Refocus

"When the song of the angels is stilled, when the star in the sky is gone, when the kings and princes are home, when the shepherds are back with their flock, the work of Christmas begins: to find the lost, to heal the broken, to feed the hungry, to release the prisoner, to rebuild the nations, to bring peace among others, to make music in the heart."
— Howard Thurman, Baptist minister, author, theologian, educator, civil rights leader.

Unintelligent Design!

If the schoolastic gods knew what they were doing, they wouldn't make the same machine I can FB, email and watch TV on be the machine I have to write my papers on.

I mean, a tired, sickly graduate student sits down to writer her paper... but John Stewart beckons from her bookmarks. It's as if they want me to fail. Well, once again I must defy you, oh gods of schoolastic achievement. I will write my paper. I will proof read my paper. I will print and revise my paper.

...

Then I will watch TV.

A lot of it.

Twilight

Alright, so what the crappola is happening here?

I never judge before I read. So a movement (be it literary, political, musical or other) has an annoying following, is that the movements fault? So Glenn Beck supposedly loves Jesus, is that Jesus' fault? No (it is, however, his problem).

Now, I read all 4 Twilight books last summer in a couple of days. They were delightful romance novels. But that's all they were. The minute you put them down, the facade crumbles (perhaps that is why fans never stop rereading them?). They're repetitive with almost no variation, filled with excruciating mistakes of reference (The Scarlet Letter is not a love story guys...), and never climax at all. Anticlimactic is too grand a ward, after all that's a legitimate style choice. The books thought they were coming to a climax, but they weren't. You gather an army for an entire book and then don't have a battle, or any satisfying substitute (hand to hand, peace treaty, marriage ceremony, virgin sacrifice, what have you), then the reader feels like starting a war.

My only real irritation around the series stems from the promotional efforts to compare it to Harry Potter. Adventure literature in the vein of mythology (with biting social commentary) is an entirely different genre than romance novel. Fantastic elements aside, they cannot be compared seriously. Again, however, this is not the books fault.

Literary criticism aside, they're enveloping books while you read them. The characters are stock but entertaining and a few of them ring true. The relational developments (father/ daughter, love triangles, sister/ friends etc) are recognizable and relatable.

So, why not a movie? Why is it that the books are so maddening when you are not reading them and why are the movies so dissatisfying.

I think the answer comes in watching the movies themselves. A book that is mostly written in such a way to give literature students nightmares should be perfect for a film. I mean, it's got all the elements and none of the depth to get in the way of the close ups. Cinderella story, overly buff male leads, pseudo sisterhood, and a moody setting (nature reflecting the emotions of a character is always a plus, "It's raining and I'm sad, how odd!")... so why is it that the movies barely ring true as sheer fluff let alone film? It even has two legitimate actors as leads!

It should be classic Hollywood. Twilight should, pardon the pun, sparkle.

I believe it's that when you project the book on screen all you are doing is illuminating it's faults and taking away the protection the book offers. Viewing audiences are better trained than readers nowadays. In literature we don't really make a distinction between a book and a film anymore- they're all narrative. But on the point of the audience (voyeur/ reader) response we've learned to recognize that the job is a bit different. With books you are forced to fill in any holes with your mind. This engagement of the imagination is what makes reading enjoyable. "Show, don't tell" is the most common (and freaking annoying) of all creative writing workshop criticisms. Twilight as a book pulls you in (if you let it) and then you supply the rest. When the dialog sours you hear it in the most romantic voice you can imagine, when the plot disappears entirely you supply it... all of this is personal preference of course. What sounds great to you may not to the next person and books allow us to indulge in our dreams while connecting to an author’s. We make a compromise that we cannot always make with a visual image.

Thus the problem with the movies: They match the book... but that's all it has. A good film causes you to leave and dream, since you cannot dream while being force fed images. When books are adapted readers always struggle with it not looking "exactly like they imagined" but that's not even Twilight's problem. Twilight as a film leaves no room for dreaming during (too many shirtless shots- after a while it's just plain boring) and there is not enough substance to the story to cause you to dream after.

The movies do not fill in the holes because Modern audiences (that is people born post-MTV) are better trained film critics than readers. We don't read as a culture, but we spend a hell of a lot of time shifting through images. We've become as highly critical of TV and advertising as Victorians used to be of the novel.

Even the fans feel elements of frustration that they cannot express. They wish to fill in the gaps with their imagination putty, and they cannot. Perhaps that's why the books keep selling even when the movie is quicker gratification.

As to the popularity, I need not go into mob mentality, teenage hysteria, and simple sex appeal. They're entertaining (though I worry about the lessons 12 year old girls are devouring... emotional blackmail as a matter of course in relationships for one...) and like I said above, have some merit in their characters if not in plot or style. In the end they share roots with ever Jane Austen or Shakespeare story ever (love and it's power to overcome society) and people will forever be attracted to that. But there's no denying that despite mostly a good cast and plenty of glitz the movies are rather a bust. I blame a lack of imagination on the directors/ screenwriters part for not playing with the original (otherwise it goes stale! it's a different medium, film must change the book) and most of all for not leaving room for us as an audience to play.

It's entertainment. Don't force it down my throat, let me join in the game.

...

[This is also why, as I learned in my Victorian Desire in Narrative class, why porn pales to novels. We like a little room for ourselves in the story and we like to work for it. Sick, but true]

An Issue

There's nothing you can do if someone who disagrees with you gets the last word. Usually, unless you are a jackass and care not for social norms and/or the person in question you cannot make your point without diminishing the point via your own urgency to get it across. If someone is wrong, and you are right but do not have the final say, somehow you were unable to declare the truth (or your perception of it which, let's be honest, amounts to the same thing) you must then ask yourself if it's worth it.

Where is your center? Don't you have an internal self? Who do you answer to?

Are you confident in your point? Then by all means share it when you can, but only people nervous about the validity of their statements force them on others.

What can I say? When you're right, you're right.

$$$$

I don't want to pay my bills. I shouldn't have to 'cause I'm awesome!

I mean, think about it. Why should I be punished for being so awesome? I got into grad school and am working very hard at two jobs, family life, meeting new people, keeping up with old friends and then of course there's the graduate work itself. Tons of reading, papers, Theatrical...ness!

And yet, there's always groceries, energy bills, gas, metro cards, parking tickets, text books, RENT, and of course random graduate fees I never of heard of before coming to get me...

I am out in the world Awesoming it up and what do I get? a bill.

You know what world? where will you be if I stop being awesome and pay bills instead?

Yeah, sends chills up your spine, doesn't it?

Think about that next time you send me a bill.

Writing. Depression. Internet.

It seems like a semi-vicious cycle when you're a creative person who's driven and has nothing to occupy the mind with. Take me: I am trying to keep busy and upbeat since I am currently not working and if my brain is mush come fall, I'm a goner. Also, I have been planning on using the summer to write and continue working on projects from the spring. Now why is it that when I barely had time to sleep and eat I was writing profusely, but now, when I barely do anything other than eat and sleep I can't so much as write an intro paragraph!

The vacuum my friends, the vacuum of KFCKD radio is swirling around me and all I hear is the white noise of Bear Delaware. Its not that I'm not inspired by normalcy, despite my obsession with fantasy, I write realism (dang it). It's rather that the everyday shmah of sleep/eat makes me feel so worthless. Enter the cycle.

Now, this is just what I thought before I began the post. "I should write something. Anything. Rework a few monologues in the play? Yes. But if I go upstairs I'll want to clean. Cleaning is good. Cleaning gets my blood going and lines pop into my head. Yes, I'll clean. But I came down here to check my email. By the time I check my email I'll just want to be lazy again. So, write, then email, clean later. No, my room is a mess. I can't write with a messy room. Apple Orange Banana 8663. I should watch HIMYM. Those stories are so wild and witty. No, I'll read. That will truly inspire me. No, I should write. Anything. Emails are anything. I'll blog! But if I poor out my thoughts onto the internet instead of paper isn't that just like channeling into a black hole? What's the point. Maybe facebook is the reason I don't write anymore? In my attempt to communicate am I actually shutting myself down?"

Well?

Galway... City of Wonder

I am utterly mistified by the hold this city has on my imagination. It makes me frolic, dream, and suddenly become quit while I watch crowds roll by me. I feel, proper time permitted, I could come to some conclusion about the existence of music if I were to rest here long enough. Note to self: take a trip just to Kilarney, Galway, and Dublin someday. Three completely different places, all the country inbetween.
We spent the past five days in Sligo and Droheda. Both cities, or towns I would call them, are near some amazing neolithic cites: such as New Grange and some lovely Victorian places (Yeats' church/ burial and Sligo Abbey where Bram Stoker was born); none of them, however, are very healthy places. You feel dirty the entire time (despite the beauty they are near) it's always grey (rather like Detroit), and there's really not much to do. Always the low point of the trip. But now we're in Galway and it's beauty from here on out.
The streets all run into one another to avoid the river and the pubs are filled with music, old men, and tourists. Twentysomethings mill about looking for purpose and find it through every means of expression you can imagine while the old men smile at them. I think there's some sort of instant agifier in Western Ireland. You are young, young, young, and then old! Not a bad way. I can't wait to be old, I am enjoying being young, I dread middle age. Yikes.
The radio is Ireland's only major downside. So much talking! Three songs, then ten minutes of gab, two songs (the ends usually cut off with talking) and then the news. So sad. However, we have heard everything from Will Smith to Abba to Frank Sinatra, so props to the DJs when they actually choose the music.
We went to the cliff's of Moher today, that's a post to itself. Tomorrow is Coole Park where Lady Gregory lived and hosted the famous creative genius of Ireland. So excited. Swans.
I love Galway, I still miss Dublin a bit. I have a lot of gift shopping to do.
The ocean side has made me very sick for the Chesapeake bay. Odd how we find our home's landscape in the most foreign places.
I do apologize for any spelling errors. I simply don't feel like fixing them.
Cheers!
hannah.abigail.margaret.oliver.depp.

Auntie Naomi and Dublin

Very sad news from home today. My lovely little Aunt Naomi died a few days ago. She was utterly ready to go Home, but it's hard to imagine family life without her fantastic, quietly sarcastic and bitchy self. She taught me the art of retort and hated holding hands.
We leave for the west of Ireland today. Dublin has been a fantastic host as usual. I'm exhausted from explaining how to walk, though. Yesterday several of us just got up and began walking like normal people. 5 of us would arrive at a site and then 5 minutes later the rest of the herd would show up. It's not hard. I'm always mistified by Carson-Newman students difficulty with walking.
I will miss Avalon house (our current hostil). Swell people who play great music and people from Glasgow who speak Spanish.
Next hostil doesn't have internet and money will be tight, as my bank account is in a sense frozen until my mother gets back from Aunt Naomi's funeral. I had expected more to go into my checking account for the second half of the trip, but more important things are being taken care of! Luckily the west is about a quartar of the price of Dublin. I wish we hadn't started out with the most expensive city first. The trip definitely works better starting in the country and heading east.
In other notes, St. Patty's cathedral has 3 candles lit for my Irish Studies professor at his request. The man is a lovely arse and I'm happy to oblidge. We ate Fish and Chips yesterday, salty, hot, vinegar goodness.The Dublin Writers Museum is beautiful; filled with quotes, portraits, timelines and crossovers. I would live there.
The Irish Uprising of Easter 1916 is a main topic of study on the trip, so we had a tour with Lorcan Collins, a major Dubliner and historian. He's a friend of the college and has a major gift of gab. I loved talking with him, it is certainly an excercise in sarcasm and BS. Beautiful. I wish we had more time just to hang out with him, but this trip he has kids to take care of. Even Lorcan is growing up, sheesh.
Must log off now. I am finding the real impact of this trip inexplainable. Perhaps philosophy will poor forth soon. Suffice to say the pace of Dublin and the beauty of Saint Stevens Green (filled with statues of Oscar Wilde and riddled with bullet holes from several risings) fits my post undergrad mind quite well.
Slante-
hannah.abigail.margaret/ HaRingo/ HAMO/ whatever endearment you've come up with...

Greenland Calls my name!

Back in Ireland after two years. Dublin remains much the same, but the commercial McDonaldization continues to spread into the otherwise pure city.
We landed at 9 AM Irish time (4 AM Eastern Central US) and made for the hostel. By 12 we had shopped, made lunch, settled in and were off to see Trinity College Dublin. I am a little week on my feet, partly due to the exhaustion of graduation/ goodbyes and a cross oceanic flight! It's all worth it though.
I wish I could describe the smell of the long room to you. It's like... well, perhaps you don't have my obsession with old books? Think of your favorite smell wafting toward you from afar. Now, think of being in your favorite place. Combine the two. Now mutliply by 10 and compact it all into a three story, 200 foot long room built just to suit your taste and subconscious... I wander that room and all of my dreams are brushing against my ankles, welcoming me home.
If I ever dissapeare, first check the Young Republicans of Carson-Newman College. If it turns out they didn't murder me, look for me in the Long Room. I may be past out somewhere neer the Yeats collection.
They were also having a special exhibit on both the book of Kells (amazing early Latin translation of the first four gospels) and on Sherlock Holmes and the Golden Age of Detective fiction.
Sherlock was my first literary crush. He even predates (and outlives) Mr. Darcy. Who wants undying affection when you can have footprints and cruel wit?
That's not healthy, but I'm tired.
We discuss Oscar Wilde today in class ("class" means us sitting down and talking about the days reading) and I will have to control myself from weeping "he's beautiful!" over and over.
Alright, I am utterly exhausted and will ramble until dawn, but it's rude to use the public computer for too long. If you are reading this, chances are I love you immensly and thank you for taking the time to worry about me.
The green continues tomorrow- Vikings!
Cheers,
Hannah.a.m.o.Depp.

Posters!

Well, we successfully finished a read through of Private Lives with my whole cast and crew. My fantastic friend Jennifer (who stars as Amanda) made the six main posters we will cover my campus with in the coming month. We are also having postcards and smaller teaser posters (these will be 17 inch). Monday begins the full on rehearsals and the test of my skills as a director and therefor communicator. It is terrifying, to say the least. 

main poster- will be poster Feb. 2

Sybil, the flighty, teaser.

Louise, the angry french maid, teaser

Amanda, the bitch, teaser

Elyot, the suave, teaser poster

Victor, the gentleman, teaser

Private Lives Photoshoot

The cast of my senior show, Noel Coward's Private Lives, agreeably posed for a midnight photoshoot the last night of finals. I am quite blessed to have such a talented, and may I say attractive, group of actors. I think we all rather enjoyed ourselves. Here are a few snippets. I will be posting the promotional posters when i receive them from the multi-talented Jennifer.

Enjoy! 

The soul of the mad hatter & the suave of Noel Coward; Destry plays Elyot, the male lead.

Nothing wrong with a good pair o legs! Rachel gamely plays the ingenue, Sybil.

Jennifer, perfectly capturing the female lead Amanda

"Are we human, or are we dancer?" The boys have some fun.

Katie Mitchell cleverly plays the snarky French maid Louise, who will only take to Elyot

The battle of the sexes never looked so good!

These two deliver some of the wittiest bickering ever written.

David, playing Victor, is ready to battle with Elyot for Amanda's hand. Elyot couldn't care less.

She's got him right where she wants him.

Ah, complications.

The fabulous photographer Shannon Ochs and I fight bad stage lighting and rock top hats. Many thanks to Shannon for your work!

Dance puppets, dance! I love being a director...

Some close up time with the Theatre kids favorite photographer.

I have a feeling this project is going to involve a lot of work for yours truly...

Or we could just be sexist and pawn it off on the guys...

Sybil & Victor are oddly terrified of the tiny frenchwoman. So am I!