So...I posted a while ago about a review of the movie "Anonymous" (I would put a picture here if I cared enough about it, but I don't, so DEAL with a pictureless post), and I went to see it as soon as it came out here because, whatever, I love movies, OK!? And even more than movies, I love a good period piece. Y'all know me. Anyways, I just realized that it's been weeks and I've failed to say anything about it (and a million other movies), partly because I was just. So. Disgusted. by it.

So here's the thing. Hopefully you know a little bit about Shakespeare. And hopefully you know a little bit about alternate theories of authorship of his works. One of the most popular (and most perplexing and obnoxious) theories started sometime in the 1920s with someone who said to himself one day "well this Shakespeare fellow was lower class. And poorly educated. And so was his family. So there is NO possible way that he would have been smart enough to pen the most transcendent works of the English language. No effing way, man" (they talked like that in the twenties). So this man set out to figure out who else could have been behind it and came up with Edward de Vere, then Earl of Oxford. He was wealthy, he was smart, he was close to the royal family (well the royal person, Elizabeth didn't exactly have a family...), somebody said one time that he was a poet, blah blah blah, it must have been him!

Fast-forward about 90 years, and, despite the fact that 10 of Shakespeare's plays were not performed or published before Oxford's death (and they could not have been published posthumously because some refer to events that didn't happen until years after his death), the theory only continues to grow in popularity, supported and propogated by celebrities (and why not? they're famous, so that makes them smarter than us, righ?!), despite the best efforts of prominent Shakespearean scholars to debunk this piece of ridonculosity (Shakespeare made up words, so I can too. Werd yo.)

So all this was floating around in my mind before I went to see "Anonymous", but I thought I'd find a pretty good movie despite the absurdity of its premise. Unfortunately, I found myself unable to willfully suspend my disbelief and enjoy the movie for its own sake. Why, you ask? Because, as the film went on, that premise struck me as more and more offensive. What? I was offended by a movie?!?? Yes, apparently I'm not beyond feeling. Or something.

Anyways, what offended me so much is that this whole theory (and the movie that supports it- director Roland Emmerich has become a major proponent, and released with the movie, a documentary by his prodcution company and lesson plans to be sent to high schools so kids could learn about this hogwash) is based on the idea that poor/uneducated/obscure people cannot do extraordinary things. Can you imagine tteaching that to high schoolers? Oh hey kids, do great stuff with your lives, but probably just accept that since you're pretty average you'll never do anything better than average, and if you do, the credit will go to someone else, because who would seriously believe that a kid like you could do anything extraordinary? I don't know why this makes me so mad, but it just does.

Oh and on top of that, the people who made this movie and who support the Oxfordian theory of authorship probably mourned the recent loss of Steve Jobs, designer and entrepeneur extraordinaire, which strikes me as ironic because, like Shakespeare himself, Jobs' early life was rather unextraordinary.

And. AND...should I spoiler this? don't read any further if you don't want spoilers.

According to this movie, Queen Elizabeth was a raging wanton who bore many children who were farmed out to be raised in anonymity by her noble vassals. So she never knew who they were. So we find out as the movie progresses that Oxford had an affair with Elizabeth that resulted in a child. NOT KNOWING THAT HE HIMSELF HAD BEEN ONE OF HER CAST-OFF CHILDREN. WHAT:SODfao;sh;oqw??!~!orh;oh?!?!?!?!??!! Oh yeah and they had a kid together. So Elizabeth had a child with her son. HER SON.

I like to keep an open mind when it comes to history, but this type of historical revisionism, that drags major players down to the gutter without any supporting evidence is just disgusting.

UGH. What a frustrating movie. I actually almost walked out of it. For me to even consider walking out of a movie is...pretty extreme. It is classist, it is disrespectful, and on top of that, probably its worst crime is that it's just not entertaining.

Not. Recommended.

Er...

Um. I don't know how to begin this. But this really happened.

I drove to work today. I KNOW I shouldn't have but it was cold and I was feeling lazy. When I left just now at the end of the day, I got into the Conference Center lobby (the Conference Center is the building across the street from the library. I park under it. On the very rare occasions when I drive. Most other people park under it as well) at the same time as a girl I know who also works at the library, though in a different division. She was in conversation with a tall, slightly attractive man. She saw me and started trying to include me in the conversation because she's nice like that. Problem: it's nearly impossible to come up to speed on a convo that's already been going on for a while when your only involvement comes when someone turns to you and says "Isn't that right? Don't the teams always need us?" WHAT TEAMS?!

Anyways, I did my best to fake my involvement. We got on the elevator and somehow I ended up between these two, still carrying on their conversation. She was getting off on P2, he and I on P4. After she got off, I started making small talk because, as I mentioned, he was not unattractive, OK?!

We arrive at P4. We take a few steps out of the elevator, still chatting. All of a sudden, it hit me. I'M ON THE WRONG FLOOR. I parked three floors up, on P1. So what did I do? Excuse myself and jump back on the elevator like a normal person? Don't make me laugh. I KEPT WALKING.

Not wanting to embarrass myself, I carried on the conversation halfway through the garage. Now. Consider. The Conference Center takes up an ENTIRE city block. I made it halfway through before I came up with a plan and took my leave. Luckily, we arrived at his car just as I made my decision. What was The Plan, you ask? Obviously, I did the only thing I COULD do.

I walked past his car, even further into the garage abyss, and, knowing he would be passing by on his way out of the building soon, and not wanting him to see me turning around, I chose a random car and pretended to unlock it until he was out of sight. I did no more or less than any reasonable person would have done.

Obviously.

Fail

So I'm confused by this. I was looking for a definition of ectomorph, and the Merriam-Webster site came up as one of the results. "Well, that's a well-known name in the field of dictionaries" I thought to myself, and clicked. But there is a problem. Could someone PLEASE tell me where the definition is on this page (and no, it wasn't in the scrolldown, i promise)?

I feel like I should post more so that I can give my tags homes. So there's not just one post linked to each one. But that's probably the wrong reason to post. I don't really have anything interesting to say.

Yesterday was one of the coldest days of my life.
I wrote one paper yesterday, one today, and I'll have another one going tomorrow.
Just that, and there's really nothing missing to say, but...

little buddy what you want, some violent...

Dear calendar-

When I bought you, I had high hopes for the year. You were to inspire me to learn more about art nouveau, and feed my shamelessly romantic (in the traditional sense again, not the modern sense) leanings. So far, things aren't going too well for you. Luckily, a new month is coming soon, and you will have another chance to prove yourself. February can't come a moment too soon, because THIS just isn't cutting it.

Love,
Jessica.

Don't get me wrong, this movie does look entertaining. But have any of you actually ever read any of the Sherlock Holmes stories? Because this movie is the complete opposite of everything that Doyle created Homes to be. And I'm offended for his sake. But I'll still watch it. But know that I'll be wincing inwardly throughout. I always used to have a fictional character crush on Sherlock Holmes. The old Holmes. Not the RD, Jr. version.

And Jude Law as Watson? At least he found a part that works with his receding hairline and allows him to continue his recent trend of not bathing.

What I'm about to complain about well probably seem trivial to you. But I don't care. I. Am. Livid. Tonight I got home after waliking around in the rain and after putting on some clean warm clothes, I thought, "now I'll watch a movie and whiten my teeth and it will be awesome." Exactly those words. To myself. In my head. So I go, pull out my whitening trays, and go to look for the rest of my tooth whitening system that I got from my dentist that cost several hundred dollars. Where was it? NO WHERE TO BE FOUND. Not after I pulled everything out of the fridge (where it had been stored). And every other cabinet (even if I had found it in one of them it would have been useless to me. Because it needs to be refrigerated. Obviously). And this means that the last person who cleaned out the fridge threw it away. Now, a tooth whitening system is not that important. I am the first and firmest person to admit that. But the cost IS important. Do I have that much money to throw down on a replacement? NO. OF COURSE I DON'T. The other, and the main reason this upsets me so much is that it is indicative of a blatant disrespect for anything that does not belong to YOU. If it isn't yours, don't touch it. That was simple. Wasn't it? If you have to touch it, put it back exactly where you found. Or in the general vicinity. Or at least on the same floor, I'm not really that picky. Don't leave other people's things laying around on the floor. SHOW RESPECT. I could not be more angry right now. I basically just lost control in front of Melanie about this because she was sitting downstairs while I was looking and witnessed my anger.

Oh hey [un-named roomate], sorry I took your insulin out of the fridge and stepped on it on accident because it was sitting on the floor. Because that's where I left it. Because it's not mine, so what do I really care what happens to it? So you're out now. Oh what, that was all you had? Oh sorry, you shouldn't have left it sitting in the fridge for so long.

Bored.

So I just started reading Brisingr, the third installment in Cristopher Paolini's cracked out "Inheritance Trilogy."

Yes, I have a penchant for silly fantasy books, and a weird compulsive aspect to my personality that demands that I finish every book I begin, no matter how terrible. In this case, that also extends to subsequent books in a series.

Anyways, my first complaint is that the book is much to large. I don't need 748 pages of Tolkien larceny. Mostly because it doesn't fit very well in my bag. It fits so poorly, in fact, that when I'm carrying it on my shoulder, the book stabs my shoulder blade. and no alternate arrangement of purse contents alleviates the pain.

Secondly, "grimstnzborith" is not a word, nor is it feasible as a word in any made up language. Ever. You are not Tolkien (who is still recognized as the pre-eminent linguist and philologist of his day) so stop trying to be.

And my last complaint- I've only made it through the first 5 pages so far...but there's something horribly Chronicles of Riddick about the opening pages (i.e. people who mutilate themselves as an act of worship...to some crazy, dark being). It's creepy. And still not even written well at all. I think one of the things that has kept me reading this series was the hope that as he aged, Paolini's writing would as well- become more mature, and much more subtle. Alas, it has not happened. I still feel as though I'm reading a fanfic by some 15 year old obsessed with Robert Jordan, Raymond E. Feist, and Tad Williams. And Tolkien. Ostensibly.