trinityofone

Worked all day on my Blade Runner paper yesterday and finally finished a draft around 1 a.m. 26 pages, 7,414 words. ( And my conclusion kicks ass. )

The most amusing part of the whole experience was when I took a dinner break. I got my pizza and settled down in front of the TV, figuring I'd watch something to take my mind off my work. I turn on the TV--and guess what's on? (Hint: It wasn't Gone With the Wind.) I actually watched it for a while, because as sick as I was of writing about it, it's a fucking great movie.

Today I've wasted most of the afternoon downloading tracks from audiography because the theme this week is movies, and I want everything. My favorite catch, though, has been two Harry Belafonte tracks from Beetlejuice, which I'll pass on to you:

Day-O (Banana Boat Song)
Jump in the Line

I love Beetlejuice and I'm especially amused by these because when my brother was little, the only way we could get him to fall asleep in the car was by playing this soundtrack.

Now...A CONTEST! Whoever can make the shortest, Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon-style link between Blade Runner and Beetlejuice wins! GO!

Or as I like to call it, FUN!

Some choice bits from my Portrait of a Lady essay:

On the state of Osmond's manhood:

What Isabel wants in a marriage is someone non-threatening, and she finds that quality in the person of Gilbert Osmond. As Ralph puts it, "Osmond is somehow--well, small," and there's a safety in that for Isabel.

On Isabel and her boundary issues:

Isabel feels that Caspar is finally about to penetrate the wall she’s worked so hard to maintain.

And pretty much this entire paragraph:

"His kiss was like white lightning," James writes, in a passage that makes the cool austerity of the rest of the novel even more evident by contrast. Here, at last, is that "certain light" that Isabel half-longed for, half-feared. Caspar's kiss is raw; it is physical; it is "a flash that spread, and spread again, and stayed." It's an orgasm, Isabel's first. Yet she takes no pleasure from it; "While she took it," James writes--for indeed, it is thrust upon her--"she felt each thing in his hard manhood that had least pleased her." That Caspar and "his hard manhood" can provoke this reaction from her is exactly what Isabel has always feared confirmed, made flesh. In Isabel's mind, it is an "act of possession," not of love; or rather, she does not have the capacity to distinguish between the two. With Goodwood pressed up against her, she feels as if she's drowning.

What can I say? I make my own fun.

Now I'm going to go spend the rest of the afternoon reading Faulkner, because in case you didn't know it already, I am a party animal.