Coming to terms with another birthday

21 January 2012

My presence is leaning awkwardly through the doorway,
One hand reaching back, clinging to the doorframe
that is yesterday and childhood.
The other hand holds the doorknob- flung open:
This is coming of age.

My presence leans awkwardly through the doorway.
One had reaches back, clinging to the doorframe.
The other hand holds the door--
knob unlocked- flung open wide:
This is coming of age.

I am present, leaning awkwardly through the doorway.
One hand reached back to catch the light.
The other hand has flung open the door,
Wide.

This is coming of age.

Concerning vampires

02 September 2009

We started chatting, Sam and I, about the usual: Howwassummer? How'sschool? Whatareyoustudyingagain?

We dabbled in ward gossip, and swapped post-graduation plans (distant dreams in my case). And then somehow, the conversation wound around, like some circuitous and serpentine creek (that suddenly thunders over the edge of a waterfall) to Stephanie Meyer's Twilight.

I have not read Meyer's romances, except for the last page of the last book which I read solely, I think, to spite the general masses of vampire-worshiping Meyerites.

But. Sam (who, may I point out, is not of the aforementioned Cult of Meyer) spoke with such eloquence on the symbolism and archetypal overtones of this substantial modern work of mythology, that I was thoroughly convinced of Twilight's literary merit.

Whether or not I will every read this saga, is still unsure, but I will certainly from now consider it in a different light-- perhaps even an academic light.

As we finally wound down our chat, I thanked him from the enlightening conversation and apologized for having so little to add to the conversation-- just my opinion, nothing of real import.

"Oh no," Sam replied, "Your opinion is of infinite value to me, because I could never have your thoughts."

Perhaps that attitude is the secret to his appreciation of Meyer's great body of work.

Bookstore iii: review

06 June 2009

I cannot say I found Fahrenheit 451entirely disappointing, but it left something wanting. Bradbury is known for his short stories, which is a credit to him. It takes a true craftsman to gracefully condense the whole plot diagram into under 200 pages. But I felt that this form did not serve Bradbury well in this case.

True, he presented a stirring and shocking train of what-if events and his character Montag was an effective every man and he was shockingly spot on with some predictions, like the ubiquitous sea shell ear pieces that isolate each person in their own world of music. But I was disappointed that Bradbury barely touched on such themes as the implications of a nearing-illiterate society, or of a society that is devoted entirely to preparations for war.

In 100 pages he barely touches the surface of Montag's character and I felt little connection to the other main actors in the story.

On the other hand, the depth of social commentary I so wished for was obviously not the authors intent. And, in true Bradbury fashion, this book did leave me thoughtful and a little afraid about what we are doing today to our future.

From the library of m. f. hales

06 September 2008

I have of late been looking for a few new good books. I was about to label “good” as the operative word here, but I believe the significant terms in this passage are “good”, “new” and “books”. I have recently had my fill of bad old movies, shocking fresh news, and ridiculous fugitive pranks, so I think a nice new good book would be just the ticket.

A while ago Cait passed on a warning “Always read stuff that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it.”

As in “I wouldn’t get caught dead reading…”

So, with all this in mind, imagine my joy when right in my very own inbox I found a message from Amazon.com, "Amazon.com has new recommendations for you based on items you purchased" and of course based on the predictions of the Amazon.com Crystal Ball. I read on with mounting anticipation:

Veronica, by Roger Duvoisin— Veronica, a hippopotamus who wants to stand out from the herd and be famous, travels to the big city where she indeed does stand out…

Saving Juliet, by Suzanne Selfors— Selfors injects an angst-ridden 17-year-old Manhattan actress into Shakespeare's star-crossed romance, yielding hilarious and often very clever results…

Shark Girl, by Kelly Bingham— Jane, 15, is smart, good-looking, and the best artist in her school. After a shark attack at a local beach, nothing is the same…

Useful Fools, by C.A. Schmidt—What makes a terrorist?

All I’ve got to say is Amazon.com better have nothing to do with my obit.

Not even wensleydale?

13 August 2008

So, I’m reading this great book about changing your life completely just by being ridiculously honest about yourself. So I’d like to practice here:

Confession #1: I ate the whole box of Trader Joe crackers,

Confession #2: in just four days,

Confession #3: and I’m not sorry. Except I am sorry that Mom took the rest of the smoked Gouda.

Well, I feel so much better.

The trouble with eating in class

26 March 2008

Billy Collins is a lean and tender
T-bone steak, best served rare
with a side salad and something light;
perhaps a sweet Cabernet Franc.

It should not be served with inordinate
amounts of BestWest Steak Sauce,
as if a bottle of that
could sharpen the wit of him.

Principles of Biology has left
a dry aftertaste, and I sit down
salivating for a succulent cut
of the real meat.

Unfortunately, my teacher cooks
experimentally,
and with Sunflower hot-mitts she serves
to us Lecture 29:

Poetry Meatloaf. Which is not
fresh or moist or seasoned right.
But I am hungry. And she doesn’t seem
to have anything else on hand.

Shakespeare in bite-size bits and
Collins ground in with Nash
and something green that doesn’t
seem to belong to anyone

all garnished with slivered Poe
and a slimy ketchup marinara.
It slices neatly and leaves no crumbs
and everyone tucks in quietly.

Except my vegan study partner
who sips her Algebra noisily.
I choke a bit and try
To swallow gallantly.

Meatloaf is barbaric.

Exercise in simplicity

03 March 2008

I like to write.
I like big words.
I like little-known grammar rules.
When I write down my thoughts, I like to use a thesaurus to help me learn new big words.
I do this because I think simple writing is dumb.
Maybe my writing is confusing, but it is better to confuse some readers than to write boring things.

But forgive, dear reader, my verbosity; I have simply imbibed too much Charles Dickens.