This Post Will Blow You Away... Literally

Mostly, I just found this comic hilarious so I wanted to share it with all of you! But I do know a lot of controversy has arisen on the use of the word “literally,” so I thought I’d tackle that as well in this post.  I know the one and only Mr. Maas has recently gone on one of his fantastic rants on the ill-uses of the word.  I personally believe people can casually throw the word into conversations and it shouldn’t be a huge deal, or at least as big a deal as some people like to make it.  And don’t lie to yourself, as a crazy AP English student, you probably fit into the mold of the insane bearded man in the comic above more than any of the average stick figures.  Sometimes, I feel that way as well: angry at the ignorance of some “literally” fans.  But after much deliberation and thought, I decided we should just view the use of “literally” as simply a tool to add color and excitement to an otherwise boring story.  Hyperbole at its finest.  It makes things more fun, especially if you, as I frequently do, adopt some Allie Brosh/Hyperbole and a Half-esque techniques to deal.  Imagine things literally happening exactly as the storyteller describes them—that’s what the “literally” perpetrator intended, right? To so exaggerate his/her point to the point of ridiculousness in order to get the point across.  I like the word “literally,” haters can hate, but I think it would do us all some good to take everything less seriously and accept its modern though incorrect usage.

For all those who disagree, find solace and enjoyment in The Oatmeal, I particularly enjoyed this one also: http://theoatmeal.com/comics/literally

A Prologue to the Upcoming Poetry Paper

“Two friends who met here and embraced are gone/ Each to his own mistake”

--W.H. Auden “The Crossroads”

            After reading this epigraph of Ian McEwan’s Amsterdam, I immediately thought of Les Miserables and a song in it called “Empty Chairs at Empty Tables.” For those of you who don’t know, Les Miserables is a quite long epic musical, based on an even longer book by Victor Hugo, set in France during the revolution.  In retrospect, the show probably came to the forefront of my subconscious during our discussion of Amsterdam’s redlight district, Les Miserables, too, features a prostitute as one of the leads, Fantine.  Aside from that weak connection, and the fact that both have settings in Europe, the two seem to have very little in common.  Except that quote.  I related it to one point in the show when Marius mourns the loss of his fellow revolutionaries after their failure of an uprising.  He sings, “Empty chairs at empty tables/ where my friends will meet no more.” While I think the “two friends” McEwan refers to in his epigraph will eventually represent the same “two lovers” that begin his novel: Clive and Vernon, I believe a lot of the same emotions relay between Marius’ thoughts in his song and Clive and Vernon’s many feelings.  They all seem to reflect back on the past with regret and pain.  They see some irreversible event, such as Molly Lane’s death or the deaths in the French revolution, and conjecture “what if?” filling their lives with the pain of reliving the past instead of living for the moment.  Judging by these slight parallels, Ian McEwan might do well to take a leaf out of Victor Hugo’s book and be more upfront about such a hopeless and grief-stricken plot in choosing a title.



The musical adaptation of Victor Hugo's Les Miserables



A photo of Victor Hugo: judge away!
I personally believe he looks like a Santa Claus that's
just been told he doesn't exist. Your thoughts?



From Fog to Blog

I am proud to say that I have stepped out of the fog and into the clear air of blogs. My symbolical fog, like Chief Bromden’s of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, still represents avoidance and refusal to accept change, however, my particular brand of escapism was from writing creatively.  Instead I liked to stay in the safety of numbers and structure that the beautiful analytical essay gives, in lieu of pushing my creative boundaries.  When Ms. Serensky first announced the blog project, I felt alone in feeling stressed and afraid. I did not know what to write about, or even how to write if we should not analyze.  That’s the only form of writing, right? I’m not about to write poetry, I’m no Elisavietta Ritchie!  Worse, these creative spawns of the devil would be the sole proponent to our midterm.  Something everyone else looked at as a heaven-sent easy-A, I saw as another setup for failure. 

            How naive! Now I absolutely love the blogs! They are assuredly my favorite part of AP English. In fact, due to my recent hiatus from facebook because of the datasheet and midterms, I have replaced the lovely social networking addiction with an AP English blog addiction.  Rarely a day goes by without my perusing everyone’s blogs to see the new goings on of the week.  To hyperbolize, blogging has improved my quality of life tenfold.  Not only has my internet procrastination improved in intelligence, but I have confidence in my creative writing and even just thinking skills.  This was largely due to the bounding beauty of Bobbie’s Blog Banter (so much alliteration!) Having a mention on the daily show felt like a sticker on top of a paper, on steroids. The nod of approval from the famous Bobbie Jo fueled my overexcitement in my blog with a healthy air of competition and straight egotism.  Each one made my week at least. Suffice it to say, I will greatly miss the blogs if they are disbanded next semester, or even pared down to one per week.  I love blogs! You might say that my initial apprehensive and downright fearful tone juxtaposed with my current relaxed and ecstatic tone creates situational irony, could you not? I don’t have to though; I have pulled myself from that fog. 

False Peace of Mind

The point in Shutter Island when Laeddis flashes back to a mass shooting in the Holocaust reminded me of a similar image in the Kilmainham Gaol executions during the Easter Rising.  Sorry for another Ireland allusion, but stay with me, this will get good.  During those executions, they similarly took the nationalists and had a group shoot at each of them, one by one.  The tour guide of the Dublin jail most captured my interest when she told us how the executioners were told that one of their guns contained only a blank, to rid them of the guilt.  They would comfort themselves in the fact that they might not have killed anyone.  At that point in watching the movie, oblivious to the mind-blowing twist of an ending, I noted how if only someone had told DiCaprio’s character the same thing; he would not have these disturbing flashbacks to warzones.  But in our discussion of the surprising ending to this epic film, I realized how much significance my correlation to the Kilmainham Gaol execution tactics had.  We discussed the notion of making up truths in one’s past to create comfort and peace of mind.  Everyone from Laeddis to the executioners at Kilmainham to members of our English class does this. I remember Chris revealed that he likes to pretend he is a superstar to go through his day.  I do a version of the same: at the end of the day I replay conversations and think of what I wished I had said.   But as Carolyn said, the difference between sanity and insanity lies in knowing that what you made up is not the truth.  That got me thinking, do these police guards in Kilmainham prison classify as insane or sane by that definition? If they like to think that their gun had the blank for some peace of mind, are we to fault them for altering their reality? They deserve the same peace of mind as anyone else and their hopeful imagination does not hurt anyone so why not let them live in that reality? On the same count, why not let Laeddis live in his reality, as long as he does not hurt anyone?

A plaque commemorating those executed at Kilmainham Gaol in 1916

Universal Insanity

      Due to the frenzied state of mind I currently inhabit because of this lovely datasheet, my topic today will be universal insanity.  I realize I am the product of my own issues on the datasheet front, so I take full responsibility of the stress ball I have become.  I guess that sets me aside from Laeddis in Shutter Island and that intense insanity, so at least I have that.  This insane stress over something, in the grand scope of our lives, pretty meaningless, has made many of us insane, one-upping monsters.  If you don’t think we’re all insane, think again my friend! I will use another excerpt from Carrie Fisher’s Wishful Drinking because it was apparently a hot topic a few blogs back.  She comments on the ridiculousness of the tests for something as intricate as insanity:

            “If you say yes to any number of these questions, you, too, could be insane.

1.      In the last week have you been feeling irritable?

2.      In the last week have you gained a little weight?

3.      In the last week have you felt like not talking to people?

4.      Do you no longer get as much pleasure doing certain things as you used to?

5.      In the last week have you felt fatigued?

6.      Do you think about sex a lot?” (122-123).

It would surprise me if any of my loyal readers replied no to all of these questions.  We are all a bunch of lunatics shuffling around day after day.  Now, I am by no means declaring we should get electroshock or lobotomies to balance our systems, much the opposite, I like that I have come to terms with it.

Carrie Fisher's novel Wishful Drinking combats her history of alcoholism and drug addiction

Laughter Really is the Best Medicine



A less-than-breathtaking shot of the dirty water of the Shannon River,
"the river that kills," according to Frank McCourt



            Before we left for a two week break from English, I wondered what I should ever write about.  Since I went to Ireland with my family, an old writing partner of mine suggested that I think back to the good old days of AP English 11 and Frank McCourt’s novel, Angela’s Ashes.  I brought the well-worn book along with me on my trip, looking for ways to contrast modern-day Ireland with McCourt’s childhood view of the island.  Unfortunately (actually maybe not), my family did not include Limerick in our stay because it has a less than fabulous reputation.  My brother’s Irish roommate called it “Stab City,” so we happily avoided McCourt’s childhood home.  Aside from taking some pictures of the Shannon River, or as McCourt called it “the river that kills,” I didn’t make my original goal to see the sights through McCourt’s eyes.  However, my life did come full circle with every literary piece I had.  My backpack carried three books: Wishful Drinking by Carrie Fisher, Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt, and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey.  Somehow, I found a strong common thread between all three, the stars aligned I swear.  Fisher claims her life motto as “if my life wasn’t funny, it would just be true, and that is unacceptable” (Fisher 17).  She takes her life’s huge issues in stride and laughs them off, and I so respect her for that.  This theme also came into play in Angela’s Ashes as I flipped through my old notes and the flagged pages of my selected character, Uncle Pa Keating.  I found profuse notes on how he similarly turned frowns upside-down, so to speak.  McCourt’s troubled life needed the healthy dose of humor that Pa Keating offered, for example McCourt recalls that “the minute a politician or a Pope starts his blather Uncle Pa thinks of him wiping his arse” (McCourt 246).  And finally Kesey relays that identical message of the importance of humor when McMurphy makes fun of himself in the face of adversity and even fear of his life undergoing the multitude of electroshock treatments: “Red McMurphy the ten-thousand-watt psychopath” (Kesey 290).  In all three instances, humor stands out as the obvious way to overcome pain and other problems.  After all, Kesey employs laughter as the patients’ main fighting force against the Combine.  Humor overpowers all.

Frank McCourt's Pulitzer Prize winning novel Angela's Ashes details his childhood in Limerick, Ireland

Electroshock Beneficial?

Over winter break, I read Wishful Drinking a memoir by Carrie Fisher.  For those of you who do not know of George Lucas’ six year saga, Star Wars, or otherwise live under a rock, Fisher portrayed the female lead, Princess Leia.  She also gains some fame as Debbie Reynolds’ daughter, of Singin’ in the Rain fame.  From Fisher’s novel’s name, you can guess that she delves into her alcoholism, but also her bipolar disorder and other life difficulties.  She writes her life from the perspective of an amused onlooker, because of some memory loss due to recent shock therapy.  And thus, my blog post begins.  It astonished me to think of electroshock or electroconvulsive therapy, its modern title, as an acceptable form of contemporary treatment.  She even mentioned those with whom she shares “electrocompany” including Judy Garland, Ernest Hemingway, and Cole Porter.  From Ken Kesey’s portrayal of electro shock in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, I would not imagine people of such great genius and high esteem to have experienced something so awfully life-changing as EST.  Kesey associates the treatment with “screaming… ‘Brain Burning’… [and] slaughterhouse” which creates a foreboding and unpleasant tone (Kesey 188-190).  Fisher even mentioned how Kesey’s view of EST dissuaded her: “[Her] only exposure of it was Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest… traumatic, dangerous, and humiliating” (Fisher 13).  But Fisher’s real-life experience with electroconvulsive therapy ended positively, in contrast with much of Kesey’s novel.  And even having lost many of her life’s memories, Fisher seems to have a comical if not positive view of the event.  She says her memories “are lost—along with the crippling feeling of defeat and hopelessness.  Not a tremendous price to pay when you look at it” (Fisher 11).  Sarcastic undertones or not, Fisher poses an interesting exchange.  Would you rather keep your memories along with your debilitating depression or lose your memories and gain happiness?