Having fun with Herge

The Adventures of Tintin: Tintin in America / Cigars of the Pharaoh / The Blue Lotus by Hergé

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


Interesting to see the work of Herge as an American. His stories are long and involved and entertaining. However, the images and some text are quite overtly racists. Granted, these stories were first published in the 1940s and 50s, so I suppose it is just a product of its time. Despite that uncomfortable part, the stories are fun and well-drawn, and quite interesting! Herge was a talented man!



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untitled poem from October 13th

you open
your mouth

but only

sound
fell out.

Titus fought the law and the...law won. :(

Wow, I think I just took the longest shower I've taken in two years. Probably because A: it actually had hot water, B: there was no stuck window that let all the cold air in from outside and C: there weren't any bugs living in the shower! Hurrah for clean bathrooms.

In other news, I was invited to talk at the Creative Writing Minor meeting today, to dispel the horrendous myths the freshmen have been spreading about it. I personally haven't heard of any of those rumors, but whatever, I'll go with it. It was an interesting experience, to say the least. Most of the freshmen just stared blankly at the three of us speakers, and I felt a little out of place considering I had been debating whether or not I was actually going to fulfill the creative writing minor for a while now.

It was cool to talk to my poetry professor, though. There are many things about her that remind me of myself, which is maybe why I thought I didn't really like her at first? I suppose I wouldn't say "dislike" but more... threatened? Intimidated? Scared? Those seem like more appropriate words. My meeting with her earlier today probably helped too. She, much like my fiction professor last year, really inspire me to work harder on my own writing. It makes me feel a bit guilty for being so lazy. Well, maybe not lazy (I was accused of being a workaholic this week!) but more... scatterbrained. I want to do so many things, I feel like I don't have time for all of them. But that's an age-old story that everyone's heard before.

My art professor complimented me on my eye make-up today! I've sort of resigned myself to the idea that I'll look weird no matter what I do, so I've gotten a little more adventurous with my make-up and fashion. Today I wore a monochromatic ensemble with seafoam colored shoes and inside-out eye make-up (as in I only lined the inside V of my eyes and left the top lids blank).

It probably didn't help to be dismissed by a professor a few weeks ago for not being "fashionable." Oops, there goes my self confidence!

And now I should go work on my Shakespeare paper: How Titus Andronicus is a critique on the failure of Law in both Formal Law and Vigilanteism. Sound interesting, right? We'll see...

A New Chapter for All

It's getting to be that time of year when I feel giddy and excited about the cooling weather, the bright blue skies and the changing leaves. Fall is (and will always be) my favorite season. Maybe it's because that was when school started, and despite my utmost contempt for it most of the time, I loved buying new school supplies. Well, new notebooks, anyhow. Most of the other school supplies my mom just recycled from my sister, which used to bother me when I was young but just makes sense to me now.

But those notebooks... crisp, clean and shiny white pages, a brand new chapter, a sweet blank slate. The idea that maybe, just maybe, I'll do better this year. New notebooks and sketchbooks also instill in me a sense of great potential... that I am somehow on my way to doing great and important things. It's only until I start filling them up that I berate myself and regret wasting paper and all of those forms of self-chastisement.

Fall now leaves a trace of melancholy in amongst its reds, yellows and oranges. I remember my junior year of high school, when I visited the east coast. Fresh and bright with my first love, thoughts of potential finally found, of great, grand cities bustling with stylish students swirling around my head, I came to Washington College with such a profound sense of hope, of at last pursuing my dreams. The college seemed large and wonderful, and the anticipation built up in my limbs like electric shocks. I knew that life would finally be different, better than the tiny town and smaller school I had called home all of my life.

But these last two years have been a nightmare if they were anything dream-like. I fell into the wrong group of friends, gave myself away in desperation to abusive, insecure people and in turn, became insecure myself. I'm struggling with my own sense of identity now, and what I really want to do with my life.

About an hour ago, WAC's presidential inauguration of Mitchell Reiss ended. I sang in the Vocal Consort that accompanied the ceremony, and I am lucky enough to have my name in the program. It was interesting to attend the long ceremony since many of the speakers were former senators, governors, and congressman. President Reiss is an important man, and I was struck by how much influence he really has, not only here in Chestertown, but in Washington D.C. too. I was struck by how superfluous my interests are: English and Art. Yes, I do believe they are important in some ways, but fiction or fine art are rather elitist things--someone living paycheck to paycheck is probably not going to have an interest in either. President Reiss was out negotiating with terrorists in North Ireland and North Korea. What will I end up doing with my life? Write a quaint number of books and collections? Maybe eventually sell a piece of artwork, if I'm lucky?

I know this existential moment is born simply out of my desire (or desperation) to be known, to have the attention all to myself, to be seen as a great person of... something. There are times when I wonder if I have become too ambitious, set my sights too high. It's the characters with too much ambition who are the ones who tend to fail in the end.

Pantoum

We had the option to either write a pantoum or a sestina this week in poetry. I chose the pantoum, because I already had an idea that fit with the form even before we went over the sestina. The professor made me feel as though I had copped out (not intentionally, of course), but with the distasteful thoughts of Sophie Kerr looming above my head, every little lead helps. I may have given this one up here.

Anyway, this poem is probably one of my favorites so far. In response to all the pretension and ass-kissing you see here at school (and in the real world too, I suppose). My professor said it was reminiscent of Jane Austen, which I guess is a pretty nice compliment, considering I've never read Jane Austen.

How to Win

Don’t you want to know my name?
Oh you do look nice in those shoes,
how great it is to meet you—
and what wonderful work you’ve done!

You really do look nice in those shoes,
they totally flatter your figure perfectly
from that wonderful workout you do
now. I’ve heard it’s pretty tough

to flatter a figure in that but
you always do things with such ease.
Now, I’ve heard it’s pretty tough
to get a job like yours these days,

but little things like you can easily
get what you want. You look lovely—
to get a job like yours these days
is really all based on looks anyway.

Getting what you want, looking lovely,
this is all what you’re used to, isn’t it?
You base it all on looks anyway,
but by God why wouldn’t you—

you’re used to looking fantastic so
I’m not surprised you’ve done so well.
By God, you’re amazing! Won’t you
please tell me some trade secrets?

Okay, okay, I’m not surprised you won’t,
being the absolute best in your field,
the secrets aren’t always yours to tell,
but I’m still so thrilled you’re here.

You are, by far, the absolute best.
It is so great to finally meet you,
and I am truly thrilled you’re here.
Don’t you know my name by now?

Villanelle

The villanelle I wrote for my poetry class. I like the first line and nothing else about it. It's got a lot of work, but I did have a lot of fun with this form.

Watch me cleave this cleanly
like the good meat from a ham bone.
I follow the lines, discreetly

work around joints and muscle. We
eat by the bay window,
you watch light cleanly cleave

squares of yellow on the floor. Meekly
see me butcher the meal. I won’t
follow any lines when weak

with hunger. Do it meanly,
in the way I’ve shown
you how. Careful and cleanly

showing me up, you tweak
my style and claim it as your own.
You don’t even do it discreetly,

as if you were the only one hungry
for bodies fully grown.
Stop. Watch me cleave us, cleanly
following lines and not discreet.

31 Drawing Challenge

I'm trying my luck at a 31 day drawing challenge, to see if I can really keep up my goal of "drawing every day." It's sad that I have to make that a goal... especially because I consider myself an artist but blah, whatever. I'm going to try and post the drawings I do up here, but we'll see if that actually happens, not because I haven't done the drawings but because I'm so damned ashamed of them. The first day challenge was "draw yourself" and goddamn it was awful. I think I either draw myself waaaaay too inaccurately buxom or waaaay too ugly.

So you're gettin' nothing, folks!