Of the films that I own, there are a few that are particularly close to my heart. My roommate Krissy has a habit of making a mockery of films that we watch, whether or not we've seen them before, and while I'm generally alright with poking a bit of fun at movies, there is a pretty definite list of films she's not allowed to mock. This is that list. (As compiled from the movies I personally own in no particular order other than the way they sit my shelves.)
Newsies
Yes, this movie has a lot of silly singing and dancing by the likes of silly little dancing boys, I get that. That's about as funny as it gets for me, however, as it is a testament of juvenile diligence against The Man. I admire that. So just shut up. The punishment for mocking Christian Bale being quite un-Batman like is a dirty glare.
Amazing Grace
Memoirs of a Geisha
The Prestige
I suppose you could almost say that mocking anything with Michael Caine is punishable by death, but this movie wouldn't need him in it to be put on the 'no mockery' list. It's got Christian Bale (who I'd never EVER want to piss off) and Hugh Jackman (who can be totally manly and dance in a tux at the same time) to give it major cred with yours truly, but it's a Nolan flick, and yes, I'm a sucker for Nolan. Making fun of The Prestige will get you a lecture on your under appreciation for the art of illusion.
Gypsy
Let it be mentioned that movies before 1970 generally have the protection placed upon them, unless they are really REALLY bad. Monster flicks are bad. Musicals are not, generally speaking. If it's come out since the movie musical revival it's probably okay to spit on, but music and movies used to go hand in hand and were part of what made Hollywood so appealing in the day. You will probably never make fun of this in my presence, because I watch my musicals on me onesy.
The Lord of the Rings
Nothing else needs to be said but "Death. Lots and lots of death."
The Last of the Mohicans
The Secret Garden
Finding Neverland
Batman Begins
The Dark Knight
Gladiator
Not much needs to be said about this one either, but death does also cross my mind. I mean, I know what's wrong with it historically, but you don't. So really it comes down to the fact that you wouldn't piss me off so much because this movie is awesome and shouldn't be mocked, rather any joke making on your part would only annoy me because you don't know the material or context. You'd only be punishing yourself.
The Jane Austen Book Club
Ever After
The Count of Monte Cristo
Casablanca
Roman Holiday
V for Vendetta
Gone with the Wind
May the wrath of the cinema gods be upon thee for slandering this film. I know I'm not the only one who would be cross with you. Punishable by public ridicule. I will invite the neighbors over to throw pies at you.
Vanity Fair
The Rocketeer
Children of Men
The Last Samurai
Kingdom of Heaven
See Gladiator. For that matter, it should be assumed that most all historical fiction is protected. Unless it is historical fiction that is derived from or inspired by myth, because Hollywood tends to foul those up the most. Troy, for example, is okay to mock because it's a crap movie. Please make fun of Troy. Also feel free to make fun of Pirates of the Caribbean. I really enjoy the first one, but it's asking for it.
The Patriot
The Golden Compass
Girl with a Pearl Earring
Sunshine Cleaning
Valkyrie
It's not a great movie, but I like it. And it's not so much that you shouldn't make fun because I like it, but I'm sort of scared to ever mock Nazis on TV in the case that they hear me and come blazing through the screen to take my soul to eternal Auschwitz or something. So it's not just me. You just really shouldn't mess with Nazis. Unless Quentin Tarantino has given you permission and you're watching Inglourious Basterds.
Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day
Sense and Sensibility
Animated Movies
Animated movies are sort of just one big conglomerate on the list because I know you have respect for them as much as I do. However, this is especially true for traditionally animated movies. This is another mockery punishable by death. By all means, have your fun with CG movies. As long as they aren't Pixar. We don't defecate on Pixar in this house. Don Bluth films are also gold, as well as traditionally musical animations. Feel free to mock anything by Ralph Bakshi, who sucks at life. Take good care to use this privilege! It's the only time you get to make fun of LOTR, because his 1978 production of it is atrocious!
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Thursday, June 9, 2011
On the Social Pressures of Kindergarten
Upon entering kindergarten I was, for the first time in my life, suddenly immersed in a most diverse society from what I was used to. I was sitting at tables with strangers talking of things that I knew nothing about. Some people were more popular than others for some reason, and they were invited to sit at the special alligator table.
This alligator was a cardboard construct that resembled an alligator (or perhaps a crocodile; the shape was a bit too ambiguous to confidently be defined) lying prostrate across it, the legs dividing the table into six equal parts. To sit near the head was deemed most desirable, while the tail end was little better than sitting at the round table to which I was mostly dismissed.
I liked the round table. I could see everyone else and what they were doing, while the children at the alligator table had to talk in raised voices during snack time to hear each other. I was only once or twice chosen to sit at the table, which is evidence to me that sitting here was most definitely not based on merit. I was not a troublesome child, after all. Actually, in retrospect, it very well may have been intended to separate the nuisances from the rest of us, and then to separate them further from each other by dividing them by walls. The alligator was a simple ruse meant to assure the children that it wasn't actually a punishment. On the contrary, it was definitely a reward. What is this world coming to?
Considering the behaviors and favored topics of discussion amongst these children, it doesn't actually surprise me if that were indeed the case. The very few times I found myself sitting at the table, I was rather shocked to find that this recycled reptile was the center of a very heathen cult.
I remember being seated one day at the belly of the beast. It's left foreleg and hindquarter stood between me and two other girls who were muttering about a most curious subject that no five year old should be subjected to.
"So the alligator came into my room last night," the girl to my right spoke as if ready to launch into gossip. The girl on my left shifted with piqued interest, and my ears couldn't help but perk up. I was settling into self-consciousness and attention starved adolescence just as They planned. These kids thought of themselves as the cream of the crop, and knowing that I was just as deserving, I wanted to be counted among them.
"Yeah, and we totally did it," she giggled. Did it? Did what? It didn't seem to matter that I was clueless. The girl on my left also giggled. This was also the cue for the boy on the other side of the alligator to stand and smile over at her from his side. It seems that most everyone at this table was acutely aware of what it was and what it meant to do it. The boy made suggestive faces at the girl who'd done whatever she'd done, as though she were someone he was suddenly very interested in.
I don't really want to divulge in the fantasies of this peer. No doubt any reader here will know what it was she was talking about, so I'll skip on ahead. From her details I quickly learned what she meant by her story and why it was so delectably entertaining to the other listeners. These children were the pagan worshippers of a perceived animal deity made out of paper. This was my first lesson in both sex and religion, and how they can correlate far more than I had understood. Up until then I was aware of one God, and believed that it was something for my parents to do that had something to do with the fact that I had a younger brother. The details were very cloudy from there, as it was very VERY bad, and should never EVER be talked about, thought of, or enacted by anyone until they were very VERY old.
The others proceeded with topping each other's stories. It got very graphic. I began to panic. It was nearing my turn. If I was going to be initiated into this cult and become a disciple of their deity as self consciousness demanded me to want above all else, I had to have the most disgusting tale of debauchery with a member of another species. I couldn't even define 'debauchery' at the time if my life had depended on it. I decided that I didn't care. This was weird, and I was learning too much about things that made no sense whatsoever.
"What did you do?" I was addressed.
"Me? With the alligator?" I looked at the belly in a fright, trying to imagine this as a real animal with godly super powers. "Well," I hesitated, thinking of something truly appalling, "the alligator flew into my room..." It was like the beginning address of a prayer by now, and I was practicing my first, "and I climbed onto his back and he flew out. We went to the moon, and we killed a dragon and took the treasure." I was trying to imagine what would happen if I were left with a magic alligator or a god. I really just could not wrap my head around intimacy. "Then we came back and the alligator said I could keep the treasure, and that we were best friends and then he flew away." Glancing around at the face of the smiling creature, I just couldn't believe that something appearing to be so kind and friendly would ever do the unspeakable things that these children were claiming.
Instead of unanimous groaning, my tale was greeted with silence. The subject was changed after a moment, and I never sat at the alligator table again. Was I ever happy to be reimmersed into the culture of my beloved round table of equality and innocence. I never ever tried to lie my way into a social group ever again.
Which is of course a lie.
Timothy was one of my friends in kindergarten. Timothy had something wrong with his eyes, requiring him to wear glasses. All I knew about glasses was that my dad wore glasses. My dad, in my five year old mind, was a super hero and a grown up. So Timothy was like my dad; mature and dignified. I didn't know that kids could wear glasses, but upon the discovery that they could, I immediately devised my plan to obtaining glasses.
I tried asking for some, to no avail. Apparently I had to have a vision impairment, whatever that means, so I had to try harder. I begged and pleaded. Timothy wore them. Timothy was cool. I wanted to be cool. Didn't my parents want me to be cool too?! No amount of whining would change the fact that I was not going to get glasses. I was defeated. But the war was not over.
In those days it was common to screen children for various things, and I always got a kick out of screenings. Poke and prod me all you wanted, I knew I was physically invincible. Up until puberty, I was perfect. No amount of perfection, however, was going to keep me from my glasses. They brought in an eye specialist. I brought out my amazing acting skills.
The teacher aides filed us out into the hall, where we had to stand several feet away from a chart of letters getting progressively smaller as you read them. In my perfection, I got a perfect score equalling a perfect F. I was proud. The war was mine, and my parents would HAVE to give me glasses now that I had an impairment.
I think they sent my mother a note, and she made an appointment with the doctor. All I remember is the torture. At that age I was sure that this was my punishment for lying, and to this day there is definitely a fair part of me that still believes it was meant to punish me for lying. What was so bad about it? Nothing really, at first. I kept up the fraud through much of the appointment. I lied about everything I read and pretended not see things I was meant to see.
Oh the cleverness of me! This con was going without a hitch until the blasted doctor pulled out the secret weapon. I was placed in a chair and told to lay my head back. An aide held my eyelids open.
"What are you doing now?" I asked innocently.
"We're just going to put some eye drops in to *mumble mumble*," was the response. Okay, so it wasn't a mumble, but I was five and there is no way I'm going to remember whatever it was a doctor told me when I was five.
I don't know what it was that these drops were meant to do, but they did something else altogether. Those blasted drops burned through my eye like staring at the sun too long, and I was sure they were really going to blind me for lying. I shrieked in pain and began to flail my little limbs about in a frenzy. They knew! How did they know I was lying? All I wanted were glasses! Why couldn't I just have my glasses?! This may have been worse than the alligator cult!
Everything spilled out. No con was worth this, and I was done for. I started to confess my sins as the aide held me down for the other eye, "I LIED! I CAN SEE JUST FINE! PLEASE LET ME GO!!!" I could see the blurry outline of my mother standing there as the doctor finished his work. Fine. You win. I deserve this, and you deserve to gloat in your triumph over a five year old liar. Heaven knows it wasn't the last time I'd try to pull the wool on her, and I would grow wiser. Revenge would be sweet indeed, you sadistic matron!
The doctor didn't stop. As I sat there with the burning in my retinas, the grown ups had a chat. I think I may have continued rambling like a madman in the chair, detailing my plans and swearing to never do it again if they would only let me go. I doubt they heard me or cared. Adults do have a way of undermining precocious children. Finally the pain subsided and my mother took me home. Needless to say, I didn't get glasses any time soon, but I would one day don that most coveted diadem of knowledge and power.
It was eighth grade and I was getting headaches from looking at the different colors on the white board. My depth perception was the pits. It was determined that I was near sighted in my right eye and I was given glasses. I only wore them up until half way through college when I realized that none of my professors were really using the white boards, so I stopped wearing them.
Kids, remember this; fitting in is not necessarily worth it. If you can make it through kindergarten, you can make it through anything.
Oh the cleverness of me! This con was going without a hitch until the blasted doctor pulled out the secret weapon. I was placed in a chair and told to lay my head back. An aide held my eyelids open.
"What are you doing now?" I asked innocently.
"We're just going to put some eye drops in to *mumble mumble*," was the response. Okay, so it wasn't a mumble, but I was five and there is no way I'm going to remember whatever it was a doctor told me when I was five.
I don't know what it was that these drops were meant to do, but they did something else altogether. Those blasted drops burned through my eye like staring at the sun too long, and I was sure they were really going to blind me for lying. I shrieked in pain and began to flail my little limbs about in a frenzy. They knew! How did they know I was lying? All I wanted were glasses! Why couldn't I just have my glasses?! This may have been worse than the alligator cult!
Everything spilled out. No con was worth this, and I was done for. I started to confess my sins as the aide held me down for the other eye, "I LIED! I CAN SEE JUST FINE! PLEASE LET ME GO!!!" I could see the blurry outline of my mother standing there as the doctor finished his work. Fine. You win. I deserve this, and you deserve to gloat in your triumph over a five year old liar. Heaven knows it wasn't the last time I'd try to pull the wool on her, and I would grow wiser. Revenge would be sweet indeed, you sadistic matron!
The doctor didn't stop. As I sat there with the burning in my retinas, the grown ups had a chat. I think I may have continued rambling like a madman in the chair, detailing my plans and swearing to never do it again if they would only let me go. I doubt they heard me or cared. Adults do have a way of undermining precocious children. Finally the pain subsided and my mother took me home. Needless to say, I didn't get glasses any time soon, but I would one day don that most coveted diadem of knowledge and power.
It was eighth grade and I was getting headaches from looking at the different colors on the white board. My depth perception was the pits. It was determined that I was near sighted in my right eye and I was given glasses. I only wore them up until half way through college when I realized that none of my professors were really using the white boards, so I stopped wearing them.
Kids, remember this; fitting in is not necessarily worth it. If you can make it through kindergarten, you can make it through anything.
Monday, June 6, 2011
On a Thrifty Trip to Stonehenge
I've been to England twice. The first time was great, but I think the second time was better, namely because I got out more. On my second go I made it to Scotland and Wales, which were far more fantastic than I could have dreamed. The major disappointment was Nottingham, which is unfortunately not quite so quaint as I was expecting. I always tend to skip over the whole 'industrial revolution' bit of English history, though that can't be too much a surprise because I don't really care for history once you get into the high middle ages. Skip on and get to the Renaissance, chop off Charlie's head, pass through Cromwell, and get to Mad King George already, I haven't got all day. By the time we do that though my interest has waned and I'm already nostalgic for the Danes a thousand years before.
One thing I did do twice was hit Stonehenge. I'll probably do it a third time when I go back to concentrate on getting to Hadrian's Wall and the legendary Tintagel, because the really old stuff is where I like it. Go on to Liverpool and take your Beatles tour because The Beatles, like, totally revolutionized music (by dumbing it down from the heyday of Neoclassicism...?), I'm going to go see the Temple of Mithras, which is the oldest existing foundation in London, which is one of the oldest cities in the world. "Yeah... I don't see nothing but a bunch of rocks" you might say. Sure it's just a bunch of rocks in the ground, but that's not the point. The point is that they were arranged. By people. Two thousand years ago. For some reason beyond my own knowledge someone said, "You know what I think would be super cool? It would be super cool to worship this Persian god in this very non-Persian place by us Romans, who are neither Persian nor even from around these parts. Let's build a temple!" And that is how you link two seemingly unrelated cultures in a world where there is no apparent communication between continents let alone countries. Globalization totally happened before the internet, you guys. I promise.
Back to Stonehenge, which is older than Mithras and more impressive to you lot, I'm sure, because you know it. You've heard of it. It's this weirdly mysterious, ethereal place out in the middle of nowhere that was once frequented by aliens, and nobody knows how it got there. Actually, recent excavations have given us clues as to what it was all about and how it really isn't all that mysterious, but I know you're hoping to go there one day to get your solstice on. Well here is how you can do it on a budget.
First, we're going to assume that you're in London, trying to keep to a budget because things are insanely expensive and you're not but a foolish college student selling your soul to the bank to even be here. Oh well, future you can pay after the economy goes bad, you can't find a job, and you realize that you're now an adult with adult problems, right? Right. So first of all, actually, we should go over what you should NOT do.
DO NOT take a bus tour from London. Yes, you might get to go to Bath and Windsor as well as Stonehenge, but if you don't care about those places, or perhaps if you care too much about them (only an hour to ponder the steaming green waters of the old Roman bathhouse?! Puhlease.), remember that you will be stuck for most of the time on a bus with a nice Scottish tour guide, and a lot of old people. My god man, pull yourself together and use your bloody legs! You have two of them, and England isn't exactly a hike. Bus tours are for old people who've forgotten what it's like to be adventurous. Besides that, sixty pounds to race through three audio tours and hang out with said old people is not worth it. This was my first trip.
DO get a student rail pass. STA Travel isn't always the best way to go on air fare, but they do offer deals on rail passes. I think I got one for three hundred US dollars, and it gave me ten days of rail travel anywhere in the UK. I could go anytime as long as all the days were used within a two or three month period. This is the most expensive cost for getting to Stonehenge.
The night before you leave, you'll want to stop at a Tesco Express to pick up a lunch. Grab a £2.50 sandwich, and a £1 bag of rosemary chicken crisps (the English have come up with some fantastic flavors, it's like eating a whole chicken and mashed potato dinner. Willy Wonka really does exist! Further proof? Ham and Dijon flavor. Tastes like vomit. DO NOT EAT THE HAM AND DIJON!!!). If you are really stupid enough to pack a carbonated beverage on a backpacking excursion, take a Fanta. The English know how to do Fanta. However, this is not recommended. Please pack yourself water and stay hydrated!
The next step is to take a train from London to Salisbury. I don't remember what station I left from, but I'm willing to bet it was King's Cross. King's Cross is by no means the only train station to travel out of, but it's one of the more exciting ones. I mean, that's where Platform 9 3/4 is, and I spent a good five minutes trying to run through the blasted barrier to get through. Stupid Yank.
Once you get to Salisbury, you have to find the bus station. It's not near the train station, sorry, so you'll have to walk. In fact I don't remember at all where it was, but I do remember running into Salisbury cathedral. If you aren't sick of cathedrals yet, take a gander, because this one is super special. Just like all the other ones are also super special. Even I get cathedral'd out, and I am the one who gets excited about the semiotics of arch types.
Once you find the bus station, go in and ask the stodgy looking clerk for a ticket to Amesbury. KNOW THIS BEFOREHAND! If you so much as mention Stonehenge, he will look at you like a stupid tourist and try to sell you a thirty pound (about sixty US dollars) tour bus trip. We've discussed tour buses. DO NOT WANT. If you forget the name 'Amesbury', don't. Just don't. Seriously. If you say "I'd like to get to Stonehenge at the cheapest rate; how much to the closest town," he will respond in his nasally accent that the closest you can get to Stonehenge is Cairo, and that you might as well go the pyramids. Whatever, stodgy bus man, I'm a bleeding American. While your great great great grandpa was moping about with his sheep in the rain, mine was fighting off natives and growing crops in a freaking desert with salt water. I'm a freaking survivalist, and I KNOW how to play thrifty! (So you shouldn't say this because you're a cocky American, and everyone hates cocky Americans.)
Stodgy bus man will eventually cave to your request and admit that Amesbury is the closest you can get to Stonehenge. Then he'll tell you that it's ten miles walking from there (lies, it's two and a half), and that you have to brave a highway. Knowing that in your feeble American mind, you're thinking of wide lanes with careless sports cars and semi trucks, he will smirk at you as you contemplate the potentially lethal crossing. Then when you ask if there's a walk way over or under the highway, he'll start selling the bus tour again. Scowl at him and demand the £5.00 round trip bus fare to Amesbury. The bus leaves every half hour.
Thirty minutes later, you'll arrive in Amesbury and everything will be closed, though this may be because you've gone on a Sunday. I don't quite remember. There are, blessedly, signs that will guide you to Stonehenge. The walk is pleasant, and the view is gorgeous. There are farm animals to say hello to, because you don't typically see sheep in suburbia, so take it in. This is what England is all about, after all, right?
Then comes the highway. There are semi trucks and lots of cars, but who are we kidding? This isn't LA and everyone knows that European cars are wimpy little clown mobiles. You'll survive. Just scream as you run across the four lanes. It makes it all the more exciting. There is an island in the middle where the road that runs by Stonehenge turns off the highway, so it's more like taking two lanes at a time.
Congratulations! You have made it! The henge is right there on the other side of the fence. If you REALLY want to walk around it, then pay the £7.50 to go walk around it with an audio tour, but this is not necessary. You can get just as close to Stonehenge as the fools who pay, the only difference is that they get about two feet closer and are inside the chain link fence. You can't walk up to it, and really, it's a circle of rocks in a symmetrical formation. What you see on one side is what you see on the other, and you've already done enough research on it because you're an Anglophilic history buff. Take your pictures, eat your lunch, and run back across the highway. Hop the bus back to Salisbury and the train back to London. You've just done Stonehenge in the most exciting way possible.
One thing I did do twice was hit Stonehenge. I'll probably do it a third time when I go back to concentrate on getting to Hadrian's Wall and the legendary Tintagel, because the really old stuff is where I like it. Go on to Liverpool and take your Beatles tour because The Beatles, like, totally revolutionized music (by dumbing it down from the heyday of Neoclassicism...?), I'm going to go see the Temple of Mithras, which is the oldest existing foundation in London, which is one of the oldest cities in the world. "Yeah... I don't see nothing but a bunch of rocks" you might say. Sure it's just a bunch of rocks in the ground, but that's not the point. The point is that they were arranged. By people. Two thousand years ago. For some reason beyond my own knowledge someone said, "You know what I think would be super cool? It would be super cool to worship this Persian god in this very non-Persian place by us Romans, who are neither Persian nor even from around these parts. Let's build a temple!" And that is how you link two seemingly unrelated cultures in a world where there is no apparent communication between continents let alone countries. Globalization totally happened before the internet, you guys. I promise.
Back to Stonehenge, which is older than Mithras and more impressive to you lot, I'm sure, because you know it. You've heard of it. It's this weirdly mysterious, ethereal place out in the middle of nowhere that was once frequented by aliens, and nobody knows how it got there. Actually, recent excavations have given us clues as to what it was all about and how it really isn't all that mysterious, but I know you're hoping to go there one day to get your solstice on. Well here is how you can do it on a budget.
First, we're going to assume that you're in London, trying to keep to a budget because things are insanely expensive and you're not but a foolish college student selling your soul to the bank to even be here. Oh well, future you can pay after the economy goes bad, you can't find a job, and you realize that you're now an adult with adult problems, right? Right. So first of all, actually, we should go over what you should NOT do.
DO NOT take a bus tour from London. Yes, you might get to go to Bath and Windsor as well as Stonehenge, but if you don't care about those places, or perhaps if you care too much about them (only an hour to ponder the steaming green waters of the old Roman bathhouse?! Puhlease.), remember that you will be stuck for most of the time on a bus with a nice Scottish tour guide, and a lot of old people. My god man, pull yourself together and use your bloody legs! You have two of them, and England isn't exactly a hike. Bus tours are for old people who've forgotten what it's like to be adventurous. Besides that, sixty pounds to race through three audio tours and hang out with said old people is not worth it. This was my first trip.
DO get a student rail pass. STA Travel isn't always the best way to go on air fare, but they do offer deals on rail passes. I think I got one for three hundred US dollars, and it gave me ten days of rail travel anywhere in the UK. I could go anytime as long as all the days were used within a two or three month period. This is the most expensive cost for getting to Stonehenge.
The night before you leave, you'll want to stop at a Tesco Express to pick up a lunch. Grab a £2.50 sandwich, and a £1 bag of rosemary chicken crisps (the English have come up with some fantastic flavors, it's like eating a whole chicken and mashed potato dinner. Willy Wonka really does exist! Further proof? Ham and Dijon flavor. Tastes like vomit. DO NOT EAT THE HAM AND DIJON!!!). If you are really stupid enough to pack a carbonated beverage on a backpacking excursion, take a Fanta. The English know how to do Fanta. However, this is not recommended. Please pack yourself water and stay hydrated!
The next step is to take a train from London to Salisbury. I don't remember what station I left from, but I'm willing to bet it was King's Cross. King's Cross is by no means the only train station to travel out of, but it's one of the more exciting ones. I mean, that's where Platform 9 3/4 is, and I spent a good five minutes trying to run through the blasted barrier to get through. Stupid Yank.
Once you get to Salisbury, you have to find the bus station. It's not near the train station, sorry, so you'll have to walk. In fact I don't remember at all where it was, but I do remember running into Salisbury cathedral. If you aren't sick of cathedrals yet, take a gander, because this one is super special. Just like all the other ones are also super special. Even I get cathedral'd out, and I am the one who gets excited about the semiotics of arch types.
Once you find the bus station, go in and ask the stodgy looking clerk for a ticket to Amesbury. KNOW THIS BEFOREHAND! If you so much as mention Stonehenge, he will look at you like a stupid tourist and try to sell you a thirty pound (about sixty US dollars) tour bus trip. We've discussed tour buses. DO NOT WANT. If you forget the name 'Amesbury', don't. Just don't. Seriously. If you say "I'd like to get to Stonehenge at the cheapest rate; how much to the closest town," he will respond in his nasally accent that the closest you can get to Stonehenge is Cairo, and that you might as well go the pyramids. Whatever, stodgy bus man, I'm a bleeding American. While your great great great grandpa was moping about with his sheep in the rain, mine was fighting off natives and growing crops in a freaking desert with salt water. I'm a freaking survivalist, and I KNOW how to play thrifty! (So you shouldn't say this because you're a cocky American, and everyone hates cocky Americans.)
Stodgy bus man will eventually cave to your request and admit that Amesbury is the closest you can get to Stonehenge. Then he'll tell you that it's ten miles walking from there (lies, it's two and a half), and that you have to brave a highway. Knowing that in your feeble American mind, you're thinking of wide lanes with careless sports cars and semi trucks, he will smirk at you as you contemplate the potentially lethal crossing. Then when you ask if there's a walk way over or under the highway, he'll start selling the bus tour again. Scowl at him and demand the £5.00 round trip bus fare to Amesbury. The bus leaves every half hour.
Thirty minutes later, you'll arrive in Amesbury and everything will be closed, though this may be because you've gone on a Sunday. I don't quite remember. There are, blessedly, signs that will guide you to Stonehenge. The walk is pleasant, and the view is gorgeous. There are farm animals to say hello to, because you don't typically see sheep in suburbia, so take it in. This is what England is all about, after all, right?
Then comes the highway. There are semi trucks and lots of cars, but who are we kidding? This isn't LA and everyone knows that European cars are wimpy little clown mobiles. You'll survive. Just scream as you run across the four lanes. It makes it all the more exciting. There is an island in the middle where the road that runs by Stonehenge turns off the highway, so it's more like taking two lanes at a time.
Congratulations! You have made it! The henge is right there on the other side of the fence. If you REALLY want to walk around it, then pay the £7.50 to go walk around it with an audio tour, but this is not necessary. You can get just as close to Stonehenge as the fools who pay, the only difference is that they get about two feet closer and are inside the chain link fence. You can't walk up to it, and really, it's a circle of rocks in a symmetrical formation. What you see on one side is what you see on the other, and you've already done enough research on it because you're an Anglophilic history buff. Take your pictures, eat your lunch, and run back across the highway. Hop the bus back to Salisbury and the train back to London. You've just done Stonehenge in the most exciting way possible.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
On Living Quixotically
I get to thinking about life quite a bit lately, seeing as I have some spare time. Sort of. I must admit that in some ways it's getting far more complicated lately than I like. I often feel as though it's nearing that time again where I fall off the face of the planet and start again. Why? Oh, because I do this every couple of years. I grew up moving around, and that's how I like it. Packing up and leaving is very easy for me to do because it offers up the opportunity to start a new adventure.
Alas, there is no removal of self from this current situation for the foreseeable future and I'm afraid that I'm beginning to wonder if I can survive it. I'm pretty sure I can, but having to stick it through has forced me to reevaluate the way I interact with my world. I have to be more social, for example, instead of taking my perch as observer. There is no being anonymous in my own life anymore. I also have to live by what is quickly becoming a motto for myself, which is to find the adventure in monotony. Surprisingly, that's fairly simple to do with a decent enough imagination, and it is in galumphing through fantasy that makes reality bearable.
Now, I'm not partial to Spanish literature. There's really no getting me to cross the English Channel, so I haven't read Cervantes, but I definitely feel that this is the year of Don Quixote for me. I only have Peter O'Toole and Sophia Loren in 1972's Man of La Mancha to go off of, and the story as told in the musical is certainly one I feel I can relate to. I've been mulling the music around in my head, and I find it inspiring. Perhaps I'll come 'round and read the book because I certainly would like to. For now, I'll have to be satisfied with 'The Impossible Dream' as not written by Cervantes, but by Mitch Leigh and Joe Darion.
To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go
To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star
This is my quest
To follow that star
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far
To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march into Hell
For a heavenly cause
And I know that if I'll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I'm laid to my rest
And the world will be better for this
That one man, scorned and covered with scars
Still he strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star
Typically this wouldn't apply to me. Having an easy way out has made it difficult for me to face tasks. I'm a creature of convenience, not one of hit or miss. It's never made sense to me to not succeed at something, and if that star is too high, I reach for one closer. I'm done with that. I'm sick and tired of being reasonable and going after the logical choice. I've always longed for adventure and quests, and this is where I take my leave of reality; by mounting my steed and riding off into who knows what. Perhaps I am delusional, and perhaps I will fail, but what does failure matter when reward is given not by the number of successes, but by my undying devotion to trying? That's what I believe, and it's about time that I applied that belief to my life.
In some ways I worry that this is the immature way to go, that living by trial and error is better left to young children just getting their feet wet. I feel that by the time you get to be an adult, you should be doing what I've already been doing. I feel as though I'm growing in the opposite direction. I've seen reality, I know how to survive well. I was the child who stuck to the rules and was beaten severely for it. I'm the charlatan artist who never experimented with different mediums in fear of inadequacy. I took for Word the wrong opinions and held myself back in fear that I wasn't good enough. I'm a very competitive person who must have perfection at the first go.
But what use is the competition if I'm only picking the battles I know I can win? That's not competition, that calculation and cheating. Looking back on things, what if I had applied to more than just one school? What if I had, against all odds, been accepted to a top fifty university? I might be better off, I might be worse off. That is an adventure I can't have, and I won't dwell on it, but I can choose to take those risks now. I'm reaching for things I may not ever be able to touch. I refuse to settle anymore. This is it. This is the leap. I'm dead scared and downright terrified, but I'm going to do it.
Firstly, I will seize the opportunity to make the most of my education in this life. I will go see and do what I feel must be done in order to fully understand what it is I'm studying. It's all very well to read books, but I'm a believer in going to history. It may not be in my best interest financially to go globe trotting or laying down the money for things I can't afford, but I trust in myself to find a way. I'm already an expert survivor, and I'm too smart to fall into a debtor's prison.
Secondly, I will bear a broken heart. This is especially hard for me. Emotions get in the way, and I don't like them. They're bloody distracting and only serve to get you in trouble. Even being upbeat and positive is dangerous. I'm prone to suffer from depression, and it has robbed me of much of my life. I've vowed to never again go through that. I won't break that vow, for there is a difference between suffering and bearing a burden. I invite Life to throw what it will at me, for my knees will not buckle.
Thirdly, I will trust in my God no matter the doubts I may have. I have wasted too much time in trying to seek Him out through scientific proof or philosophic validity. Proof doesn't matter. That's not what faith is about. So what if there is no God? So what if there is no eternal reward? At least I may die knowing I've lived life to the fullest in pursuit of something better.
So here I set myself up for financial insecurity, psychological instability, and delusional expectations. I am a fool, but only as much as anyone else. For all the mature adults in the world, how many mature adults don't suffer from at least one of these? I think there may be a difference. Where others fall into these problems despite their best efforts to avoid them, I'm going to take them head on. If it's just a windmill, then it won't be as difficult to defeat as an actual giant with an intelligence of its own, will it? For the sake of adventure, I'd still rather take it on as a giant.
In the musical, the character of Cervantes puts it nicely: "I've been a soldier and a slave. I've seen my comrades die in battle or die more slowly under the lash in Africa. I've held them in my arms at the final moment. These were men who saw life as it is, yet they died despairing. No glory, no brave last words, only their eyes, filled with confusion, questioning 'Why?' I don't think they were wondering why they were dying, but why they had ever lived. When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? To surrender dreams-this may be madness; to seek treasure where there is only trash. Too much sanity may be madness! But maddest of all-to see life as it is and not as it should be."
Seeing life as it is never makes it better, nor does it make it any worse. Instinct will kick in, and even the worst can be overcome. "This is my quest, to follow that star. No matter how hopeless, no matter far... To be willing to march into Hell for a heavenly cause..."
Why, hello Cerberus.
Alas, there is no removal of self from this current situation for the foreseeable future and I'm afraid that I'm beginning to wonder if I can survive it. I'm pretty sure I can, but having to stick it through has forced me to reevaluate the way I interact with my world. I have to be more social, for example, instead of taking my perch as observer. There is no being anonymous in my own life anymore. I also have to live by what is quickly becoming a motto for myself, which is to find the adventure in monotony. Surprisingly, that's fairly simple to do with a decent enough imagination, and it is in galumphing through fantasy that makes reality bearable.
Now, I'm not partial to Spanish literature. There's really no getting me to cross the English Channel, so I haven't read Cervantes, but I definitely feel that this is the year of Don Quixote for me. I only have Peter O'Toole and Sophia Loren in 1972's Man of La Mancha to go off of, and the story as told in the musical is certainly one I feel I can relate to. I've been mulling the music around in my head, and I find it inspiring. Perhaps I'll come 'round and read the book because I certainly would like to. For now, I'll have to be satisfied with 'The Impossible Dream' as not written by Cervantes, but by Mitch Leigh and Joe Darion.
To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go
To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star
This is my quest
To follow that star
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far
To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march into Hell
For a heavenly cause
And I know that if I'll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I'm laid to my rest
And the world will be better for this
That one man, scorned and covered with scars
Still he strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star
Typically this wouldn't apply to me. Having an easy way out has made it difficult for me to face tasks. I'm a creature of convenience, not one of hit or miss. It's never made sense to me to not succeed at something, and if that star is too high, I reach for one closer. I'm done with that. I'm sick and tired of being reasonable and going after the logical choice. I've always longed for adventure and quests, and this is where I take my leave of reality; by mounting my steed and riding off into who knows what. Perhaps I am delusional, and perhaps I will fail, but what does failure matter when reward is given not by the number of successes, but by my undying devotion to trying? That's what I believe, and it's about time that I applied that belief to my life.
In some ways I worry that this is the immature way to go, that living by trial and error is better left to young children just getting their feet wet. I feel that by the time you get to be an adult, you should be doing what I've already been doing. I feel as though I'm growing in the opposite direction. I've seen reality, I know how to survive well. I was the child who stuck to the rules and was beaten severely for it. I'm the charlatan artist who never experimented with different mediums in fear of inadequacy. I took for Word the wrong opinions and held myself back in fear that I wasn't good enough. I'm a very competitive person who must have perfection at the first go.
But what use is the competition if I'm only picking the battles I know I can win? That's not competition, that calculation and cheating. Looking back on things, what if I had applied to more than just one school? What if I had, against all odds, been accepted to a top fifty university? I might be better off, I might be worse off. That is an adventure I can't have, and I won't dwell on it, but I can choose to take those risks now. I'm reaching for things I may not ever be able to touch. I refuse to settle anymore. This is it. This is the leap. I'm dead scared and downright terrified, but I'm going to do it.
Firstly, I will seize the opportunity to make the most of my education in this life. I will go see and do what I feel must be done in order to fully understand what it is I'm studying. It's all very well to read books, but I'm a believer in going to history. It may not be in my best interest financially to go globe trotting or laying down the money for things I can't afford, but I trust in myself to find a way. I'm already an expert survivor, and I'm too smart to fall into a debtor's prison.
Secondly, I will bear a broken heart. This is especially hard for me. Emotions get in the way, and I don't like them. They're bloody distracting and only serve to get you in trouble. Even being upbeat and positive is dangerous. I'm prone to suffer from depression, and it has robbed me of much of my life. I've vowed to never again go through that. I won't break that vow, for there is a difference between suffering and bearing a burden. I invite Life to throw what it will at me, for my knees will not buckle.
Thirdly, I will trust in my God no matter the doubts I may have. I have wasted too much time in trying to seek Him out through scientific proof or philosophic validity. Proof doesn't matter. That's not what faith is about. So what if there is no God? So what if there is no eternal reward? At least I may die knowing I've lived life to the fullest in pursuit of something better.
So here I set myself up for financial insecurity, psychological instability, and delusional expectations. I am a fool, but only as much as anyone else. For all the mature adults in the world, how many mature adults don't suffer from at least one of these? I think there may be a difference. Where others fall into these problems despite their best efforts to avoid them, I'm going to take them head on. If it's just a windmill, then it won't be as difficult to defeat as an actual giant with an intelligence of its own, will it? For the sake of adventure, I'd still rather take it on as a giant.
In the musical, the character of Cervantes puts it nicely: "I've been a soldier and a slave. I've seen my comrades die in battle or die more slowly under the lash in Africa. I've held them in my arms at the final moment. These were men who saw life as it is, yet they died despairing. No glory, no brave last words, only their eyes, filled with confusion, questioning 'Why?' I don't think they were wondering why they were dying, but why they had ever lived. When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? To surrender dreams-this may be madness; to seek treasure where there is only trash. Too much sanity may be madness! But maddest of all-to see life as it is and not as it should be."
Seeing life as it is never makes it better, nor does it make it any worse. Instinct will kick in, and even the worst can be overcome. "This is my quest, to follow that star. No matter how hopeless, no matter far... To be willing to march into Hell for a heavenly cause..."
Why, hello Cerberus.
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