inthelouvre.org

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

When I first started this book, I remember telling Richard that it seemed like every sentence was meant to be a quote. Every word, it seemed, was carefully chosen so as to leave the impression that every thought in the book was quote-worthy and brilliant, and expected to be found at the beginning of memoirs and on gravestones, and more notably in Livejournal userinfos. It’s not appealing.

However, I was engrossed into it so much that distraction didn’t exist. It wasn’t one of those couldn’t-put-it-down books, but whenever I did pick it up the chapter breaks came only at appropriate moments and until those moments, I was so into the book that there was no hope of retrieval. Until, of course, I reached the point where Dorian has discovered his soul in the portrait, and things seemed to find themselves glossed over. It reminded me a lot of everything I don’t like about my own writing. The first half (or less) follows the characters, their personalities and developments, their motivations, inspirations, influences, and thoughts. Suddenly, then, the story is plot-driven and the author has to throw in some filler to keep things going. I don’t like this filler. I found myself reading more about the jewels, linens and perfumes of other lives than the more quotable thoughts of Lord Henry.

Yes, as unappealing as the constant “brilliance” in the first half, I much preferred it to the loss-of-interest I experienced in the middle. I believe it was Lord Henry who gave Dorian the book about which he said, “I didn’t say I liked it. I said it fascinated me. There is a great difference.” Yes, there is a great difference and I feel the same about this book. How strange that the portrait reveals Dorian Gray’s soul, and at the same time, Dorian Gray’s words revealed my own feelings towards his book.

In any case, before the break in flow, I enjoyed the structure of the book, the language, and the idea. I’d have like to have seen it brought up more subtly and to have read about the mentioned “rumors” and what Dorian’s actions actually did to the portrait, rather than just reading that there were, in fact, rumors, and that the portrait changed somehow because of them. I liked the 5-page telling of a single crooked, cruel smile and all it did to Dorian emotionally. I would have liked to read Dorian’s comparisons - his own face to those whom he saw regularly. Surely such a vein person would find himself thinking of how wrinkly and yellow Lord Henry was turning while he looked just the same after twenty years.

Yet when the pace I enjoyed returned I couldn’t stop reading. It was unlike the first bit where I was completely enamored with the book but was able to use the chapter breaks as a way to escape; rather, I really couldn’t put it down. I’d say to myself, “as soon as I finish this chapter, I will go to bed,” but then I would find myself reading three chapters and letting my eyes droop far more often than I should have.

I could make in this entry some thoughts about the symbolism, what I think Dorian Gray’s particular influence was on the people whom he destroyed, what the ending meant for his soul and his “deal,” and how it could have ever been possible, but as enchanting as the writing style was for this book, it hasn’t made me think. Yes, there is a lot I could be thinking about, but I’d much rather move on to my next book than to sit and think about this one. I am not sure I’ve ever read a book which was so fascinating to me but which I couldn’t wait to finish. I suppose, like Dorian, I learned the difference between fascination and liking through a book; however, this one will far from “destroy” me. I plan on reading the shorter tales which are attached to my edition of the book but I don’t think Oscar Wilde will become a favorite author. He’s far too quotable for that.

Random Things in My House, Part II

In Part I, you saw a bunch of random stuff that I felt like taking pictures of even if you didn’t want to see them. In Part II you’ll get some of that, but I’ll also be filling requests.

Hev asked how many piles of books I have, and even though it wasn’t specifically a request for pictures, I took on the task anyway. Below you will see all my stacks of books, though not including those which are haphazardly stacked in front of books on my bookshelves.

LJ friend Malantha asked for the inside of my shower so I’ve taken pictures of the curtain and the tub.

Amanda asked about the top of my bedside table, my biggest mess and my shower curtain (a wish which has already been fulfilled).

Since there weren’t a lot of requests, I took pictures of my Christmasy things since Christmas is still in the air.

Thank you for all the beautiful cards!

An ornament from my ornament swap…

…And the other beautiful one that I received.

I made gingerbread cookies!

Naked gingerbread men!

These are the sad burnt ones which I couldn’t do anything with.

Well, I tried anyway.

Yes, only 12 of them made it out alive. And they’re all so HAPPY.

Delicious.

I’m also taking this opportunity to show off some of my awesome Christmas presents. Don’t look at any of the pictures below if you might go into fits of jealous rage because Amanda made me a booksafe and she didn’t make you one (nevermind that you don’t know her).

Charlie Brown Christmas on DVD. Legends of Literature. Haruki Murakami: Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman (which I already own, oops!), A Wild Sheep Chase, Underground, Dance Dance Dance. Amo, Amas, Amat, and More. The 1,000 Journals Project.

My new laptop! Omigod! THE MONITOR WORKS, isn’t that awesome? Plus, an advantage that Richard pointed out: There isn’t small globs of cake hidden between the keys! Also, yes, I did blot out his leg.

Still have to go to Mom and Dad’s house to give their presents (and receive others, I presume), but I still can’t believe Richard got me a new laptop!

What was your favorite gift received for Christmas? And your favorite gift given?

On another related note (which, by the way, is very rare, because usually “on another note” refers to something that is unrelated but which train of thought somehow connected the two notes), I would like to eventually upload a section under the “about” link which displays the rooms and details of my apartment. Would you like that?

Mystery and Misery

There are things I sometimes forget. I was viewing my own Myspace profile today because it’s been a very long time since I last did so. (It is of little importance to me to keep myself updated there. My life can be found here and at my Livejournal, so I use Myspace to keep up with friends’ lives.) It was there that I found this lyric:

mystery and misery can sometimes be a call to action and can be a source of passion

I’ve lately been overblown with disappointments. It’s nothing too entirely serious, just little things that I’ve looked forward to but which cannot happen for some reason or another, in addition to my apartment’s seeming inability to keep itself clean even though I pick up my own trash and try to keep it as tidy as possible. It’s frustrating to live with clutter. I had roommates once who so refused to take out the garbage that if I didn’t (or didn’t force my boyfriend to), it would pile up so much as to obstruct the way to the kitchen. I don’t even want to talk about the smell. When we left them, I promised him and myself that we would never live like that again - and here we are. Living not exactly like that (it never blocks paths), but close enough to make me wretched.

And instead of doing anything about it, I clean up once a month and eat chocolate the rest of the time.

We’ve gotten rid of the smell with which our filthy animal decides to reign over the living room; most of our boxes are unpacked; I have a little bit set aside in savings for more organizational units; and yet, despite all this, here I am sitting on my big green chair doing absolutely nothing productive. I’m eating a giant chocolate bar and looking at my own Myspace page.

How easily I have forgotten those things which used to inspire me.

mystery and misery can sometimes be a call to action and can be a source of passion

As the lyric says it, so I used to live my life. I used to change this misery into something useful. I was never one to laze around with sweets within arm’s reach, hoping that a better life would float its way right over to my lap. The mystery? The boy. I cannot figure him out for the life of me. Men, in general, seem to be only useful for a few things: Loving and being loved, lifting heavy objects, and unending, unconditional warmth (of the body and soul). They are not good for keeping the house tidy, keeping promises, remembering birthdays, or entirely proper manners.

Boys? They don’t mind the smell. They don’t mind wading through the mountains of clothing to climb into bed or having to pick through piles of trash to find USB cords. They don’t mind books piled in various locations around the house because it doesn’t at all effect the levels they beat in their video games. This is what I’ve learned living with a boy: I have to do everything I want done, because it can’t be expected of him to regularly take care of the dishes, move his clutter out of doorways, or snack on anything other than mass amounts of fattening foods.

Yet, it’s charming. When I get in these moods where the Internet makes me physically sick because I spend so much time on it, I think of how charming it is when he comes home with magazines I didn’t ask for: more things to disorganize the house but in which I might find a few interesting articles. But it’s not action or passion. It’s still sitting here in front of the computer while I may as well be throwing tennis balls at myself. It doesn’t make a difference.

I’d like to make a difference. I’d like to be creative again. I’d like to cook a healthy feast. I’d like to go running, if it weren’t 10 at night. I’d like to be productive. But what is keeping me here? I only cleaned the house last weekend, but already its disarray annoys me. I should clean it again! I should get off my ass and do something.

Is this a wasteful life, to sit here writing this entry about how I wish I had the motivation to get up and do something? Or is it more wasteful to find inspiration in a lyric, an old friend, but then waste that inspiration on blabbering about my frustrations?

A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

I was telling Richard this morning as I was finishing up this book that it’s so much fuller than any of the movie adaptations. I mean, it seems that in those, the Scrooge character doesn’t repent his evil ways until the final Spirit visits him, and he realizes what an awful, lonely death he’ll have. That shouldn’t be the only thing that turns him, and in the book it isn’t. I wouldn’t like to admit that I cried at the end, but I did, and even though this story has been told to me since my first comprehending Christmas, this was the first time I ever really got anything out of it.

We read the story in seventh grade and then saw the play at Ford’s Theatre (the place where Lincoln was shot). It was more exciting for me to be in Ford’s Theatre as I was a big fan of Lincoln at the time, so I wasn’t really paying attention to the play or how it was portrayed. I have vague memories of it: some lighting, Scrooge in his night gown, a table full of food that was so shiny it was either painted with cooking spray or it was actually real. I didn’t get much out of the story then either, however, and up until now reruns of Christmas Carol based stories have struck me much the same way reruns of any old shows do: They’re just reruns, ways to pass the time in a slightly entertaining way.

Scrooge, however, never seems to quite get anything out of his experience until the end when lowly thieves are stealing his bedsheets. What I really liked about the book is how he started to change, to want to become a better man and share in all the happiness of his coworkers and family, all right from the first Spirit. It was gradual, yes, but it was there, and as cheesey as it may have been, it was much more touching than a man who turns away from his greed only so that he doesn’t have to die a lonely death.

I read this book on the purpose that I hadn’t read it in so long and thus hadn’t remembered much of it, but also because I’d like to start reading more Christmasy books around Christmas time. Perhaps, like with The Christmas Box, I will analyze all the confusing idiocy in the writing, and state that although it may have been touching it wasn’t particularly good. The other reason was to compare this book to the aforementioned title which I’ve heard some say is in muc higher regard than A Christmas Carol. I now find that very hard to believe.

A short book at merely 100 or so pages, A Christmas Carol was still jam-packed with so much more emotion, attachment, and engrossing text than The Christmas Box was. The narrator was even as into it as the characters were, wereas in the Richard Paul Evans book, the narrator was quite indifferent to the events and seemed only to be telling the story out of obligation for the Christmas season. Though Dickens doesn’t make you feel like you’re there so much that you’re pulled so thoroughly into the book and you can’t escape, it’s still better to be excited about the goings on in a book than it is to be totally uncaring. Why read a book if the narrator doesn’t even seem to care?

This book also made me think that I’d like a leatherbound edition that I can read over and over which won’t be destroyed until years after use. I’d pay $27, or more, for this copy I speak of, but the $27 towards the Christmas Box hardcover hardly seems worth the savings. And yet, A Christmas Carol is offered in smaller, cheaper paperback sizes, and The Christmas Box is not, at least not widely. I’m not sure what to make of this, but I feel sorry for anyone who should receive a small paperback of A Christmas Carol and an expensive hardcover of The Christmas Box. They might actually expect the latter to be better.

The Quilting Bee

I’m going to set out on a break from the norm here to advertise my love for a pixel trading club, The Quilting Bee. I joined in February of this year and it’s been a good almost-year.

My original attraction was to the friendly community; I was antsy to be a part of a welcoming group who had diverse interests. I like being a part of message boards where I can ask and answer questions, as well as talk about anything as random and seemingly mundane as the weather and have several people reply to a post. There are truly all kinds of people who are a member of this club, and they are all pretty awesome in their own ways.

When I set out to join, however, I was very hesitant as my pixelling abilities were not up to par with what I’d seen on members’ websites. I mean, just seeing the layout that was up at the time when I joined was intimidating. Everyone there seemed so talented and into pixelling in a way that I was not, so I hesitated before I sent in my application. What I found, however, was not a bunch of expert pixellers, but instead a group who were all at different levels of pixelling. Some of the most “popular” bees were just as worried about their pixelling as I was!

In any case, I’ve been very happy to be a part of the Qbee. Not only are there nice people, but there’s always a fun activitiy going on. For example, we just finished a Halloween activity where we each pixelled a cauldron with gooey stuff, and now we’re in an ornament pixelling activity to decorate each of our own Christmas trees. My favorite activity so far, though, is without a doubt the August Aquarium activity, where everyone created tiny sea creatures. I made quite a few creatures, but my “official” sea turtle was my best! Everyone is encouraging and helpful, and even if your activity submission isn’t the *greatest* in the world, everyone still wants to collect it.

The activities don’t stop with holidays, however. The fine people over there are setting up a “Daily Bee” newspaper type of thing which I expect to be very interactive and interesting (I’m on staff as a book reviewer); in addition to this, bees have set up group blogs and websites for members to participate in. Lean Bee was a healthy weight loss support group (I have heard that it will be returning but Melissa is a bit busy to get it back up right away); the Qbee Birthday Board lists and links Quilting Bee members on their birthdays; and I’ve set up a Quilting Bee member-only book club, Pages, which seems to have started out pretty successfully. The BBS also has tons of fun activities to participate in, including this year’s ornament swap (only cute things can come of this) and what we call the “BBS Amazing Stories,” where each member submits a three-word post that is tacked onto the one previous to it. Story #1 was.. interesting, to say the least, Story #2 was a lot of fun, and Story #3 is still in progress!

My pixelling has done nothing but improve since I got into the Qbee, and I’d like to say it’s also a source of my better web designing. I find inspiration from the Qbee members, and they’re always willing to share where they get their inspiration and resources!

One thing I’ve noticed on some websites is that retired bees will sometimes keep up their quilts even though they’re no longer active and thus not trading patches. There’s a reason for this: Everyone is proud to be in the Bee, and twice as much proud of the creations that come out of it.

If you’ve ever considered joining the Quilting Bee but were too afraid because you aren’t a great pixel artist or you feel intimidated, then please stop, take a breath, and hit that submit button. We’re a friendly group and we’d love to see your cute quilt patch idea!

(PS: If you want to see my quilt, you can click on the bee below. It’s right there next to the state of Virginia.)

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