Rosebud

It wasn’t bad.

The movie itself was well acted, well directed and shot, and the writing surely wasn’t bad when you look at the themes conveyed by it.

But despite all the good ingredients, you were left with a less than enthralling two hours of screen time that Peter Griffin confirmed.

Oh sure, it had revolutionary filming techniques one wouldn’t expect in the 1940s, but hearing this filmed called again and again the best of all time, you somehow expect more. It gets built up to expectations that not only was it a good film for technical reasons, but that you also would be entertained by it, and more so than less grossing films. This did not come to pass.

The lesson is clear. No amount of exquisite junk can fill a void you have in your life that needs stable relationships and a strain of normalcy in coming of age.

Had Charles been less headstrong about his media endeavors he might have been able to maintain a solid marriage with his first wife. But growing up under hard rule he was eager to break free and make some noise in the world that once shut him out. You could go as far as to call him a victim of circumstance, but his reckless free will was made obvious even as a young man. You could just say there was no stopping him.

One thing I would like to point out is how Susan was a much happier, more fulfilled seeming character before she got involved in the ills of Charles and his unwieldy fortune. No amount of money could fix the problems that came up between her and Charles.

Charles himself seemed quite insatiable as well. As a young lad he wasn’t happy with his coldly acquired living arrangements. The same arrangements rocketed him to fame and fortune. Late in life he wasn’t happy with a traditional portfolio and wanted to run a paper, maybe just to have the illusion of a grip on the world. This lost him money temporarily, but surely returned it to him time and time over. This was not relevant. Every newly acquired thing in his life let him down at a rate that set his sights on the latest distraction to occupy his time, until there was another. This did not cease until his death.

 

If you wanted to get ultimate here, you could say the lack of a normal childhood was the complete source of this deficiency and materialism in his mind. We cannot know as he did not live for real, but we can apply the themes of this story to people we see in reality, as a study of the human state.

A decent example in our lifetime I would say is Michael Jackson. Not only could no amount of affluence and matter restore the abyss torn in him by a fragmented upbringing, but he never even accepted himself physically. He hadn’t lost his mind – he told us about equality. He had just been damaged. Damaged beyond repair.

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The moral is raise yo keeyds right so they don’t end up like me doing homework at 2AM before school.

The Trifecta of Pandemic Forecasting.

When I first witnessed the The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock, I immediately thought of social anxiety. We see a character who doesn’t think he’ll be good enough, or capable to talk to women, or generally feel accepted instead of examined by a heartless organization of strangers, who are equally as unprepared as him. He mentions measuring his life in coffee spoons, possibly meaning it’s all that keeps him going. Quite depressing I might say. Towards the end he says it would have been worth communicating with the others, expressing possibly regret at the notion that he did not. All three of these poems are truly social commentary, something I mention again and again in this class because it seems to arise at every corner. Props to you for giving us these to review because they do hold truth somewhat timelessly.

The next work of poetry, Disillusionment at 10 o’clock, is but one iteration in the never ending call to be unique we hear so hypocritically out of society. The very practice of calling folks to be different has sadly become a cliche for mass appeal. This one, however, given the time of publishing, I can safely assume was written with genuine intentions, and out of real observations – not regurgitated taglines just for recognition. People of the time, and of our own, get very comfortable with being unremarkable. This is not good for the world. If we had more people striving for excellence we might be a more efficient and compassionate society. Here we see a drunken sailor regarded as this higher level of humanity. What Stephens is suggesting is that maybe, it is those who are broadly considered to be less than cosmopolitan that dare to exceed the lesser seen limitations of contemporary culture. I’m not sure I agree entirely, but I can see the importance of a creative mind. Perhaps instead he is making a point that the tidy yet unremarkable are creatively put to shame by the lowest society has to offer. On either we see a bold statement.

 

Our final, and least comprehensible piece is anyone lived in a pretty how town. I am still not confident that I have a solid understanding of it. It seems to be a story of a few commoners and the futility of life. There is not much more I have to say about it. It would however appear to have a larger message about men and women, about how anyone could be a man, and no one loves just anyone.

 

Anyway, I find the first to be most applicable and easiest to grasp and relate to. They seem to all have decreasingly dreary outlooks in the order I listed them, but all dark nonetheless.There is no time like the present to see evidence of a depressed peoples, and the outright fakery that perpetrates communications. With things like mass and social media, it should be plain to most people. What separates the wheat from the chaff if you will though, is the people who only realize this, and those who act on it to be better.

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Peace out.

Cyberhick

There are little connections between the works of Twain and the short film iMom aside from their satirical intentions.

I merged them in your head just so you could laugh. You’re welcome.

When I first read the Jumping Frog, I dismissed it as unremarkable. A man is looking for the whereabouts of someone else, hears about some rural legend, and moves on without knowing anything more. When you explained to the class the true genius of how Simon completely misguided the narrator, following up on his friend’s setup almost telepathically, I was able to appreciate the quality in the writing at last. That’s how it always seems to go.

You give us some work of literature which I read, and usually don’t think much of. I never in a million years would have perceived the intentions of the work as the writer intended, instead coming up with logically sound yet immediately discarded interpretations of whatever I just read. It makes me feel odd because this doesn’t appear to happen to most of the class. It would also to unfair to dismiss myself as either smarter or stupider than the intentions of the authors. I suppose that I truly just think differently than most people, being misguided, distracted, or misunderstanding at every turn. I don’t really know what that says about me, but I know I’m probably not normal on a lot of levels.

I already read Huck Finn once before, so, like rereading anything, I expect to remember some details, and also be surprised by ones I either missed or forgot. Like the rest of what we read in class, I also expect to have facets of the story brought to my attention by you which I misinterpreted. Thanks for pointing stuff out, or I’d be in the dark with these highly regarded 1800s writers.

iMom was well done as an accurate social commentary. I use that phrase often. If you know any synonymous phrases please let me know. Anyway, iMom delivered an honest look into irresponsible parents, reckless marketing and technology that is unavoidably misused. I wasn’t shocked to the point of unconsciousness, but I definitely saw the points of the film as it was formatted well for a modern audience. (I nonchalantly agreed with the cultural statements ushered by the film. There’s got to be a word for that.)

The film is more than fiction.

Satire and other sources of involuntary vocalizations.

I’ve laughed a lot in my day. I’m laughing right now. What makes me stop laughing however is digging into the details of what makes something funny. As it was said by E. B. White,

“Analyzing humor is like dissecting a frog. Few people are interested and the frog dies of it.”

This is true. The very reason things are funny is because they subconsciously take you by surprise. If we get too analytical there is nothing left to jump out at us.

What do I find funny? While refraining from dismissing it as stupid humor, little of what I laugh at follows any intelligible sort of pattern or organized algorithm. Some things I appreciate as humorous and some I simply do not. Dry humor, when it is executed properly can be very comical. I also like certain jokes and memes that involve someone who does not abide by social conventions and is completely oblivious to the lack of acceptance of their actions. See? It’s not funny at all when you try to explain it. You either get it or you don’t. I have some quality examples of this laying around, but the majority of them are not the type you would be inclined to share with your teachers. I don’t have an appreciation for sarcasm or dark humor nine times out of ten, and that sets me apart from a lot of people. I’ll link something at the end which I found funny.

I know little about Mark Twain, save for Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, which I think were well written. For help on this very assignment, that is, to find satire, I reached out to a well read friend of mine who was able to guide me to some writings of Twain. I know the man can write, but I often do no enjoy delving into works over a century old as the English language has changed enough since then that it is tiring to read at times.

This is a clip I found which I thought was very funny at first. I have not seen the rest of the movie it is from. Perhaps you can help me explain, beyond the obvious, as to what in this makes us laugh.

Q3 IR – Forcibly Unintentionally Last Minute

Thanks for reminding me to read a book this quarter.

Because I cannot read an adequate book in two hours and don’t want to write this about something I have not truly read, I will have to consult the vast information banks of my mind to remember a book I read years ago. That book shall be The Catcher in the Rye. I probably already used this book for school at least twice. Oops.

When my good friend handed me the book and told me to read it, I expected nothing but the best writing I’d ever scanned off a page – after all, this is a classic book from around 1950 that is still popular. When I was done reading it, it just made me kind of sad. My friend said the book was hilarious. I believe both of us missed the entire point of the novel.

It has been said time and time again about this work that it has to do with coming of age, that is summarizes teenage angst, or is a social commentary about the shallowness of society as a whole. Those must be highly educated interpretations, as when I read this book, being close in age to the protagonist, all I truly witnessed was the story of one individual who, although easy to empathize with, is not the token American 17 year old.

The majority of the book consists of Holden going through several packs of cigarettes while hazily reacting to his environment in New York City, sort of aimlessly spending his time before the inevitable return to an educational institution. Was his state of mind understandable? Yes. Was it written so that you could picture the setting with detail, and perhaps imagine yourself in his shoes? Yes. Did the novel provide themes that one would typically associate with coming of age? I would say no.

Sure, dodging your problems even though they must be dealt with eventually feels pretty familiar right about now, and I have been known to restlessly switch from conversation to conversation whilst not fully occupying my conscious mind in the present, but many of the actions in contained in this novel are anything but realistic. One could argue that times have changed, but barhopping in a major city after a series of unfortunate events at the ripe old age of 17 seems quite far fetched for a book that is touted as the realistic coming of age story to end them all.

Once again I have to disagree with the established popular opinion on a cultural icon. Sure, it was a commercial success, and panned to such a wide audience that it somehow got support from domestic terrorists and sane folk alike, but we cannot be convinced by sheer sales alone when plainly bad entertainment makes billions every year.

What can convince us is our own personal experiences and how we relate to the work as individuals. As I continue to write this essay I can not longer hide the fact that now, at the age of 17 myself, I can relate to the novel much more than when I first read it, and I have migrated from my initial stance after some thought. It may not be a story everyone can see themselves in objectively, but subjectively, an A student has just now reflected on an increasingly familiar state of mind which he was foretold of by a dropout. Our settings, the environments we found ourselves in, and the ways we reacted to them differ with polar proportions, but we were left with the same hazy anxiety.

It is now that I understand why this book appealed to a mass of people spanning generations and intentions. I at first could not appreciate the writing fully, but Holden was reflecting and dreaming from within a sad state, and by the end of the reading, I too was sad.

Perhaps in a blind sense, I knew the meaning of the story all along.

My take on V e r t i g o

Alright, I didn’t think this blog was due yesterday, nor did I think the basis of it was as general as giving opinions. But I am alive, and I have a keyboard under my fingers, so I will not cease to deliver my honest take.

Long story short – it didn’t live up to the hype. If we want to get picky, it didn’t even feel like a film noir. To me, it felt like the story of a man who just got way in over his head after throwing aside his instincts to not get involved. For someone who was said to have been on the force for years, Scot is remarkably stupid. He blew the entire case, failed to not get involved, and made many sloppy mistakes that no self respecting detective would ever have made – like following someone in the same car for days. The simple fact that he was not confronted in this should have been enough of a red flag.

You can’t even be embarrassed at the blunders of the protagonist when he’s cold as ice and really has no likeable character traits. He’s not good with women either. Should have been another red flag when that worked out for him.

For a film noir, we saw very little gunshots, dark alleys, and smoke filled bars. The rap music video I’m watching right now from the early 90s has a more appropriate setting. For a psychological “thriller”, we saw little thrills, and my mental state remains static as a parked cement truck. You ain’t moving it with such a slow paced film.

The changes in the music score were cheesily fitting and made what happened next more predictable; the exact opposite of what a psychological thriller should do to mislead you.

In retrospect, I might have given more respect to the movie without the pretense of hearing it called one of the best film noirs of all time, with you telling me to pay close attention to every detail, as if Alfred Hitchcock was Stanley Kubrick.

There’s not much you could have done to make this appeal to a modern audience without tossing out the whole idea of a film noir. I personally would have loved to have seen an instant death later on in the film via gunshot or car crash – something unrelated to anything seen before in the plot which defies the entire buildup, forcibly ripping you out of any subconscious investment in it. That would have made this a great film by the sheer astonishment of such an ending.

All I can say was good about the movie was a single plot twist, and some technical aspects the average viewer disregards.

There’s the thumbnail of the video I was watching.

See you next time.

The blog that for everyone else was their seventeenth.

I’m a little late on this. Story of my life.

My initial thoughts on the work weren’t really much, but if I had to dig into the reality of it, I’d say it was quite an ambitious project for Walt, considering the length of it, the relevance of it to himself and his philosophy, and the amount of time he actually spent not only writing it but trying to apply his ideals within to his lifestyle and evolve along with this poem.

As far as the sections we were given, being the third and the ninth, I had little to initially conclude seeing as they initially made little sense to me. Still, at this very moment, I do not remember much about what they mean, so I will have to consult my notes to even attempt to satisfy your query.

So in review, section 3 started off mentioning how people were concerned with past and future events but did not concern themselves with the present, the only time which they have direct control of. Walt, being a man bent on self and societal improvement made it very clear through his own examples that others ought to also focus on what they can manipulate in the present day. He went on to talk about how he upholds views of gender equality despite society’s hardline opposition to this belief, backing it up by presenting the plain fact that man and womankind are absolutely necessary to the advancement of a people.

Advancing through the section, he stated how “Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile” speaking of himself. Only a transcendentalist would say such a thing, as most today would regard their being as comprised of parts with good and evil intent; good and bad influences domestic to the body. Walt would have argued this was purely a result of a corrupted society. This doesn’t make logical sense, but so be it. It is the work.

He said his dreams led him to realize what steps he could take to better himself, and he was left with a predicament as to focus on these current steps or be distracted wondering what he could be.

Some lines that stand out among the rest are

“Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my
eyes,
That they turn from gazing after and down the road,
And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent,
Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is
ahead?

This question is what I just covered, and it stood out to me because it feels like a familiar struggle to continue working when you want to reevaluate what it is you’re working towards.

Difficulty? Yes, almost everything about reading and interpreting this work was hard, and when I finish the test based on it, I’ll crack open an iced tea and be glad I’m done with it. You should also crack open a tea once you’re done grading the mess that is my interpretation of the poem.

The Bonus Blog

As you scramble through your feed in disbelief, you come across this post. No, you didn’t ingest something psychedelic earlier.

I absolutely am writing this blog just because I’m bored and don’t really have much critically impending work to be busy with. I suppose I could catch up on projects in Drawing, but you know how it is. I got time.

But what if I don’t? It’s been on my mind recently how I can be mentally screaming at myself to get up and do work, but on the outside, I’m just chilling. If I ever look at you, and you can tell I’m not paying attention by the dead look on my face, then that means I’m lost in thought and not aware of anything immediately around me, but at the same time I might be obsessing over the realization of my lack of productivity despite my quality of work, or something darker. I could be fighting a whole war in my head, trying to think straight only to be tormented by my willpower spiraling out of reach, but all you see is – 🙂

It’s sad. I’ve been depressed. All I can really do is carry on and tell myself it’ll be OK because I’m headed in the right direction. I have clothes and food at home, my grades are good, I’m not caught in a brutal civil war, my government, although prying, is not a glaringly obvious threat to my well being on the surface. Life’s bad, but life’s good. All I really need is the introduction of some factor to make my life more efficient, and not some tragic appearance that brings with it an unforeseen struggle.

In recent years it’s been more of the latter barging into my existence, but I’m not even close to losing hope given the fact that I really do seem wiser as time goes on. I can critique my past like the most educated of judges, but when it comes to even the present day, I don’t take much for granted and usually take it easy. Have I lulled myself into a false sense of security? Do I need to make a move this second to save myself from an otherwise inevitable unremarkable life?

These are questions I ask myself on a regular basis. If you could peek into my mind it would be the seemingly shallowest unestimatably bottomless chasm of thought processes, hopes, dreams, presuppositions, upheld morals, broken morals, and other neurological things you could never fully relate to.

I guess that’s how we all are. Maybe.

Honestly I have no idea.

If you want to help me out, then the next time you see me, remind me that I have something to take care of as soon as possible and that putting it aside mentally is unhealthy. If everyone I knew was a little harder on me and went out of their way to encourage me I might have less to worry about.

Now it’s at five hundred words.

What makes a government right, and what to do when it is not.

Would I say the government is best which governs least? It’s hard to say. I can however say with more certainty than one can usually afford that no matter if the burden of tranquility is left on the citizens or their ruler, corruption with permeate both of them as long as this earth exists. There is no perfect, sacrosanct, incorruptible form of ruling when the human nature is one of sin and selfishness.

A government ought not to reach further than it must at the cost of personal freedom, but it should seek to protect what it can in the purest of intentions, and act upon this fairly.

A citizen ought to look out for himself and his fellow man, and never falter to ill intent on his level. Not only this, but a citizen, both as an individual and as part of a larger conglomerate, they should seek to keep their own rulers in line with threat of revolution.

What seems to have been lost in the shuffle is government members who are relatable to and inseparable from their civilian counterparts. Gone should be the aristocracy of elitist officials.

The only government that could ever have my full respect would be one of utmost transparency and unmitigated righteousness when the possibility of corruption exists, whether it be from within the administration or from industry. Not surprisingly, I can’t come to think of a government with pure intentions. No ideology is immune to greed and degradation. I simply cannot respect a government held captive by bribes, as it is not just as well as all too common.

Civil disobedience has the same purpose that it always had – to make aware to your government that you, the inhabitants of the state, are displeased with current leadership decisions or policies and would like top see changes made. Provided you have a reasonable system of checks and balances and a system of passing laws that is navigable to those who ought to collaborate to express their disapproval of current law or enforcement, then I would say protest has it’s strength maintained.

The problem however is the views of those who choose to protest and what they decide to make their statement to the rest of the nation. In this day and age we see a lot of people protesting who certainly did not do enough research, and could be adversely uhhhhhhh screwing up the country. I don’t know how much time I have left to write this so I have to bounce out on colloquial terms.

Peace.

Thoreau, Emerson, and how to sort through ground zero.

Surely at first glace, centuries old Transcendentalist writings that are archetypal to the movement would decimate your train of thought. This may be the perfect meta example of the faults of society proposed by these writers, manifested in the fact that society has made us deaf to what they are trying to communicate. Either that, or these writers are borderline anarcho-primitivist revolutionaries who in today’s time would have rejected electricity. Which of these I cannot say, as it is more likely between the two.

What I know for sure is that these writers had similar views on what steps could be taken away from established civilization with intentions to better themselves mentally. Emerson had descriptions of a state of mind most would today consider delusional. I don’t believe Thoreau was quite to the point that he thought he could   a s c e n d   to the eight dimension, but his visualizations of imaginary farmers and property could be concerning to most.

In Where I Lived, and What I Lived For, we start off looking into the mind-frame of Thoreau and hear him tell us, or perhaps himself, about how he has mapped out his local countryside and got to imagining different properties and their owners in that area and how they might have evolved over time. He imagined purchasing farms, talking to the agricultural folk about their craft and argued over prices and methods. This was all in his head and did not come to pass in base reality.

Moving onto the conclusion, we hear of the results of his attempt to be sanctified from the masses. He seemed to figure out for himself quickly that he could no longer quarantine himself apart from the very society that led him to this conclusion. He stated that he felt as if he had many more lives to live, and from this we can reason that his little vacation was not satisfactory in that he couldn’t fulfill his extraterritorial aspirations when surrounded by foliage.

Like he did suggest, leaving behind society would in fact simplify your life in ways formerly unimaginable. Gone are the burdens of social interaction, contemporary work, personal hygiene, and even the use of spoken language. What you would miss is much of the aforementioned, and now in 2019, I assume you would not have use of modern technology, assuming you were a purist transcendentalist.

I wouldn’t have a problem camping, hiking, or otherwise being immersed in nature for a reasonable length of time, but give it a while and I too would wish to return.

To answer your last question, I do believe people have already taken this anti-societal advice to heart, and beyond. According to WIRED, there is a trend consisting of consuming traditional South American DMT recipes with a goal of freeing yourself from the stresses that modern life places on you.

Crazy? Yes. Crazy.

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