The Great Gatsby Review

Let it be known that I loved this movie.
Yes, this review is late, but my opinion and I are so important I know you've just been on the edge of your seat waiting for my thoughts.
I'll get the practical stuff out the way first. I do understand where the criticism is coming from - the green screen was a bit not-pretty at the beginning, but got better, and the soundtrack did not fit the time period.
HAVE YOU LISTENED TO THE SOUNDTRACK?!
It's AMAZING.
And I think we were not given time period music because, well, it wouldn't be a soundtrack, it'd be an album of old, fuzzy recordings that were probably ethnically offensive (white musicians in the 20s weren't known for their tact.)
Anyway, Leonardo diCaprio was beautiful and perfect, as always, and if he doesn't win the Oscar, who wants to storm the Academy with me?
Carey Mulligan was wonderful, and I think she captured the soul-sucking frivolity and vapidity of Daisy accurately. To be quite frank, I thought the casting was impeccable.
I thought this movie was pretty damn close to perfect. I mean, think about how truly and undeniably horribly it could have gone, and it didn't.
This movie gets 5 out of 5 stars from me.
I'm going to get the DVD for my birthday.
I'm gonna get a Netflix account just so I can watch it.
Might buy it on iTunes (and I NEVER buy things on iTunes).
Might get stills from the movie on a T-shirt and never take aforementioned T-shirt off.
All you poopooheads that didn't like it?
Buh-bye boo boo.

Dystopia

The sky was a steely gray, the air bitingly cold. A pungent smell hovers on the outskirts of the City.

The Clamor has begun. Across the City of the Berlin Commune, girls wake early and prepare themselves. Boys sharpen knives and practice throwing them telekinetically; small animals are expended for practice.

At noon, the Academy doors are opened, and the pale faces of the Aryan masses look to the promenade.

 Der Miester steps to the edge of the stage and surveys the crowd. He clears his throat, and when he speaks, his voice is amplified to reach those even in the far reaches.

“Welcome to The Clamor. Today, we begin the continuation of perfection. Our father Hitler left us this legacy; we are his progenies, and we will carry his vision out.

“Every ten years, girls and boys that have reached majority are placed in a sort of... competition. The girls are evaluated for their suitability as wives and mothers; boys are evaluated for their suitability as protectors and providers.

“Those that do not do well in the competition are killed, along with their families. There is no need in our society for inferior beings.” His expression changes - a sadistic mockery of a smile. “Good luck, and good games.”

The girls are ushered through a door to the right, the boys to one on the left. Analiese turns back to look at her mother, who is staring at her calculatedly. Was she the right one to send? Analiese can almost hear her thinking. Even though Analiese has always been more supernaturally talented than her female and male cousins, even though she has demonstrated levels of intelligence and raw talent superior even by Aryan standards, one wrong move on her part could result in the death of her entire family, and her mother knows that.  There is no love in her eyes as she regards Analiese, just measured speculation. Analiese does not care about her, either, but there is a twinge of fear at the unknown. Will this be the last time that she sees them? She turns around to where a bright light has begun to shine. The door slams shut behind them, sealing them from their previous lives and pushing them into the madness.

****

At the edges of city, the smell is stronger. Workers with face masks pulled up over their mouths sweep, build, and prepare.

The concentration camps are reopened.

****

In each holding facility, the Aryan girls are sat in rows. There is another room leading from the antechamber. 

This is the first round: the test of fertility. Two months ago, girls were given blood tests and ultrasounds to determine whether or not they were physically able to bear children.

A woman stands upon a stage to the right of the door leading from the room they are in, her ice blue eyes settling on the matching ones of the girls in front of her. When all have settled in their seats, she clears her throat.

“When I call your name, please stand.”

She begins to recite names from a long list in front of her. When she reaches the end of the list and stands, staring, for a few moments, Analiese begins to worry.

Her name has not been called. She frowns, surveying the girls standing around her, some of them with smirking smugly.

“If you name has been called, please enter the next room.”

The girls file out. The woman upon the stage glances at the door and it slams shut. The screams on the other side begin immediately after it closes, muffled by the metal but still audible to the girls’ finely honed ears.

She allows the smallest of smiles. “Congratulations,” she says to the remaining girls, who are glancing alarmedly at the now empty seats around them, occupied just a few moments ago by schoolmates, by people that were almost friends.

“You have survived the first round of The Clamor.”

****

The boys are ushered into the holding room opposite the girls’ and sit in rows, too. Der Meister’s voice echoes from the stage upon which he stands. 

“If I call your name, please stand.” 

When Henry’s name is called, he springs to his feet. His eyes are at the ready; his parents have told him stories of The Clamor. The girls’ challenges are less dangerous, less sudden. The boys can die in seconds.

Der Meister finishes the list. “If I have called your name, you may step into the next room.”

Henry follows the line of boys as they file out. The door is shut behind them.

On the other side, you can hear the yells and ripping of flesh, and roars of wild beasts.

Der Meister’s voice is heard through the metal of the door that has shut behind them.

“This is your reward for being infertile. Shame upon your families.”

On the other side stands another of the member’s of the Academy Council.

“Congratulations; you have completed the first round of The Clamor.”

****

The girls that failed the first task have been gathered here. Some are bruised, others bloody, still others both.

The failure of a task by a girl is not greeted with immediate death; no, Der Meister says, they must first suffer. 

Once they are led from the antechamber, they are flung from metal wall to metal wall by Academy members, their superhuman abilities allowing them to torture the girls without laying so much as a finger on them.

They sit at the High Table and gaze down upon them, inflicting agony with their ice cold stares. 

Then, the girls are led from the antechamber, limping, and are met by their families in the courtyards.

They travel to the camps together, and it is there that they suffer the worst humiliation possible: they must gaze upon the Untergebenen, or, simply, the inferiors.

This signifies their removal from the race of the Aryans; they are now no better than the disabled or the dark skinned.

The Untergebenen are kept around for two reasons: to be ridiculed and mocked by the Aryans, and to be the worst punishment an Aryan can receive. Aryans have no emotion save for hatred and love. Hatred they are taught their entire lives; love they are granted if they survive The Clamor.

Now, not only are they receiving the death penalty, but at the hands of the scum of the earth. 

This alone is almost too much to bear for the former Aryans; they turn their eyes upward, the burn stinging in the back of their hearts - they are not able to produce tears, though. The only thing visible in their emotionless faces is the physical pain caused by coming too close to the  Untergebenen; due to the centuries long separation of the two, mutations have erupted between the two races.

Acelin turns his head from them, not wanting to see their pain.

Though they look at him with disdain, contempt, though he has heard tell of their unnatural beauty, paleness, and inhuman powers - the ability to move things with their mind, run faster than lightning, control the elements! - he cannot bring himself to truly hate them.

Are they not people, too?

****

Analiese lies in her bed that night, an unfamiliar thing housed in The Clamor District, which she must stay in until the end of the challenges. 

Somewhere in the distance, there are faint sounds of the camps being put back to their original sense. She can smell the gas, and hear the labored breaths as those who have failed the challenge and their siblings, parents, grandparents, and any other family members are locked in the chambers, their deaths supervised by members of the Academy.

She turns away from the window and covers her ears with her pillow.

The other girls crowd around the windows, trying to glimpse the carnage.

****

The boys have a second challenge during the night. They are locked out of The Clamor District, which is protected by walls and accessed by several doors set around the perimeter. 

The boys are given a map, a flashlight, and a warning.

“There are members of the Academy outside to injure, but not kill you,” Der Meister announces. “However, the key to get back into The Clamor District is buried in the wilderness. We have released some of the mentally ill Untergebenen into the forest, and, mind you, the beasts are always present. Good luck, and good games.”

He turns and enters the District door, and it slams shut behind them, leaving the boys in the midnight. The sound of steps is heard, and heavy breathing.

Lightning flashes across the sky; in the middle of the Plaza, an Academy member stands with raised hands raised, commanding the skies.

Several boys are struck; a bolt falls near Henry and he quickly sidesteps it. Yells and chaos begin to fill the air. Henry starts to run towards the forest, his eyes sweeping the expanse of the Plaza. Lightning strikes the tree directly in front of him and it falls towards him.

He holds his hand up, and it slows. Seeing a boy with his back turned a few yards away - still in range of injury from the tree - and he drops it on him. The boy crumples with a thud.

Henry turns, squares his shoulder, and enters the woodland.

The darkness swallows him whole, cutting him off from the The Clamor District, the City, and everything he has ever known.

A growl sounds behind him. He turns, to see the shadow of something move quickly behind the overgrowth. He stalks forward, body tensed. 

A wolf springs out at him, its gray eyes wild and claws poised. He pivots and back toward a tree, pulling out a dagger. The beast whips around to find him and growls again. It launches itself at him, a paw hitting the dagger out of his hand. He rolls towards it, his outstretched fingers grasping for the hilt. The wolf falls behind him, but quickly gets to its feet. Henry grabs the dagger and turns just as it brings its bared teeth down where his exposed back had been moments before.

He stabs the thing in its temple, and it howls with pain, a loud, echoing sound. Henry pulls the dagger out and plummets it into the wolf’s chest. 

And there, glistening and embedded among muscle, blood, and fat, is a golden key. 

Henry pushes the animal to his left, bends over it, and digs the key from its chest cavity.

He troops back to The Clamor District’s door and unlocks it.

He is the first to come back alive.

****

Analiese is woken in the night by a shrill, sharp cry. Her eyes snap open and she swings her feet out from underneath the sheets and stands, cocking her head to pinpoint the sound.

She opens her door and descends the staircase, coming to a stop where a few other sleepy and confused looking girls are gathered.

There is a line of flames, with small bundles in the middle.

Analiese gasps as she realizes that the cries are coming from the center of the flames; there are babies inside each column of fire.

She rushes forward, and, with a wave of her hand, the flames disappear. The other girls, not caring about the babies but surmising that this is the next challenge, follow suit.

She looks down, realizing it is an Untergebenen baby, used for only practice. She feels a strange twinge as she realizes she will have to kill it, now that it has been used. 

She does not want to. She turns away from the other girls, passing her hand over the little girl bundled in her arms, her burnt skin a raw and angry red. She wills the child into unconsciousness, then slips to the bathroom unnoticed.

Behind her, the cries of the children being murdered, and those of  the girls upstairs being beaten and taken to the camps for failing the challenge by failing to wake mingle into a cacophonous din.

The noise covers up the sound of her leaving.

****

On his way back to the sleeping chambers after re-entering The Clamor District, Henry thinks he sees, through the windows, someone moving 

Henry sits in his room, rubbing antiseptic on the one injury he suffered from the wolf, a swipe across the shoulder blade and traveling down his chest. 

He stands to retrieve more cotton balls, and notices a figure, in black, walking along the edge of the forest, towards the camp.

The figure is slight, girlish, and unescorted - they are not being taken to the camps for extermination, as the boys who failed to return to The Clamor District on time were about a half hour ago.

Why, then? Why would an Aryan competitor be going to the camps?

He shrugs, not wanting to risk his own life by traveling to the camps without the explicit permission of Der Meister. He turns back to the mirror, inspecting his wounds.

****

The Untergebenen women and men cower against the walls of their metal shacks, looking at Analiese’s pale eyes, skin, and hair, knowing to be afraid of her.

She could kill them with a single glance, but instead she is pleading, trying to hurry back to The Clamor District.

“Please, I just mean to return the baby,” she says, trying to seem unthreatening.

There is silence, and then a woman steps from behind her husband, trembling.

“A baby girl?” she asks timidly, her husband glaring at her.

“Yes. Brown eyes, brown hair. There is a birthmark on her hand.”

The woman looks back to her husband. “She is ours.”

He shakes his head, and Analiese sighs, walking over to them. They look at her fearfully.

She places the baby in the woman’s arms and turns to leave.

As she begins to open the door, a boy about her age rushes forward and takes her arm.

“Thanks.”

She smiles. “You’re welcome.”

She turns, opens the doors, and looks up into the eyes of Der Meister.

****

Final Questions

1) What does the green light in The Great Gatsby represent? A.) Gatsby’s longing for the simultaneously near and far Daisy. B) Nick’s yearning for Jordan. C) The clash between new and old money. D.) Myrtle’s yearning to marry Tom. (Katherine Powell, 8th Period)

 

2) What does ‘neophyte’ mean? A) A new duel. B) Veteran. C) Someone whose never tried something. D) Beginner (Katherine Powell, 8th Period)

 

3) What does Amanda’s constant retelling of her “seventeen gentleman callers” (in The Glass Menagerie) represent? A) Her anger at Laura for quitting school. B) Her anger at the women that don’t buy her magazines. C) Her wish for grandchildren. D) Her wish that she’d been sensible and not married Tom and Laura’s father. (Katherine Powell, 8th Period)

4) What is the theme of ‘The Cask of the Amontillado’? A) Never trust anyone. B) True and complete revenge. C) Never celebrate holidays. D) Italians should not have catacombs; I mean, why wouldn’t you bury someone down there, it’s the perfect place. (Katherine Powell, 8th Period)

 

5) What is Nick’s opinion of Tom and Daisy at the end of The Great Gatsby? A) They are good people, just misguided. B) They were lucky to escape Jay and Myrtle’s clutches. C) They are selfish and havoc wreaking creatures. D) They did what was best for their daughter. (Katherine Powell, 8th Period)

10 Things Everyone Should Know

1) Smile, or laugh, at least five times a day. 

2) When in doubt, twerk it out - dancing can have a very positive, very freeing effect on you. 

3) Be nice to other people. Even when they're annoying. Then everyone knows you as that one person whose really nice to that other person and they think of the other person as that one guy that's really annoying and TADA, you've won. 

4) Read and write a lot. It's the quickest way to become a genius. 

5) Travel. Love may be in the air in another country. 

6) Classical music is for everyone, bot just old German men. 

7) You can only save the world if you do something stupid. 

8) Don't be friends with people who don't like you. 

9) Love and be free. 

10) Stay awesome, stay yourself, stay happy in your own way, and you'll be okay. 

What's In Your Suitcase?

Am I an introvert, ambivert (is that how you spell it? according to Autocorrect, it's not a word.), or extrovert? I'd like to think I'm an ambivert. Sometimes, I want to stay at home and read a book and eat chocolate and listen to Lykke Li; other times, I want to go out with my friends and have sleepovers and gossip and not go to bed ever again. There are some advantages to being an ambivert: you're equally as comfortable alone as in a crowd, able to collaborate but able to function on your own, and just a social butterfly (if I do say so myself).
Feels good being versatile.
Another thing: I do like the point the speaker makes: introverts are good and, sometimes, better. So next time you see someone working furiously alone, don't interrupt them, let them be.
Let them be themselves!

Steve Jobs, King of Everything

Steve Jobs is fabulous, y’all. I’m serious. His three tales given on the subjects of connecting the dots - he talks about dropping out of college (given at a Stanford graduation, ironically), love and loss - getting fired, starting the amazing Pixar company, and meeting the love of his life - and death - and using the fact that we will die to his advantage. He takes his failures and makes them into successes. He looks deep within his self and decides that if he’s reluctant to do things too many days in a row, he changes something. He creates something. Steve Jobs lent his genius and the beauty of his creations to us: his innovative technology and his wonderful Pixar movies (Up, the Toy Story trilogy, etc.) And he passes on some of the most important advice, some that most people forget in their pursuit of security and not happiness: STAY HUNGRY, STAY FOOLISH.

David Pogue

I get the sense that David Pogue is a very quick person. Quick on the draw, quick on his feet, quick thinking, and very funny. His tech tips (though some of them I knew, pat on the back for me), were very helpful. One thing I do appreciate was his friendliness. Walking through the halls of Whitney Young, many a time I have happened upon a young genius: a poet, a composer, or a tech genius, destined for the huddled masses of a graduating class of MIT.
And. Exceptionally. Arrogant.
And rude.
And condescending.
So, bravo! David Pogue. You told me something I didn't know without saying "You didn't know that?"
Because if I knew, I would surely not have asked.

Tony Robbins

Tony Robbins is a very interesting person. I think that he bought up some very interesting points.
He also swore a lot. And I'm still not sure of exactly what it is he does.
What I do like, though, are his sociological views on the "invisible forces" that fuel what we do. It is not resources, but resourcefulness: our emotions, creativity, determination, love & caring, curiosity, and passion. Once we have satisfied our own six needs - certainty, uncertainty, significance, connection, growth, and contribution - we set about making the world a better place.
I think that Mr. Robbins understanding of the human psyche and actions - albeit above average, sadly - can be of great help to the common man and secretaries of state alike. So often, many of the major world conflicts stem from a misunderstanding or clashing between two cultures. What Tony Robbins realizes, that many people don't, is that criminals and saints are the same - both are striving for significance - they just have chosen different paths. In that way, I think Mr. Robbins can teach to appreciate each others' humanity, which makes us the same, and our diversity, which lends difference and beauty to our world.

David Blaine: Crazy, or Crazy?

David Blaine is a very remarkable person. Whether in a good or bad way, well... You'll have to decide for yourself.
He held his breath for 17 minutes and 4 seconds, that's something!
Here are a few things I can take away from this video:
1) Never marry a magician. They are absolutely, indisputably, criminally insane.
2) Practice makes perfect. David lost weight, gained weight, spent a week in a glass box, thirty six hours on top of a pole, and almost drowned on national television, all to build his endurance and achieve his goals. So when I want to not practice my violin, or not do my homework, or not move, I think 'This guy spent thirty six hours standing on a pole; as a matter of fact, he was up there so long, and began to 'hallucinate so hard', that he thought the buildings around him had the heads of animals."
Perseverance is key; go hard or go home.
If you're not seeing things, you're not trying hard enough.

Glass Menagerie Review

10 question quiz for "The Glass Menagerie" here

Acceptance Speech for Pulitzer - Excerpt of novel "The La Roux Kids"

I never thought that, in this year of 2037, at the age of 39, that I would be winning a Pulitzer Prize for a novel that I started in high school. I began this work not for any lofty calling, but because I was curious about human nature, relationships, and interactions between people and just how much each and every one of us drives and hinders our fellow brethren. I looked at the themes of death, redemption, and the meaning of dying redeemed and peaceful. This story focuses on three youngsters, all with cancer: Emi La Roux, of no relation to the other two, and Henri La Roux wit a benign tumor and a heavy heart, and Haydn La Roux with a condition equal in devastation to Emi's. Henri is not God; actually, he is far from it. He cannot pick which one lives. But, I think, he learns to live and live with whatever hand you're dealt.

‘Henri sat in the waiting room, tapping his foot impatiently. The sounds of the evening news and heart monitors played in the room and down the hall; nurses chatted and old men shuffled, their IVs on wheeling stands beside them.

He noticed all of this; he noticed nothing. He was inside and outside of his head, trapped in his seat and floating above, somewhere unknown.

His heartbeat was irregular and his hands clammy. He tried reading, but the book fell, slipping out of his hands and skidding across the floor. He tried music, but it was empty, void of all previous interest.

The only thing he could do was watch the clock. He got up and paced, but then thought that he better stay in a solitary position. What if there was a wet spot on the floor? What if he tripped and fell and died, right there smack dab in the middle of a hospital, in this lonely waiting room, and never got to see either one of them again?

What if? No; no, he must remain in this safe position. He must not travel outside of it, or the balance he’d established would be upset and the whole room, the whole world, would come tumbling down in one rush of heartbreak and catastrophe.

“You’re going to give yourself an aneurysm.”

He looked up, surprised to see that someone was watching him. It wasn’t Emi or Haydn, but a nurse, her weary but happy green eyes trained on him, now rocking back and forth in his chair.

“At least I’m around people who can treat them.”

“True, very true. As Maya Angelou’s mother used to say ‘Expect the best and prepare for the worst.’

It hits him in the chest like a rock. He doesn’t say anything for a few beats, then turns to her.

“It’s hard.”

“Most things are; I’m not gonna lie to you, kiddo. You know, I’ve spent my whole entire life in this hospital. Since the age of 27 I’ve been here with these doctors and machines and janitors.

“They told me not to get attached to patients; I found that it wasn’t in my nature. Humans are social creatures, don’tcha think? And even though I’ve read stories to kids and watched them die, read newspapers to blind old men and watched them die, read stories to my mother and father and husband and even my eldest son, in this very building, and I watched them all die, I still find that hugging someone is the best way to end your day.”

“How do you do it?” he asks quietly. He doesn’t see how it is physically possible. How did she sit there and not bawl her eyes out every second of every day like he wants to?

“Well, sweetie, I can’t exactly tell you how. I think you’ve got to find your own way through life, and from what I’ve seen of you and your family and friends, you’re doing a fine job. But here’s what I think, with my small town nursing experience. Yes, there will be pain. I cry; actually, I cry a lot. I also eat a lot of ice cream. But I think that sitting here watching all these people die while I’m slowly dying my own self is worth it. So worth it. I walk past room 220 - the one your sister and girlfriend are in -”

He blushes.

“Well, that’s what she is, isn’t it? I see the way you look at that girl. Well, anyway, every time 220 is given to someone else after my husband was in it, I watch. And I know it hurts. I know it hurts to see them both that you love so much and know that one of them is going to die. I know that it hurts to watch your father struggle with the medical bills. But what I think when I sit and read my patients stories, is that I’ve brought them a moment of companionship, a moment of happiness, that I’ve been a star in their midnight. And yes, some of them will pass away - such is the nature of a hospital. But I think I send each of them out of here knowing that they were not alone. At their final hour between God and that hospital bed, someone thought of them. Someone cared enough for them to read them sports stats. And I think that’s all anyone ever really needs. And, you know, sometimes people do get better. And when they go out of here, I give them a note that says ‘Pay it forward. Love, Athena Marie Sage.’ So maybe when they go to church, or a library, they’ll hold a door open; they’ll smile at someone. Or when they’re on the bus back from the Pride Parade they’ll move their bag for an old woman, or when they see a blind man in the park, they’ll read him sports stats.”

He nods.

“It’s not easy dealing with death, sweetheart. But it happens. But you’ve got to find a way to make something healthy out of it. Then, you will have conquered it. Yeah, you’ll have to let one of them go. And I know you love them both very, very much. But when one dies, I want you to send her out happy, and then devote your entire life making the other happy so that she’ll have the same experience when she dies. Maybe I’m morbid, but I think on the other side of the veil, you’ll have done them both great justice."’

WY Art Fair!

I'm not much of an art person, so I don't often look for hidden meanings or political implications. So, why do I like this one? For the most universal of reasons: It is, simply, pretty.

I love words. I love the shapes that words take and how e.e. Cummings' poem "l(a" is formed. I like the play on words that this piece introduces, and the allusion to synecdoche: looking at the part as a whole and reverse. 

I love this piece because of the connection to the violin: the tattoos on her back are of F-holes on the instrument. Also, the classic black and white filter is really stunning. 

Top 10 20th Century Poems

10) "On the Pulse of Morning", Maya Angelou
9) "l(a", e.e Cummings
8) "The Giver of Stars", Amy Lowell
7) "Still I Rise", Maya Angelou
6) "I, Too, Sing America", Langston Hughes
5) "Poems Done on a Late Night Car", Carl Sandburg
4) "Fire and Sleet and Candle-Light", Elinor Wylie
3) "Four Sonnets", Edna St. Vincent Millay
2) "Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening", Robert Frost
1) "Fire and Ice", Robert Frost

My "Great Gatsby" Quiz. For fun. Yup.

The Great Gatsby Quiz! Take it at your own peril here

Tavi Gevinson, Her TED Talk, and Her Awesomeness

I was so inspired by Tavi, I just spent about two and a half hours on her website (rookiemag.com, check it out!) instead of doing this blog post. That being said, I shall now buckle down and get to it.
How do I love her and what she stands for? Let me count the ways.
1) She's a girl. And she's, like, a person. Wow.
2) She's blonde, and guess what? She's intelligent; she's opinionated; she's strong. I mean, I'm not a blonde, but this is a pretty huge day for them. *applause*
3) She's a feminist, but from the talk and the Web site, I'm guessing she doesn't hate men. She has created a Web site where girls can go for advice in the "Sex+Love" category, and even in the "Style" category. Yes, she wants equal representation and opportunities for girls, but she doesn't thinks this is reducing those of men until they are equivalent to a woman's; rather, she thinks this means raising those of women until they are equivalent to those allocated to men. She wears skirts and make-up. Which bring me to my next point.
4) She mentions that girls - BRACE YOURSELVES - are PEOPLE.
I KNOW.
SHE MIGHT BE INSANE.
That being said, she doesn't think that women should be one thing. While we don't HAVE to be the pink-loving, soft-spoken women of yore, we CAN be. The only problem Tavi has with our society is not that we are not men; it is, rather, that we are told what we can be. Feminism is a two-way street; the point is not to create men-hating, pants-suit wearing Amazonians, but rather to tell girls that they can be Amazonians or princesses. It's not to create girls; it's to tell girls to create themselves, whoever that might be, without anyone - a Republican pro-lifer or a hippie - telling them that they should be a certain way.
5) Also, she mentions unfair representation of women in the media. This is a major problem, and also a two-way street. Female characters are often either/or. Smart or pretty; strong or nice. Would you make a zombie-hunter blonde? Would a vampire fall in love with an overweight English Lit major? The fact is, girls are multifaceted; ballerinas are tough; indie rockers like glitter - I mean, seriously, who DOESN'T like glitter? We are not all in one category. We are not easily definable, just like men aren't. We don't come cut and paste; the saying goes 'every person is unique'. Does this apply only to men? Or are girls also magical, weird, different human beings?
No two people think or act entirely the same. Everyone has strengths and weaknesses; I think that Cinderella, or Briar Rose (Aurora, Sleeping Beauty, she had lots of names, but I digress) can hold their own in court and go shopping for shoes afterward; and some girls just like black.
We are who we are; we are not what you think we should be.
Go check out rookiemag.com. This girl might just be onto something.
-Katherine

"The Curious Savage", John Patrick

Greed, friendship, and confronting the real world are just a few of the themes throughout Patrick's "The Curious Savage." Mrs. Savage, recently widowed and having inherited her husband's $10 million estate. Committed to a mental asylum by her blood(erm, money) thirsty stepchildren, our protagonist (as sane as can be) is immersed in very 'curious' society indeed. One on side harassed by a fraudulent congressman, an incompetent judge, and a goldigger (a.k.a. her lovely children, victimized by their senile and selfish mother) and on the other by occupants of the "loony bin" (who are actually a pretty tame lot), I think that character development for Mrs. Savage herself is almost lacking. How does she feel? What are her motives? What is her story? Can I get a longer-than-a-minute monologue, anyone? The acting however - all done by people eighteen years old and younger - is pretty superb. Set is beautifully done, and while the play is almost rambling at the beginning with sorta-kinda dry dialogue, Act Two is simply wonderful. Funny, and interesting. My favorite part of this play is the idea of justice for the rotten kids, and the idea that mentally unhealthy people are just that: people. Not monsters, not scary psychopaths (though some of them are), but that they are people with hardships and hopes just like everyone else; if anything, it is our system of dealing with the mentally unhealthy that is a problem.
I didn't like the ending. I thought Ms. Savage should have stayed in the asylum, and my friend Kathleen agreed with me, but really, isn't that just romantic?
I mean, seriously. Who wants to stay in an asylum with a bunch of crazy people?
I liked it! A lot! Great job, Mr. Winkler and the entire Company, and especially leading lady Ms. Sonia Goldberg!
-Katherine

"The Bear", William Faulkner

What is a man? Not a grown up boy, but a real man? This is question that occurs to 'the boy' throughout Faulkner's short story, as he, Sam Fathers, his father, Major de Spain, General Compson, Tennie's Jim, and Uncle Ash set up camp every summer and every November, hunting the "immortal" bear. This huge hulking thing present in the woods since the beginning of time, it seems to him. Man and beast have to come together countless times, but have never been able to conquer it. The bear becomes the boy's obsession for four years; his "alma mater"; defeating it is the only thing hindering him from becoming a man. The bear signifies everything he hopes to be: courageous, valiant, invincible. Being afraid of the bear, letting the bear beat him, is something only a boy would do. He gets his chance at fourteen, baiting the thing with a mongrel of a dog and a deep understanding of how it moves.
He doesn't kill it.
Pointless, you say? The boy seems to think this too, until he joins his father in his study for a little post-unsuccessful-hunt-reverie. His father reads to him 'Ode to a Grecian Urn' and explains to him what truth, courage, bravery, and a real man is. A true hunter and man does not always kill the enemy. He takes pride in the ability to have the chance to do it, but there is a enough more-than-foolhardy respect in the exchange to spare the bear's life. I really like the touching-on of real truth, bravery, manhood, and freedom. Two other things that resonate with me are Faulkner's metaphorical representation of the Native American and the "Negro" prevailing with the bear. Also, the fact that this was published in 1942 reflects the times: World War II was raging, and many state leaders had lost sight of what a true warrior is. 'The Bear' is a true coming of age tale: it talks not only of growing up and conquering your childhood fears, but learning to become a decent person.
-Katherine

"Winter Dreams", F. Scott Fitzgerald

Dexter Green is a caddy at a golf club at the age of fourteen; one day, he is struck down, as if by lightning, by an eleven year old girl. Contemptuous and spoiled as she is, she is nothing short of perfect in his eyes. This story continues for almost two and a half decades; Judy Jones, the typical liberated Gilded Age woman, is flighty, beguiling, and all Dexter thinks about for quite some time. The thing I like most about this story is the subtly comical dramatic irony; Judy and Dexter are not good for each other, do not need each other, nor do they want one another, and both know that. The only thing keeping them from breaking the cycle is that the cycle would be, well, broken. Only when Dexter moves away, affluent as he is, and is met years later of acquaintance of Judy and her husband's, does he get over her. At this point in the story, he is almost forty years old, I believe. He weeps with emotional turmoil at the millisecond it takes for him to completely relinquish all desire and love for Judy. The dream is gone, as of someone waking in the early morning and not being able to recall their elusive sleeping paradise. He doesn't care. I guess he's weeping for all the time he's spent chasing Judy, when now, he just... doesn't care. At all.
-Katherine

"Sophistication", Sherwood Anderson

It is sometime in the early 20th century, and George Willard of Ohio is pining over Helen White. Helen White is pining over George Willard. The thing that I enjoyed most about this story, however, is not the characters, or the plot, but the underlying theme of what love really is: " 'I have come to this lonely place and here is this other,' was the substance of the thing felt,' " says Willard. No matter that Helen White is a banker's daughter and courting men much higher up than George; no matter that George is just a village boy and Helen's parents don't approve; no matter that their socioeconomic differences in status should be keeping them apart.  Anderson's lyrical prose emphasizes the one of the most basic human yearnings: to love and be loved, or even more simpler than that: to just not be alone in this vast universe of ours.
- Katherine

Inception!

Dear E-Friends,

Hey! This is the first post on my Honors, Too blog (if you don't get the joke, go back to Honors I.) Reading "The Great Gatsby."

More later,

Katherine