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| 29 June 2005 |
| Survey |
Coo-coo-ka-choo.*
*Which, as an aside, apparently ought to be "goo goo g'joob," but I've always preferred Mrs. Robinson to the Walrus anyway. |
Jelly Pinched Wolf 2:53 PM
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| 28 June 2005 |
| A Brief Intermission |
Posting's going to be a bit light for about the next month or so (as if you couldn't tell already) since my two classes and day job are pretty much beating me senseless. Per kashi, though, I'm taking adequate breaks to try to keep the stress level to a minimum. I plan to at least offer my usual weekly poem from Dylan Thomas or some other poet worthy of more attention than he's getting, so look for those. And I'll likely pop in once in a while for a sanity break.
In other news, I got a call today from a Catholic junior high in the area about a position. My lack of experience, alas, means it came to nothing, but a phone call's worth a thousand words, or something to that effect. It's a start, anyway. Now the ol' JPW just needs to get a call from a school willing to take a risk. And preferable a high school, 'cause I'm not sure junior high's really my bag. |
Jelly Pinched Wolf 4:09 PM
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| 22 June 2005 |
| At Melville's Tomb |
For this week's poetical interlude, I decided to post a piece by Hart Crane. kashi pointed me toward his work yesterday, and I'm much pleased she did. I've known his name, and am certain we must have covered his poems in some class at some point, but I frankly couldn't remember a thing about him. And I've always managed to confuse him with Stephen Crane, author of The Red Badge of Courage. To further confuse things, kashi reminded me of the author Bret Harte, who wrote at the same time as Hart Crane. There's a joke lurking somewhere in closeness of these names, I'm sure of it.
Anyway, Hart Crane's poetry has some lovely dense language. And he even uses words like "eidolon." How could I not dig his work?
At Melville's Tomb
Often beneath the wave, wide from this ledge
The dice of drowned men's bones he saw bequeath
An embassy. Their numbers as he watched,
Beat on the dusty shore and were obscured.
And wrecks passed without sound of bells,
The calyx of death's bounty giving back
A scattered chapter, livid hieroglyph,
The portent wound in corridors of shells.
Then in the circuit calm of one vast coil,
Its lashings charmed and malice reconciled,
Frosted eyes there were that lifted altars;
And silent answers crept across the stars.
Compass, quadrant and sextant contrive
No farther tides . . . High in the azure steeps
Monody shall not wake the mariner.
This fabulous shadow only the sea keeps.
Hart Crane, 1899 - 1932 |
Jelly Pinched Wolf 10:38 AM
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| Class is in Session |
I got to make my first attempt at teaching yesterday evening. As part of an assignment for one of my classes, I was to choose "something" to teach to "someone" in the space of 30-60 minutes. I decided to give an introduction to the horror genre--its essential elements and importance to literature and film studies--to kashi and another friend. Overall it went well. The planning was involved and frustrating, I tried to do way more than I ought to have, and my ability to construct a good short essay question needs some serious work. But it truly was a good learning experience, and I think my "students" have a somewhat better idea of what makes horror what it is and why on earth we should bother with it. And in discussion with them, I managed to further develop my own theories on the genre, where it's gone off track, and how to get it back on track.
Incidentally, though I've always respected Stephen King, and liked his fiction, I'd really never appreciated his take on the genre until now. I'd last read Danse Macabre, his critical look at the genre in literature and film, many, many years ago. And frankly, I didn't remember a thing from it besides the fact that he wrote a lot about cheesy movies from the fifties. Turns out the man has some brilliant insights into the genre, many of which support much of what I've come to think on it myself. Of course, he wrote it before the eighties and nineties virtually killed the genre, so I'd be curious what he thinks these days, but I suspect he'd still hold with the essentials of what makes horror work. Anyway, should you have any interest, check out Danse Macabre. It's worth the read, and states things in a far better way than I could. |
Jelly Pinched Wolf 9:36 AM
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| Prayer of Saint Edmund of Abingdon |
| Into Thy hands, O Lord, and into the hands of Thy holy angels, I commit and entrust this day my soul, my relations, my benefactors, my friends and my enemies, and all Thy people. Keep us, O Lord, through the day, by the merits and intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary and all the saints, from all vicious and unruly desires, from all sins and temptations of the devil, and from sudden and unprovided death and the pains of hell. Illuminate my heart with the grace of Thy Holy Spirit; grant that I may ever be obedient to Thy commandments; suffer me not to be separated from Thee, O Lord Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns with God the Father and the Holy Spirit for ever and ever. Amen. |
Jelly Pinched Wolf 7:52 AM
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| The Asti Spumante Code |
I've not read The DaVinci Code, nor do I ever plan to. It's not the wild and inane conspiracy theories that turn me off, it's the pathetic prose (as so often is the case in determining the goodness of a book, the first page tells all). Written well, the most puerile of conspiracy stories can be worth a read. But bad writing, I cannot abide.
Making fun of badly written conspiracy theories, on the other hand, is another matter altogether. Earlier this week, kashi and I picked up The Asti Spumante Code, A Parody, by Toby Clements. The opening alone sells the book, and so I offer that to you now, as a fun way to begin Friday:
The first bullet missed its target, but the trajectory
of the 9mm-jacketed missile--from the end of the
silenced SIG Sauer P228 pistol, past the nose of the
seated curator and across the vault of the Grand
Gallery of the Grand Bibliothèque, Brussels, through
three separate oaken shelves, each time coring out a
worm-hole of priceless vellum, until it found its
final resting place in the spine of an ancient folio
of The Epic of Gilgamesh--alerted Monsieur
Gordon Sanitaire to the danger he now faced.
Sanitaire turned to the shadowy figure in the
doorway, silhouetted against the harsh light of the
entrance lobby, and he knew at once with a flash of
dazzling clarity that the man had come to kill him. |
Jelly Pinched Wolf 7:17 AM
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| I'm Batman |
Well, actually, not so much. But Christian Bale is. More than any actor so far, Bale is able to be both Batman and Bruce Wayne. And Christopher Nolan's Batman Begins succeeds in ways the other films never did. It's dark without ever becoming depressingly so. It's neither weird and carnival-like as was Burton's Batman Returns, nor garish and goofy like Joel Schumacher's later offerings. Begins doesn't let you breathe for a moment, yet it's driven not by action set-pieces, but by a good story. After all, the process of how an essentially good man, who wants to do good in the world, becomes a costumed vigilante is just downright interesting. Bale's superb acting helps--he makes his internal pain palpable in a very subtle way. I love theatrics--the way-over-the-topness of The Phantom of the Opera (Schumacher succeeding brilliantly where he failed with Batman) and Van Helsing is wonderful--but the simple, understated, normality of the world of Batman Begins works perfectly for Gotham City.
Dr. Swietek's got a decent review up here, but I disagree with him regarding the villains. That there is no megalomaniacal supervillain, I think, is a good thing. After all, Batman isn't (or shouldn't be, at any rate) a superhero. He's a hero (some could argue he's a bit more of an anti-hero, actually, given the moral grey area he often treads, but I shan't get into that here). Therefore, if his nemeses are not human and vulnerable (though clearly a cut above the average in their various ways) as he is, then the story's not going to work. I love that all the villains in the film are so very human--it makes them more effective in their evil. Scarecrow is brilliant, insane, and delightfully so (well, delightful for a horror buff like meself). The fact is that there's nothing extraordinary about him--no weird physical alterations, no genetic defects, no lab accidents resulting in a monstrosity. Just pure, homegrown human madness, driven by disordered desires (in this case the curiosity of science perverted to evil ends). And while he does get a wee bit melodramatic a couple times, Cillian Murphy's portrayal of the Scarecrow is very nice--he lends a good, twitchy freakishness to the character that is disturbing, and at times all-too-human.
All the performances are good (with the exception of Katie Holmes, who, while not bad, is serviceable at best--mostly, I just didn't care about a love interest; it was superfluous to the story). Michael Caine creates a warm, witty, and paternal Alfred who at the same time knows when Bruce Wayne needs a proper verbal slap. And Gary Oldman is just terrific. As someone who's built his career playing eccentrics (or on occasion outright freaks), he does very well as simple, decent cop, Jim Gordon.
And that's about all that needs saying, really. Just a darn fine blood-pounding movie that even manages to get a bit philosophical without ever becoming too ponderous for its own good. Highly recommended. And we're definitely planning a second viewing (which is a rarity in these days of frugal living). Also, I really want that cape. |
Jelly Pinched Wolf 10:21 AM
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| The Apparition |
Decided to take a break from Dylan Thomas this week, and instead present a charming little love poem from John Donne. Isn't young love just the sweetest?
The Apparition
WHEN by thy scorn, O murd'ress, I am dead,
And that thou thinkst thee free
From all solicitation from me,
Then shall my ghost come to thy bed,
And thee, feign'd vestal, in worse arms shall see:
Then thy sick taper will begin to wink,
And he, whose thou art then, being tired before,
Will, if thou stir, or pinch to wake him, think
Thou call'st for more,
And, in false sleep, will from thee shrink:
And then, poor aspen wretch, neglected thou
Bathed in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lie,
A verier ghost than I.
What I will say, I will not tell thee now,
Lest that preserve thee; and since my love is spent,
I'd rather thou shouldst painfully repent,
Than by my threatenings rest still innocent.
John Donne (1572-1631) |
Jelly Pinched Wolf 1:52 PM
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| 13 June 2005 |
| "Mosquitoes with Backstories" |
Lileks has a terrific little rant in The Bleat today about the pathetic state of vampires. Something I aim to rectify in my writing, actually, painting them as demons to be feared and not the poncey romantic-types they've become.
*Thanks to kashi for pointing me there! |
Jelly Pinched Wolf 1:18 PM
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| St. Anthony's Prayer for Wisdom |
Oh Light of the World, Infinite God, Father of Eternity, giver of Wisdom and Knowledge, and ineffable dispenser of every Spiritual Grace; who knowest all things before they are made, who makest the darkness and the light; put forth Thy hand and touch my mouth, and make it as a sharp sword to utter eloquently Thy Words.
Make my tongue, Oh Lord, as a chosen arrow, to declare faithfully Thy Wonders.
Put Thy Spirit, Oh Lord, in my heart, that I may perceive; in my soul, that I may retain; and in my conscience, that I may meditate.
Do thou lovingly, holily, mercifully, clemently and gently inspire me with Thy Grace. Do Thou teach, guide and strengthen the comings in and goings out of my senses and my thoughts.
And let Thy discipline instruct me even to the end, and the Counsel of the Most High help me through Thy Infinite Wisdom and Mercy. Amen |
Jelly Pinched Wolf 9:18 AM
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| 11 June 2005 |
| The Kind of Research a Wolf Can Sink His Teeth Into |
Or at least a scalpel.
Quincy, M.E. was just recently released on dvd. I can't tell you how pleased I am by this. Given that Quincy's the idol of a certain character of mine, it'll be wonderful to someday own these dvds as reference material. Also, though my memory of the show is a bit hazy (the fam didn't watch it nearly as often as M.A.S.H. and Soap!), I remember it being very good, but then, Jack Klugman was the Gene Hackman of television. |
Jelly Pinched Wolf 5:01 PM
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| Alas, Poor Yorick... |
Or something to that effect. Well, the debut of Jelly-Pinched Productions (though fun and, ultimately, I believe, useful) was not particularly lucrative. Not a single lamp sold. I did garner a few potential special orders, though, and a fair amount of interest in them. Plus, the lady who organised the event plans to make mention of me to new residents, in case they might be interested in fun new furnishings as they move in. Word of mouth is certainly worth its weight.
I'm not particularly surprised by the poor performance. The other vendors didn't sell much at all, either. Most of the people who visited showed up not for the open house, but for the free monthly breakfast our complex offers. Ah, well. C'est la vie. I expect things'll go better once I'm online. Somehow, it just seems like more of an internet business. Still, I plan on doing a wee bit of advertising (which amounts to me posting some of the flyers kashi whipped up for me around town), as well as looking into any craft fairs that might be coming up. And at least I've had to sink very little money into this to get it rolling. All told, a pretty good day. |
Jelly Pinched Wolf 3:35 PM
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| Because the Wolf Likes Email |
| After a brief and pleasant email exchange with the Happy Catholic yesterday, I realised my email link, being buried in the same section as the archives, wasn't exactly saying "howdy" to those who might want to contact me now that I've removed comments. A relatively quick fix later, and each post'll now have a link to my email should anyone want to drop a line. |
Jelly Pinched Wolf 4:20 PM
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| 08 June 2005 |
| Ch-ch-ch-changes |
Been working on a few major life changes for a while now, and since today involved something of a major step, I thought it was announcement time. You see, I'm fond of the utility of my job in terms of financial stability, but not the job itself, mostly because it drains my brain and does little to actually help anyone. I can't abide by that.
So today I attended the orientations for the two classes I'll be taking this summer through UD's DANTE program, that I may fulfill the requirements of the Diocese of Dallas for teachers. Never really thought much of teaching, since I had no drive to attain a Master's or beyond, and I have not the temperament to teach in public school. I don't know if anything will come of this, nor if it's even the path I ought to be on, but it feels right. I've been approved by the Diocese, and I now merely lack a position (and, alas, it's looking as though English positions have by and large already been filled for the coming year). The new school in Plano, JP II filled up fast. Also, the egregious lack o' experience will be a huge mark against me. But I'm hopeful, and besides, since I can only take two classes each summer, I can always kick back with my current job for a while longer, and at least get some requirements under my belt until some parochial school out there in the metroplex is willing to take a chance on the intrepid Wolf. We shall see.
In other news, I'm applying for a dba. I figure there's nothing wrong with starting a small business on the side, and it'll be most useful to have a company under which I can make some side projects happen. For starters, I'll be making my debut selling custom lamps made from a lovely array of wine and liquor bottles this Saturday, June 11, from 9am-12pm, at an open house run by our apartment complex. There'll be other vendors as well, including one selling chocolatey things. With a little bit of luck, I'll be going online with it soon as well, and will provide links. Should anyone in the DFW Metroplex want to attend the open house, just email me and I'll give directions.
In addition to this, I'm organising an open mic night, of sorts, to be held soon, hopefully in a nearby coffee shop. It's mainly a selfish reason that I'm doing this, but I can't help but think there are some talented creative types at UD or Northlake College who might take a shine to a public forum. I've for years lamented the sad state of poetry readings--the concept of the "poetry slam" makes me ill. And Barnes & Noble, for all its good intentions with a monthly reading, just doesn't provide the sort of atmosphere I'm looking for. So, dang it, I'm making my own. And if poetry isnt your thing, but rather you're a story person, or a singer/songwriter type, or if you just enjoy others' doing these things, please come. I'll have details here in the near future, and will be advertising it about town as well. And if it's an abysmal failure, then at least I can say I tried.
Finally, I may also be getting a freelance Press Release-writing gig, if the company that contacted me ever gets back to me on it (though I plan to be proactive and drop them a line soon). If this works out, it may prove to be a nice bit of side work.
All that, and I'm still writing more than I have in a while and even managing to keep the house in order and cook decent meals more often than not. Is it any wonder my current job holds no interest for me? |
Jelly Pinched Wolf 3:51 PM
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| 07 June 2005 |
| Congrats and Blessings |
Smockmomma, one of the Summa Mamas, and member of our parish, gave birth today to twin boys, Davis Anthony Damian and Donovan Charles Cosmas. Happiness abounds! And such cool names--Saints Cosmas and Damian do verily rock.
Of course, I would be remiss if I did not also mention and congratulate friend Celogomama on the birth of her twins a couple weeks ago (since she's only just today had the chance to catch up on the blogging, I hope to not be held too accountable for not making earlier mention).
Congratulations and blessing to both of you ladies! |
Jelly Pinched Wolf 10:11 PM
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| 06 June 2005 |
| Prayer of St. Cyprian of Carthage |
| We pray to you, Lord, with honest hearts, in tune with one another, entreating you with sighs and tears, as befits our humble position — placed, as we are, between the spiritually weak who have no concern for you and the saints who stand firm and upright before you. We pray that you may soon come to us, leading us from darkness to light, oppression to freedom, misery to joy, conflict to peace. May you drive away the storms and tempests of our lives, and bring gentle calm. We pray that you will care for us, as a father cares for his children. Amen. |
Jelly Pinched Wolf 8:30 AM
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| Le Chevalier de Sainte-Hermine |
| This one's for kashi, who's currently reading The Three Musketeers and is the biggest fan of the Napoleonic Wars I've ever met. Now the question is: when does a decent translation hit our shelves? |
Jelly Pinched Wolf 1:20 PM
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| Happy Birthday! |
Today is the birthday of my lovely wife, kashi. In honour of the occasion, I wrote her a poem, as I did last year. I reckon this is becoming a new tradition around here, though I've already let her know that I'll likely not be able to keep up the nautical theme (yet, since it's also the anniversary of the Glorious First of June, it's a tempting prospect).
Anyway, here 'tis. Happy Birthday, my kashi!
Vigil Off an Unknown Shore
The dirge of some monastic albatross
Recedes in the wake of the faithful bell,
Reckoning time to the grave march of stars
In a rough and vulnerable night sky.
Persephone's tears cannot stir the riant
Piper from his canvas deathbed beneath
The worry of watch, warrant, and water.
But the bell sounds every worthy to port.
Solemn creak and murmur tarry, breathless,
For the stamp and song of morning's blessing,
But this slumber lags from chime to chime, while
The Pilot's prayers lull the silent dreamers.
In the idle hours of the dead, a lamp
Blooms in the reach. Corsairs, their ashen wings
Blistering from the dim, beckon the master
From his ransom in the womb of the barque.
Rose and breath and rubric conduct his word,
And the pliant trim of the steadfast hands
Grooms the vessel for the tambour of strife,
For the ardent custody of the charge.
One naked voice to rout thieves in the dark,
To reave the enemy's scelerous pennant,
To serve and glorify our king in hope,
To defy the cruel cutlass of jackals
With but a widow's cruse to nourish us.
As the roar dwines to peace, and the slow sting
Of day paints blood across the swell, the bell,
That steward of the tide, resounds at last.
The roborant matinal blaze scatters
The breach, and the line of salt points the way.
Prone clouds crowd with hosannas as haven
Musters along the compass of heaven.
Blushed grapesong washes the celestial wood
While the grey man tunes the cupbearer's keys
And turns the helm home with a scholar's eye,
Trained to quest our last design and sovereign love. |
Jelly Pinched Wolf 7:11 AM
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