It's amazing how soothing a cup of hot, sweet, strong tea can be.

The Joys of Pulp

I have been reading Edgar Rice Burroughs' Princess of Mars lately. ERB tends to get laughed off a bit, since he authored Tarzan, and most people don't even know about his sci-fi.

 

Why didn't anyone tell me that Burroughs is such a good writer?? I don't think I've enjoyed a pulp book this much since I went on my H. Rider Haggard jag! (and yes, I loved both She and King Solomon's Mines.)

 

I wish I had found some of this classic pulp stuff in junior high; I think it would have prevented me reading a lot of total junk. I can't tell you the plot of a single Bsbysitters Club book (though I read quite a few of them), but I know I'll always remember the dread as the stone door slides shut, sealing the party into the tombs of the kings in King Solomon's Mines. I'll always remember Ayesha (She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed!) leading Alan Quatermain and his companion into the depths of the earth, and seeing her shriveled body fall as the eternal youth is taken from her. Who could forget John Carter in among the Green Martians, watching the moons of Mars speed across the sky and dreaming of Dejah Thoris?

 

Is pulp "good literature"? Not really. It's pretty light fare. But as Chesterton says in his excellent Defense of Penny Dreadfuls,  

 

"These common and current publications have nothing essentially evil about them. They express the sanguine and heroic truisms on which civilisation is built; for it is clear that unless civilisation is built on truisms, it is not built at all. Clearly, there could be no safety for a society in which the remark by the Chief Justice that murder was wrong was regarded as an original and dazzling epigram.

"If the authors and publishers of Dick Deadshot, and such remarkable works, were suddenly to make a raid upon the educated class, were to take down the names of every man, however distinguished, who was caught at a University Extension Lecture, were to confiscate all our novels and warn us all to correct our lives, we should he seriously annoyed. Yet they have far more right to do so than we; for they, with all their idiocy, are normal and we are abnormal. It is the modern literature of the educated, not of the uneducated, which is avowedly and aggressively criminal. Books recommending profligacy and pessimism, at which the high-souled errand-boy would shudder, lie upon all our drawing-room tables. If the dirtiest old owner of the dirtiest old book stall in Whitechapel dared to display works really recommending polygamy or suicide, his stock would be seized by the police. These things are our luxuries. And with a hypocrisy so ludicrous as to be almost unparalleled in history, we rate the gutter-boys for their immorality at the very time that we are discussing (with equivocal German professors) whether morality is valid at all. At the very instant that we curse the Penny Dreadful for encouraging thefts upon property, we canvass the proposition that all property is theft. At the very instant we accuse it (quite unjustly) of lubricity and indecency, we are cheerfully reading philosophies which glory in lubricity and indecency. At the very instant that we charge it with encouraging the young to destroy life, we are placidly discussing whether life is worth preserving.

"But it is we who are the morbid exceptions; it is we who are the criminal class. This should be our great comfort. The vast mass of humanity, with their vast mass of idle books and idle words, have never doubted and never will doubt that courage is splendid, that fidelity is noble, that distressed ladies should be rescued, and vanquished enemies spared. There are a large number of cultivated persons who doubt these maxims of daily life, just as there are a large number of persons who believe they are the Prince of Wales; and I am told that both classes of people are entertaining conversationalists. But the average man or boy writes daily in these great gaudy diaries of his soul, which we call Penny Dreadfuls, a plainer and better gospel than any of those iridescent ethical paradoxes that the fashionable change as often as their bonnets. It may be a very limited aim in morality to shoot a "many faced and fickle traitor," but at least it is a better aim than to be a many faced and fickle traitor, which is a simple summary of a good many modern systems from Mr. d'Annunzio's downwards. So long as the coarse and thin texture of mere current popular romance is not touched by a paltry culture it will never he vitally immoral. It is always on the side of life. The poor--the slaves who really stoop under the burden of life-- have often been mad, scatter-brained, and cruel, but never hopeless. That is a class privilege, like cigars. Their drivelling literature will always be a "blood and thunder" literature, as simple as the thunder of heaven and the blood of men."

(The entirety of this excellent essay can be found at http://www.cse.dmu.ac.uk/~mward/gkc/books/penny-dreadfuls.html)

So I got a gift card to Barnes and Noble, and decided to get a whole stack of books yesterday. I went into my two favorite sections (Literature and SciFi/Fantasy) and ended up with these:

I Am Charlotte Simmons, by Tom Wolfe

The Idiot, by Dostoyevsky

Princess of Mars, by Edgar Rice Burroughs

Shadow and Claw: The First Hal of the Book of the New Sun (two books in one volume) by Gene Wolfe

The Knight, by Gene Wolfe

plus a giant book of crossword puzzles.

I'd heard the Tom Wolfe book being talked about a little online, read the first chapter online, and decided it was interesting enough to read all of.

I got the Idiot, because I love Dostoyevsky and it's supposed to be one of his best books.

I've been wanting to read Burroughs' Mars books for awhile (gosh darn it, Mr. Wright, stop talking about books, it keeps expanding my reading list!) Plus, it had a picture of a space princess in a bikini on the front. How could I resist?

Gene Wolfe also comes highly recommended by Mr. Wright; I picked up The Knight and started reading the first chapter to see if I wanted to buy the book. After about 2 pages, I felt like my mind had been pulled through into another dimension, and been remade as something new. On the strength of that, I bought both G. Wolfe books that I'd grabbed, instead of just onoe. Can't wait to see where he's going with this story! Even in the first two pages, there were references to Norse mythology and Platonic dialogues.

It's here!

The first movie poster for Prince Caspian! It gives me the shivers just to look at it!

 

http://www.cinematical.com/2007/09/17/exclusive-the-chronicles-of-narnia-prince-caspian-official-o/

 

*blushing furiously*

So, as some of you know, I recently concluded a practical joke (for lack of a better term) that lasted a little over a year. Now, this wasn't a mean type of joke; it actually involved anonymously giving gifts to people at my workplace. (No, I'm not giving more details than that)  At a recent company-wide meeting, I had finally revealed then identity of the secret giver, causing much uproar, surprise, and happiness (apparently, my little gifts had meant more than I thought! Yay!)

 

So that was nice, and everything. I was a little sad that I couldn't send gifts anymore, now that everyone knew who I was, but I'd given something to just about everyone in the company, so it worked out ok.

 

But then came today.

 

Today did not start out well. I arrived at work, and everyone else was dressed in the official colors. I was told that a memo had been sent out, and why didn't I dress in colors myself? I hadn't received the memo and was very upset.

 

Then, a few minutes ago, my manager called a meeting (this happens at least twice a week) and we all turned off our phones. Everything was normal. Then the Big Boss said, "ok, everyone gather around Elizabeth's desk!" Well, that was a little unusual. Then, to my utter suprise, they presented me with a lovely book of fairy drawings (http://www.amazon.com/Deluxe-Book-Flower-Fairies/dp/0723249393/ref=pd_bbs_2/105-2550683-5390823?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1190228218&sr=8-2) and a gift card to Barnes and Noble!

 

I still haven't stopped blushing!

Arrrrrrrrr!

It be National Talk Like A Pirate Day today! Tell all ye mateys!

 

*sigh*

It's started....I'm in a Christmas mood. I have no idea why. Maybe it's the predicted rain this weekend, maybe it's the idea that I could get an actual Christmas tree this year, who knows....But I'm in a Christmasy mood!

 

Now, where did that Joni Mitchell CD go, I want to listen to River......

 

My favorite blog

This blog is probably my favorite blog right now. It's excellently written, often funny, and always worthwhile. Here's the great post from today:

 

http://johncwright.livejournal.com/119334.html#cutid1

 

 

Thanksgiving day?

Hello all! My sister may be visiting me this Thanksgiving Day, and we are looking for someone to share it with! I'm perfectly happy to have the meal and my house and do the turkey, if someone else (or lots of people; heck, I'd be happy if a bunch of people wanted to show up) wants to join us and bring side dishes.

 

Let me know if you're interested!

Tarkovsky

About a year ago, a lot of people from a certain Torrey class became obsessed with the Russian filmmaker Tarkovsky. I was not one of them; I have to date only seen one of his films (Andrei Rublyev, which I loved). However, on faith, I purchased the book he wrote about his films and art in general. It is fantastic. He has quite a few really excellent things to say. He maintains that art cannot be simply about self-expression, because art is empty if it elicts no response in the viewer. Can't wait to read the rest!

 

Now I'm going to Netflix to add all of his films to my queue.

Dad's vacation

As most of my readers know, my dad took a vacation and came out to visit me: his account of it is here: http://tuliacoc.livejournal.com/

 

And he's right; we see the LA area through totally different eyes. Even after 7 years, I love it out here as much as ever. I love being able to hop on the freeway and see a show in LA. I love being able to hang out at Forest Lawn. I love being so near to all this movie history. I love being in the midst of university life, and being able to participate in the dialectic. I hated being stuck in a small town; while I grant that they are good places to be, I will leave it to others to live there. I love having the freedom to be who I am, and not have to fit some mold (I am so glad to not have to pretend to care about football games anymore! And to be free to care very much about books) Give me the city skyline, the palm trees, even the freeways. Give me the ocean, and the long slow rains that drizzle for three days. Give me the long golden sunset light, and the milky whiteness of the eucalyptus trees. Give me the hot asphalt, the crumbling concrete, and even the earthquakes.

 

I love this City.

 

(But then, ya'll knew that already.)

Last night was weird

Yesterday was not a great day for me. I was tired, and somewhat depressed (note: this is very normal for me, just annoying) and by the time I got to Bible study, I was not in any mood to be around large groups of people.

 

I was too shy to share my struggle in the time for prayer requests (maybe next week), but prayed anyway that God would get me out of myself (oh dang that sounds so weird after the discussion last night....) and let me be present with the Plato group in a meaningful way.

 

I didn't notice that I cheered up, but I had one of the best discussions I've ever had. I was able to follow the discussion (mostly) and contribute a few significant things, I think. Maybe.

 

So thanks be to the God who understands bipolar introverts!

MMMMmmmmmm...

*munches* liquor-filled chocolate cake......yummy.....

 

Good thing I brought the leftovers of the cake to work. If it stayed in my house I'd eat it all!

Anyone like Frankie Valli?

Jersey Boys is going to the OC Performing Arts center, and the nosebleed seats are only about $30! Anyone want to go with me???

 

(what do you mean, you don't know who Frankie Valli is?  Everybody knows who Frankie Valli is!)

you know...

...that you are a geek and your friends are all geeks when:

 

you go to the store to get fish to make fish and chips, and all three of you stand in front of the frozen fish freezer, reciting Lewis Carroll's "Lobster Quadrille":

 

"Will you walk a little faster?" said a whiting to a snail.
"There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail.
See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!
They are waiting on the shingle - will you come and join the dance?
  Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?
  Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?

Black Russian Cake...

..is exactly what it sounds like. It's yellow cake mix, with chocolate pudding mix stirred in, 1/4 cup each of Kahlua and vodka, and a glaze made of butter, sugar, and rum.

 

It's delicious.

 

(the recipe is in the Red Hat Society cookbook. The cookbook is almost worth it just for this cake alone)

Today is September 11

I'm sure you remember where you were. You may even remember the time. I do. My roommate's mother called her to tell her to turn on the TV: I rolled over sleepily, and looked at the clock. 7:32 am. We turn on the tv, just in time to see the second tower fall. No-one knew what was happening, only that it hadn't been an accident. My roommate calls her boyfriend: he is panicked because his mother is an airline attendant with American Airlines. He knew she was on an international flight that day, and it's usually international flights that are hijacked.

 

We watch the tv for a long time, stunned. We watch people jump from the towers, people crying, blood and ash and smoke everywhere. We wonder if LA will be hit, or Disneyland. The whole day is a little fuzzy: I remember a prayer meeting being held in the chapel. I think I wore all black for a few days--I'm not good at mourning, and that was the only thing I could figure out to do. I remember classes being somewhat optional for a few days, or given over just to discussing the events. I remember how quiet it was, with no airplanes flying overhead. I remember when the airplanes did start flying again, how nervous you get now when one sounds too low to the ground, too close to the buildings.

 

Sometimes it feels odd to hear sound clips from that day, and feel the cold terror in the pit of my stomach again. Is it odd or morbid to remember that fear, the horror of all the death and injury and anguish? I don't know. I just remember. Every year.

Madeleine L'Engle is dead

I'd been expecting this for a while; I knew her health hadn't been good. But I'm still sad. It's hard to accept that someone who taught me so much about life is dead.

 

I think I picked up Wrinkle In Time when I was 10 or 11. I knew I'd never read anything like it before, and read straight through the whole Time series. Some of her books, I had to grow into (An Acceptable Time, and Many Waters, both of which are now favorites). Others, like Swiftly Tilting Planet, made an immediate impact.

 

A few years after reading Wrinkle, I discovered that L'Engle wrote non-fiction books based on her journals. I read the Crosswicks journals shortly after, of which The Irrational Season is possibly my favorite.

 

In late high school, I stumbled upon Walking On Water, her mediation on faith and art. To say that this revolutionized my view of the interaction between faith and art would be to damn the book with faint praise. It "baptized my imagination," to use Lewis' powerful phrase. I have read it regularly, at least once a year, ever since.

 

In college, when I was living with my grandmother for a short time, I checked out A Live Coal In the Sea from the library: I started it at 9pm, and finished at 2am, in tears. It remains one of the most powerful portrayals of human sin and God's mercy that I have yet seen in a modern novel.

 

Madeleine L'Engle was my introduction to sacramental thinking, and a constant reminder of the wonder in the everyday world. She was realistic, but never glum. She was able to see the wonders of science, without losing sight of God. She taught me to love beauty in all its forms, and to be willing to go into darkness if that is where God lead.

 

She wrote poetry that moved me past myself and towards God. "Farewell to all I thought was me, that I may find what these were meant to be."

 

How do you say goodbye to someone you never know, who meant so much, and who impacted you so deeply?

 

Goodbye Madeleine; I know you were not afraid of death, and I am sure that you are with God now, delighting in Him as you always did. You did so much to keep my heart soft when I would have hardened it, and to strengthen my faith when I would have lost it.

 

I will miss you.

Grey hairs and henna

I colored my hair with henna a few months ago; I'm a big fan of henna body art, and had heart it does marvelous things for the hair. It did make my hair very shiny, along with intensifying the red tones in my hair.

 

Also, I wanted to cover up a few grey hairs that I had recently found.

 

Of course, the problem with coloring to cover up grey is obvious: you have to keep doing it regularly; if you don't, it will appear that you've aged overnight! Granted, it's not that I have very many grey hairs, just one or two at the moment, but the question is still pertinent.

 

I finally decided not to color my hair again: it's too much trouble, and at the end of the day, I'm ok with the grey beginning to come through. I'm not out to impress anyone, and I've always looked older than I am anyway.

 

But it's still a struggle not to rush to the bathroom and yank out every silver hair!

Back from a Long(ish) Absence

Sorry for not blogging much lately; my dad has been visiting, and I haven't gotten on-line much. Hope to be blogging vacation photos sometime soon! Although come to think of it, I think my dad has most of the pictures...

 

Anyhow. Dad got here on Wednesday, so we didn't do much that day: I took half the day off work, picked dad up at the airport, then stopped back by work to show him the office. Plus, my co-worker Latrice wanted to meet the person responsible for my wacky sense of humor. That night, we ate out at Lucille's Smokehouse BBQ, a place I'd always smelled when I went to my bank. I have to say, it lived up to the deliscious smell: that was probably the best brisket I've ever had, and the ribs were just amazing! Pricey, but nothing out of the ordinary for a ribs place. It's nice to know that someone in California knows what barbeque really is!

 

I went to work on Thursday, so dad could have lunch with a friend and get over jetlag. We watched movies that night, since my dad player could hook up with dad's hotel tv. I had Friday through Wednesay off, so Friday we went out to the beach. It was so much cooler out there! I think it was the best weather I've ever seen on the beach: warm, but not particularly hot, with a good breeze, but not blowing sand in our faces. The surf was really rough, and gave us several good tumbles, but it was fun.

 

Saturday we went to the swap meet at Goldenwest College: I bought a lovely cheap pink sunhat, some books (did you know that there were two books after My Father's Dragon?? Me neither! I bought them, and they were fun, but not as good as the original), some honey sticks, and some pineapple. Oh, and a Paul Simon CD, to replace the one that the art department stole. I love Paul Simon's music, especially songs like Kodachrome, Hearts and Bones, Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes, and Slip-Slidin' Away.

 

Sunday we went to church, then headed out to Upland to visit a distant relative, Irene. If I have this straight, she's my dad's grandmother's sister. So she's his second cousin, and my third cousin. I think. Anyway, she's 93, but still very alert and active, not to mention cheerful! She really seemed delighted to see us, and kept telling funny stories and jokes. My favorite was when she talked about her marriage: I'm going to retell it here, but you should hear her talk about it!

 

She said: "When I was a young girl, and Harold was courting me, we'd gotten engaged, and I had ordered my wedding dress from the Sears and Roebuck catalog for $2.50! Well, I was always half-crazy, and started seeing this other boy for awhile. He told me that if I'd marry him, he'd take me to California! I thought, 'Ooh, Califnoria!'. Well, this boy went up to Harold and said, 'You think you're going to marry Irene, but you're not! She's going to marry me, and we're going to California!'. Well, Harold got someone to take his shift at the factory that day, and he came and found me, and said, 'Get packed, I'm coming for you tonight!" So went off that night and got married!"

 

She also told stories about a flodding cellar during a tornado, and travelling by covered wagon, when her sister fell out of the wagon! It was really neat to listen to her. I'd be happy to be half that alert, active, and cheerful when I'm her age!

 

Monday was a nice slow day. We really didn't do much except lunch (The Olde Shippe, my favorite pub) and a movie (Death At A Funeral, which was hilarious! Alan Tudyk as a drugged up Englishman. Frank Oz directing. Obviously going to be funny).

 

Tuesday was the trip into LA. Our first stop was the Music Box staircase, on Vendome st. This is where Laurel and Hardy filmed their movie, The Music Box, eighty years ago (for those who don't know, that's the one where they try to move a piano up a huge flight of stairs outside a house). After getting very lost, we finally managed to make it to Forest Lawn Glendale, where we saw the graves of the Hortons (founders of Biola), L. Frank Baum, Jay T. Ward (creator of Rocky and Bullwinkle), and Jimmy Stewart. From there, we headed out to Forest Lawn Hollywood Hills, to see the graves of Buster Keaton, Stan Laurel, and Bill Peet (artist, Disney animator, and children's author). We stopped for lunch at Bob's Big Boy; dad used to take me out for breakfast at the Big Boy in Fort Worth, and there are hardly any left. From there, we went to Graumann's Chinese Theater, and walked around Hollywood a little.

 

All in all, a very fun week!