shoebox_dw | It's, like, the License to Ramble meme. What's not to love?

Comment to this post and I will give you 5 subjects/things I associate you with. Then post this in your LJ and elaborate on the subjects given.

So the other day, charmed and curious, I commented to this post of

kalquessa 's...and...

Blogging in Shakespearean English, feminism in Watership Down, Pearls Before Swine, Philistine Pollyanna, detective fiction.

OK, self, the moral here? Try not to be so dang memorable next time. Or at least, try it re: favourite bands, or chocolates, or something.

Blogging in Shakespearean English:

Forsooth, it behooves not those who fain would scribble their thoughts abroad for all to see to take themselves too seriously withal. As often as a man is known abroad for the company he doth keep, so the scribbler is understood in choosing for himself a palimpsest infested with 'Pimp This Space' ads. Fie upon sparkles, say I! That way must lie madness alone. Thus, ever and anon when my mind teaseth with matters strange and sober, do I throw cautious Nature aside and advance onto the printed page flying the banners of the Queen's English. Furled aloft, adorned with gossamer nets such as faeries were wont to use of old, to catch the merrie breezes of good humour...

...trouble is, I can only keep it up for so long before I get dizzy. But yeah, that's pretty much it. Should maybe see if it gets any easier with practice, methinks.

Feminism in Watership Down:

In a nutshell, this is the apparently quite sober school of criticism that insists a novel about rabbits should be more sensitive to gender stereotyping. And I mean, really. I suppose the next paper due is on how Little Miss Muffett is inexcusably lookist in re: the arachnid family...oh never mind, it's already in PETA's charter, isn't it?
This is where political correctness (not to mention animal activism) and I part ways: in just about the same spot they part ways with common sense. And when it infests children's media, that parting seems to be happening more and more often, in crazier and crazier places. Right there is where we'll stop, for now, because after a half-hour's furious typing I realised I've enough lovely ranty inspiration on this topic for an entire separate blog post, post-haste to follow...

Pearls Before Swine:

Click on the Wiki-link above for everything you need to know about this comic strip and why I love it so - enough to have written the majority of the header and a lot of the examples. Basically it's aware enough to express what everyone's really thinking, what we wish we could say, what we all secretly find funny...and sincere enough to get away with it. It's not perfect; sometimes it's too banally angry, sometimes it's just silly; but it's always true to itself. Also, it contains a sequence in which the lead character fakes his own death to win sympathy, and when discovered in a supermarket screams out "Lazarus loves his omelettes!!"

In case the Bob & Ray obsession hasn't tipped it yet, I adore self-aware media in any form. Not cleverness for cleverness' sake; that way lies disaster - or, if you like, Disaster Movie - and at any rate never produces anything lasting. No, I'm talking about real intelligence, the kind that draws a fine (and given the subject, usually funny) line between where our priorities are, as human beings, and where they should be. We need that kind of expression, no matter how crude or offensive it may seem on the surface, because if we deny it, we deny ourselves our last best chance to grow.

Philistine Pollyanna:

A term I coined to describe my evidently slightly...unusual...response to modern dramatic principles. I don't believe that 'grittier' automatically = more sophisticated; I don't care how well-written or performed they are, The Sopranos, The Wire and the like leave me unapologetically cold. To me, art is about enhancing the human experience, providing - not escape necessarily - but 'scope for imagination' at least.
Thus - perhaps in reference to the comment above about cleverness for cleverness' sake - I have never, ever bought into the concept of inevitable unhappy endings. To those who would tell me it's closer to real life that way, I respond with this wonderful affirmation of L.M. Montgomery's: "Pine woods are just as real as pigsties, and a darn sight pleasanter to be in."

Yes, she - or rather, the character in Emily Climbs, who's ironically supposed to be swearing freely - really does say 'darn'. So do I, a lot actually. This philosophy is intimately intertwined with my quest for self-acceptance: I've tried to work up a proper adult cursing habit, from time-to-time, but all I get in response is peals of laughter. When I tried to write the opening chapters of what I thought was an authentically gritty SF story, everybody assumed I was writing for young-adults. The crowning indignity came when a co-worker at the bookstore called me 'so wholesome' with a straight face.

In a way, that's one of the main reasons I like my LJ-friend community; and to a certain extent the rest of the Net. Because here, where eccentricity is not only encouraged but the whole darn point, I am slowly-but-surely learning to find value in myself. Can even - glancing ever-so discreetly at MySpace and the like - feel the merits of my position. To put it another way: I'm green. And it'll do fine.

Detective fiction:

Yeah, same post. What TVTropes calls True Art is Angsty seems to infect the thriller genres to a really alarming degree, to the point where it's almost passe to bother with an actual mystery except inasmuch as it enhances the lead investigator's neuroses. I do not wish to diss one who's given so much to mystery lovers everywhere, but I took a crack at an Inspector Morse novel or two and was forced to give up in despair. I just don't think it's fair that someone just looking for a good absorbing distraction on the commuter bus be forced to decode classical references every darn chapter. Especially not at 7 AM.

On the other hand, the 'classic' mystery story poses the opposite problem, inasmuch as it tends to skip lightly over such niceties as 'characterization' and so feel distinctly unsatisfying, rather like that Twinkie you ate in lieu of a good nourishing breakfast. The mystery section of my bookshelf is thus a rather small and deeply cherished one, including Christie, Rex Stout, Dick Francis, Earl (Charlie Chan) Der Biggers and Anne Perry. Each in their own way has understood that the human condition is noted foremost for its sheer absurdity...

...which seems to be rather a theme here, doesn't it?

It's, like, the License to Ramble meme. What's not to love?

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