Showing posts with label historical frivolities. Show all posts
Showing posts with label historical frivolities. Show all posts

Sunday, February 28, 2010

What I learned this week

I always have difficulty keeping up with my blog during the school year. I still spend an unholy amount of time on the internet reading blogs, articles, etc., but I find that with all the writing I must do for class, I'm simply not inspired to add on to the pile. It is interesting, then, that I continue to read for pleasure despite my many reading assignments. Who knows?

Anyhow, I have decided to make more of an effort with my blogging, mostly because-- and I give you all a hearty NERD ALERT in advance-- I am learning some super cool stuff in my classes, and I want to share it. Go ahead. Taunt me. Stick my head in a toilet. I am a total dork.

Anyhow, here is what I learned this week, SparkNotes (or, my favorite, Great Illustrated Classics) edition:

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1. Ring-tailed lemurs are, like most primates, social creatures. The details of their relationships and social groups are fascinating and occasionally mystifying. Males lemurs have glands under their arms and in the crook of their forearms that produce a smelly, fatty secretion (yum! that's like the stuff left at the bottom of the Lay's bag when you're done, right?). Lemurs rub their tails in the glands to anoint them with the scent. Male lemurs, especially those in the presence of a female in estrus, will have elaborate "stink fights" that involve growling, grimacing, and waving their smelly tails at each other. The fights can last as long as an hour.
An HOUR!
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Mary Katherine Gallagher probably would have made a great male lemur.

2. Grabbed this from Deborah Blum's fabulous book Sex on the Brain:
In 1889, the US Surgeon General's office reported that 51% of all operations to remove ovaries were necessary to "repair" mental disorders. American mental institutions at the time kept gynecologists on staff so that they could quickly perform the surgery to calm down the "hysterics."
Gotta love that. Blum also taught me that a German scientific team from the 1930's, eagerly searching for the magical male hormone (which turned out to be testosterone, and not necessarily all that magical), "mashed up some 2,000 pounds of bull testicles."
Just picture that, dear Readers. 2,000 pounds of bull testicles. Ovary removal and bull testicles. However men managed to be in charge of science (as well as everything else) for so many years is a mystery to me.
I was considering googling "2,000 pounds of bull testicles" to find a nice image for this section, but I'm sure you'll appreciate my decision to refrain.

3. Some stellar quotes from William James, historical love of my life (look him up if you aren't familiar with his extensive work in early psychology and philosophy), and apparently a man who loved to party:

"Faith is synonymous with working hypothesis"

"If merely 'feeling good' could decide, drunkenness would be the supremely valid human experience."

"Metaphysics means nothing but an unusually obstinate effort to think clearly."

"The ideas gained by men before they are twenty-five are practically the only ideas they shall have in their lives."

"The sway of alcohol over mankind is unquestionably due to its power to stimulate the mystical faculties of human nature, usually crushed to earth by the cold facts and dry criticisms of the sober hour."


"To be conscious means not simply to be, but to be reported, known, to have awareness of one's being added to that being."


Hear that?? Drunkenness= mystical faculties of human nature. I don't know, he did a lot of great work in his life, I'll assume he knew what he was talking about.
And an excellent nugget from my other main man, Charles Darwin:
"All nature is perverse and will not do as I wish."

Don't I know how it feels, Charlie dear.

And a final note: one of the student composers here is writing a piece for me to Sylvia Plath's Mad Girl's Love Song. In his most recent email, he told me he was thinking about including some "basic overtone throat singing technique."
Oh, ok.



No biggie, right? I don't even know. I like extended technique and all, but the chances of me mastering this in 1.5 months are questionable. In other news, enjoy this totally freaky video of a five year old child performing throat singing:


Oy vey.

Saturday, January 9, 2010

Young Victoria and The Case of the Missing Plot

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Yesterday, I went to see The Young Victoria with a friend. In one respect, I was quite satisfied: the movie was a two-hour lush-fest: sumptuous fabrics, intricate hairstyles, and endless rooms elegantly wallpapered and furnished, filled with beautiful stuff (The Victorians really loved stuff.) Miranda Richardson flouncing and huffing around as the Duchess of Kent with enough hair to keep a dozen Dickensian orphans warm on a cold winter night. Rows of men in plaid pants and impressive muttonchops. Jim Broadbent getting uproariously drunk. A large supporting role for Victoria's Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, one of the cutest fucking dogs in British history (thanks, Charles II!):

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omg!

Anyway, the movie was unquestionably pleasing to the eyes. Unfortunately, that was about where it ended. Second to the sheer lusciousness of the production, the most impressive aspect of the movie was the fact that it seemed to have literally. no. plot. whatsoever.

This is not always actually a problem for me. As someone who spends an unspeakable amount of time each week simply looking at images of pretty things, I don't need a plot to make myself feel better about doing it. I suppose it is a bit like the way some people consider pornography: do we really need to know that Vivienne McGoodLay is a lonely housewife who needs a brawny young fellow to stop by and fix her, er- plumbing? No, thanks. Just skip to the goodies.

Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette gets the pretty things porn formula exactly right (and yes, Dear Readers, I understand that I am now, officially marking myself as unoriginal for bringing this movie into the mix. Deal). Coppola dispenses with plot almost entirely, but she makes it ever so clear that she has done so intentionally. She wants us to gush over shoes and macarons and corsets and Jamie Dornan without any pressure to remember which one is the Duchesse de Char and which is the Comtesse de Cavazzoni. The little glimpse of Converse in the pivotal shoe-shopping scene (I love any movie with a pivotal shoe-shopping scene) is a not-so-secret message: Enjoy the frivolity. Imagine that you, too, can have a picnic on a boat in a gigantic dress, drink a ton of champagne, and then sleep with whoever you want because you are the queen, goddammit.



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I love the little girl's expression in the background.

The Young Victoria, I imagine, had greater ambitions.

Okay, I just tried for several minutes to formulate my impressions of those greater ambitions, and I came up with nothing. I honestly couldn't tell you what they were getting at with this movie. Yes, being a queen is hard. Yes, having a better job/ bigger salary than your husband can cause marital strife. Yes, Paul Bettany, despite looking dashing as fuck in a fancy hairdo and gilded military jacket, can potentially lead you to fall from favor among your people. So what??

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He will charm you right out of those restrictive lace undergarments.

How I wish one or more of these themes (or another potentially more coherent theme) could have been explored in more detail, with more focus. Or, alternatively, that the director had given us free reign to sit back and enjoy the pretty things with some secret message of his own (my vote is a quick, nearly imperceptible shot of Rupert Friend jumping into his big royal bed in a pair of striped H&M boxer briefs. But this is only one option).

My advice to anyone who is considering spend ten hard-earned bucks on The Young Victoria is as follows: if you love the Victorian (or, sort-of-leading-up-to-Victorian) aesthetic, you will probably derive some enjoyment from the movie, plotlines be damned. However, do not expect any of the following: believable dialogue, boobs, Jim Broadbent lasting past the first forty minutes. The movie earned extra points from me because of the German dialogue and the excessive composer name-dropping (who knew that Schubert's Schwanengesang is actually the perfect theme for a movie created in the 21st century?), so if you are into that: go wild. But don't say I didn't warn you.

...


In keeping with the theme, a couple other points of interest:
http://www.vanityfair.com/style/features/2009/05/emily-blunt-portfolio200905

Emily Blunt as photographed by Michael Roberts, in the tradition of the September 2006 Marie Antoinette photoshoot in Vogue.

And, just to keep an air of class about the place:


Perfection.

PS: Hi! Welcome to my newest blogging experiment!