As a dual English/Creative Writing major, I have to take an assload of English courses. The problem is that I didn’t begin seriously embarking on that journey until halfway through my sophomore year. (So I was running around going, “Yes! Anthropology 101! Social psychology! Dinosaurs! HAHAHA!”) I now must take English courses exclusively, with almost nothing else. Which means I’m writing a lot of essays. Which means I’m reading a lot of books. In my first week, I read The Scarlet Letter and A Midsummer Night’s Dream. So I basically feel like I’m catching up on things I should have read in high school.
I’m also convinced that The Scarlet Letter is secretly about the love story between Dimmesdale and Chillingworth. I mean, damn.
Me: They share “a kind of intimacy” and tell each other everything.
Me: They’re like two girls at a slumber party.
Me: It’s weirdly adorable.
Tara: I ship it.
Me: Oh my God. They just moved in together.
Me: I’m not even sure what Hester’s doing right now.
Me: Are we sure she’s the main character?
And things were going swimmingly from my OTP for a while there. Until…
Me: holy shit they think Chillingworth is Satan now
Me: This turned quickly.
Tara: What does his boyfriend think?
Me: I think he’s blind to it.
Tara: I should have written this book. There’d be more gay sex.
Tara: Although that would imply that there was already gay sex.
Me: On that note, though, this book is so old that they keep using the word “intercourse” as a synonym for like “conversation,” so right now they’re having familiar intercourse.
Me: “He therefore still kept up a familiar intercourse with him, daily receiving the old physician in his study.”
Tara: JESUS CHRIST.
Me: I forgot to mention that Dimmesdale is a priest and Chillingworth wants to corrupt him.
Me: “in the hot passions of his heart”
Tara: Oh my God.
Tara: Are you sure this isn’t a fanfic?
And then I finished it. I’ve seen Easy A, so I thought I was prepared for what could potentially be an okay ending. Alas…
Me: Dimmesdale died.
Me: What was really funny though is that Hester and Dimmesdale were going to run away together and get on this ship and go back to England and live happily ever after, but then Chillingworth pops up and he’s like, “HEY GUYS wait for me I’m coming too, I just bought a ticket!!!”
Tara: I just
Tara: I can’t even figure out who the third wheel is in this threesome
Me: I can’t either
Me: It’s a mystery.
So if you need to write an essay about The Scarlet Letter for school, I think we all know what direction it’s going to take.
I have had a smattering (okay, okay, a copious amount) of real, actual crushes on real, actual people. (Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Cough.) But I also frequently develop those massive obsessions with fictional characters that are only slightly less attainable than JGL. Come on, this is the Internet. We all know that feel.
I present to you that list:
1. Sirius Black
2. Fred Weasley
3. Kartik (from the Gemma Doyle trilogy)
4. Bernard (from The Santa Clause. I went through this phase from approximately the ages of 10-16, and I never truly grew out of it)
5. Jack Sparrow
6. Flynn Rider
7. Sayid (from Lost… until that last season, he was literally the only character that didn’t throw all logic out the window at the slightest provocation. Also those EYES)
8. Rudy Steiner (The Book Thief)
9. Sawyer (also from Lost. Good God)
10. Sam (Dulé Hill’s role in Holes… I don’t know why I picked the most obscure minor character to develop a crush on when there were loads of perfectly good juvenile delinquents to choose from, but the heart wants what the heart wants)
11. Finny (from A Separate Peace)
12. Enjolras (from Les Misérables)
…And what do they all have in common? They all (spoilers. Seriously, turn back) DIE, in some form or fashion. I didn’t even realize that until I was about halfway done with this list! Jesus! They all die! What’s up with that? With the exception of Bernard the Head Elf, because The Santa Clause would have taken a bit of a dark turn if THAT had happened. But you know what? I consider him dead. He’s dead to me, because where the hell was he for The Santa Clause 3? Scheduling conflicts, my ass. Scheduling conflicts TOYING WITH THE HEARTS AND MINDS OF IMPRESSIONABLE VIEWERS, more like. Thanks, Bernard. You’re a god among men. (No, really. You are. I didn’t mean any of that. Let me love you?)
My friend Tara came down to visit this weekend, which, far from signifying parties and booze, actually signifies video games, scary movies, and free grapes. The grocery store was giving away free grapes, and we literally just stood at the stand for ten minutes eating them. We took turns. We’re nothing if not polite.
The weekend could theoretically be divided into two parts: before watching Battle Royale, and after. Before watching Battle Royale, we were both typical(ish) young people with hopes and dreams and more dessert than we could handle. (We capitalized on a “ten desserts for ten dollars” deal at the aforementioned grocery store.) We played Super Smash Bros. We made lists of books we would buy with the hypothetical money we would have in the hypothetical future. We talked. We laughed. But after watching Battle Royale? We were broken, soulless fragments of the people we’d once been. That movie ripped my soul out through my eye sockets. I have never seen so much gore in one movie interspersed with so many twisted love triangles!
I can only imagine what the people in the room next door thought of us. I could hear them watching the Notre Dame football game, so it follows logically that they could hear us. We went from playing video games (“I HATE YOU AND I WILL PEE ON ALL THE THINGS YOU LOVE, YOU LITTLE SHIT!”) to watching Battle Royale (which mostly consisted of frequent laughter, then gunfire, and then one or both of us shouting, “NOPE, THAT’S IT. I’M DONE. I’M DONE WITH THIS MOVIE, THAT WAS THE FINAL STRAW. DID HIS FREAKING HEAD JUST EXPLODE?”). And then, when all humanity seemed to drain from the world and hope was a far-off dream, we watched Joseph Gordon-Levitt strip on SNL, and suddenly everything felt right again. (It was at this point that all hell broke loose; next door, we had lost the game and everybody was shouting indignantly. In our room, JGL was being Magic Mike and we were both shrieking inhuman shrieks and saying things like, “I CAN’T HANDLE THIS, SOMEBODY SEND HELP!”)
All in all, a success, I’d say.
My friend Allison is trying to explain this book, Eternal Eden, to me over the phone.
ALLISON: Okay, so there’s this book I got on my iPod, and it’s… okay, well, it’s kind of like Twilight, but—
ELODIE: Stop right there.
ALLISON: It’s good, seriously.
ELODIE: No it’s not.
ALLISON: I’m going to start explaining it to you now.
ELODIE: I’M NOT LISTENING!
ALLISON: So there’s this girl, she’s in college, and they like to stress the fact that she’s ordinary and can’t get guys. But then there are like nine guys willing to go out with her, so—
ELODIE: That sounds familiar.
ALLISON: You ARE listening! I knew you would. Anyway, so she meets this boy that she hates because he’s arrogant and stuff, and then they go swimming and something happens and he leaves because he can’t be with her, and his friends leave her a note—they’re immortal, that’s important—
ELODIE: Wait, what?
ALLISON: And so they become a couple, and he makes her immortal too because she almost dies, but they can’t be together because the guys in charge choose the person you marry.
ALLISON: And they almost have sex, but they can’t because when you do your eyes turn bright blue.
ALLISON: You should read it.
I’m not dead! I swear! Whew, it feels good to blog. It’s like when you haven’t gone to the gym in a while, so you go after splurging on cake that tastes like heart failure, and then you say, “Man, it feels good to exercise!” And then you don’t go again for about eight months.
What have I been up to? I braved a blizzard of epic proportions to come back to school. My hometown friends are still lounging in front of the TV and eating things that are not ramen, because their classes don’t start for about a week. They laugh at me now, but we’ll see who’s laughing in April when I’m out for the summer and THEY’RE NOT! HA! WE’LL SEE WHO’S EATING RAMEN THEN! (Actually, I probably will be. Over winter break I told myself I would eat a variety of delicious meals I don’t get the opportunity to eat at college, but I wound up eating the same basic things I eat in the dorm.)
I’ve been doing some reading. I read Tina Fey’s Bossypants (which was funny, but not the level of funny I would have expected from Miss Fey), Maureen Johnson’s The Name of the Star (which was a mistake to read when I was home alone for the weekend, because I started to think that Jack the Ripper was in my closet), and I’m halfway through Michael Dorris’ The Broken Cord for my developmental psychology class even though it’s not due until February. (I like to be insanely ahead. Also, it’s good.)
I finished watching The Big Bang Theory and now I’m on season two of Dexter. I started watching Dexter last year when I missed two days of school because I was sick, and I watched exactly one episode. Let’s just say that watching the pilot episode while in a fever-induced state was a bad judgment call on my part, because I started having feverish dreams about bodies being dismembered. It was scarring. I just recently started up again, because this time I was not hallucinating and I had lived just far enough beyond the incident to forget how traumatized I was.
SO, I’m back, and I’ll blog with more frequency. I promise. (Probably.)