageously, vie for the attention of their friends, and unsuccessfully attempt to estrange themselves from their parents.  Abby, though initially seen as another rebellious teenager, proves to be a rather dynamic character.  In fact, Abby Normal is much more than just a "whole Saturday night drunk tank of obnoxious."  She is Abby Normal, mistress of the night and minion to the Dark Lord Flood and Countess Jody, who also happens to pack a whole Saturday night drunk tank of obnoxious into one, little body.

The outcasts serve a very static role in Mr. Moore's novels.  The little squirrel people look like strange creations that have crawled out of Sid Phillips' very bedroom.  Drool, and rightfully named so, is a "natural" who has apprenticed Pocket, Lear's true fool.  The Emperor of San Francisco, alongside his trusty companions Lazarus and Bummer, roams the streets of San Francisco, on the lookout for anything that might pose a threat to his beloved city.  Every character that Moore has created, serves a very specific purpose: to function as a vital addition to the novel, and draw the reader that much closer to the story.  Every beta male, goth girl, and outcast has a purpose--a purpose to shed a whole new meaning on the role of archetypes. 

Prompt of the Day

Select a novel, play or epic in which a character experiences such a rift and becomes cut off from "home," whether that home is the character's birthplace, family, homeland, or other special place.  Then write an essay in which you analyze how the character's experience with exile is both alienating and enriching, and how this experience illuminates the meaning for this work as a whole.  

Disgrace.  Shame.  Humiliation.  Okonkwo, son of the dishonorable Unoka, strove to find a place in his tribe despite the idle past of his father.  Chinua Achebe, the master mind behind Things Fall Apart, used Okonkwo's lifetime of strife to describe the unstable nature of existence.  One cannot stop the incessant nature of change.  "Things fall apart, the center cannot hold."  Achebe discusses the reality of change, and the affect that this reality has on various characters, Okonkwo included.  Tradition, though vital, will always be overcome by change.

A blast sounded throughout the village.  The funeral in honor of Ezeudu, a warrior with several titles, ceased in order to observe the source of the sound: Okonkwo's gun had accidentally fired, killing the son of the beloved Ezeudu.  Shedding the blood of a clansman is a terrible offense among the members of the Umuofia clan.  Okonkwo was to be banished.  Forced to burn down his crops, and his own obi, both of which he had put his life toward, Okonkwo left the ranks of the "egwugwu," and was forced to return to his motherland.

During Okonkwo's seven years in exile, a new political and religious order overpowered the tradition of his beloved tribe.  Strangers arrived in Umuofia.  Speaking in a foreign tongue, and discussing the existence of a single "God," these strangers were preaching against the natural order of things.  This religious order goes against Okonkwo's concept of manliness, thus he promptly refuses to accept the new way of things.  Okonkwo felt that this change was his fault.  He had let his tribe down, and was absent during their time of need.  Okonkwo does everything in his power to resist this cultural change, due to his prominent fear of losing his societal status.  This status is the only factor that sets him apart from his own flesh and blood: his father.  Okonkwo's time in exile, though painful and alienating, fueled Okonkwo's sense of nationalism.  Okonkwo's estranged relationship with his homeland during these seven years, enabled him to recognize the reality of change.  He realized that the traditions he had grown to cherish, were becoming dispensable due to the new political standing that was talking root in his tribe.  In losing these traditions, he would lose himself.
        
Upon his return to Umuofia, Okonkwo is infuriated by the remarkable presence of change.  He found the idleness of the villagers to be the most intolerable, refusing to accept the fact that his clansmen had taken no action toward the strangers who were taking over their very tradition.  Okonkwo's seven years in exile, and shock at the current condition of his homeland, stressed the true impact that change had on Umuofia.  Okonkwo rebuilt his farm, and planted new yams- both a weak attempt to return to his life prior to his exile, and therefore prior to the change in Umuofia's tradition.  His old life was gone, and in his mind, this life was gone because of his actions against his clan. 
       
In the end, Okonkwo's hubris was the cause of his downfall.  He was proud.  He was masculine.  He was defiant in nature, and steadfast in his loyalty to Umuofia.  Okonkwo was incapable of accepting the reality of change.  His time in exile provided with seven years of rumination, in which he dwelled upon the forthcoming of the end of tradition.  Onkonwko, while in times of good fortune, perceived himself as a maker of his own destiny.  During times of change and ill-fortune, Okonkwo throws the responsibility of his actions to another source: his son, the strangers, his dishonorable father.  The reality of this change and this responsibility, drove Okonkwo to madness.
        
The true affect of Okonkwo's experience in exile, was described in his death.  As Okonkwo hung from the tree, Achebe was able to reveal the true, fragile nature of Okonkwo.  This masculine warrior spent all of his life living in the shadow of his clan's tradition.  When this tradition was broken, Okonkwo was forced to change, a change that he could neither emotionally, nor physically accept. 

Thurber's Carnival

Born on a night of "wild portent and high wind," James Thurber was a man who was fated to be a little bit odd.  Thurber was not only capable of making fun of his own follies, but was able to identify with others in the process.  This very capability, is exactly what enabled him to succeed as a humorist.

My first encounter with Thurber occurred when I was in the third grade (I know how this sounds, but I was advanced for my age).  As I rested, tucked under my covers so that Medusa could not sneak into my room and turn me into stone, my mother floated past my doorway, and into my room.  She was holding a book.  I remember the cover as if it were yesterday: an orange border framed a man and a woman, who were riding on a carousel.  My mother, a professional storyteller by this point, took a deep breath, and began to read.

"Once upon a sunny morning a man who sat in a breakfast nook looked up from his scrambled eggs to see a white unicorn with a golden horn quietly cropping roses in the garden..."

I was in awe.  Is this the writing of a god?  Or Batman?  No, that cannot be.  This is unmistakeably the writing of James Thurber.

I think that this reaction had much to do with the moral of the story, which is to "not count your boobies until they are hatched."  Either way, James Thurber has become my all-time favorite author.  He is amazing.  And possibly Batman.

The Paris Swing Box

        

The commercial began with the opening of an elevator.  Inside were two men: one dressed as a wrestler, the other wearing a the mask of a bear.  Just the right amount of wrong. 

This just about sums up the music of Parov Stelar.  As a pioneer of Swingtempo, a genre showcasing a modern twist to classic jazz, who couldn't immediately obsess over Parov Stelar?  This being said, my year long obsession has developed into a way of life.  Everything about Parov- his music, appearance, and presence- has rekindled my love of vintage.  His music has a gentleman flair, that makes you want to carry a walking stick, just because.  Parov Stelar has created a master race, ruling over all musical genres (terrible analogy, I know)(Stelar is by no means a Fascist, I can't believe that I even referenced Fascism)(I am a horrible person).  Needless to say, anyone can dance like a "sir" while listening to Stelar.