(no subject)
Mar. 19th, 2007 12:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
caithreamOh my God OH MY GOD.
I just got this message in my myspace inbox from frappuchio-dude-who-I-must-remind-myself-constantly-is-ten-years-older-than-me.
(When we were over at his place I mentioned that I'd much rather read fiction than non-fiction and he was like WHAT and we had a mock debate about which was better, hee.)
So I'm driving around, and decide that with nothing else better to do, I park and wander into the maze of aisles in the local Barnes and Noble bookseller to peruse the legions of books that inhabit the store shelves. Myself not needing any more tasks to handle, dart for the children's section to browse some books for Haylee.
So i'm walking leisurely towards the back of the store minding my own business when I hear a sort of sliding noise. Nervously, I pause and stop right in my tracks. I hear the noise again, I look in back of me and that is when the incident ocurred. A book titled The Invention of Hugo Cabret savagely thrown from the shelves above strikes me right in the head, all 544 pages, drilling me into the ground. When I finally came to, I opened the book and saw some very well drawn illustrations and a brief synopsis of the book. Keeping in mind that Hayleee loves drawing, I decide upon reading the synopsis, and soon purchased the book. Yes, it is a fictional book. (ugh!!).
So I read the book (I always preview the books that I let her read...Is that really censoring?) I'll let you know what I thought of the book in a minute, but first I must enlighten you with the basic plot.
The book tells the story of a clockmaker's son who becomes an orphan growing up. It is set in a Paris train station and revolves around a disheveled automaton. Hugo's father works refurbishing this automaton until his untimely death. Hugo finds the automaton and figures if he can salvage the piece and make it work, it will somehow tell a secret that connects him to his father. In any case, he eventually makes it work, and much to his surprise it draws a picture of a rocket that has crashed into the moon. The picture is signed by Georges Melies, a filmmaker who made one of the first motion pictures. The picture was from a scene in the movie La Voyage dans la Lunes. ( A Trip To The Moon). So I go to YouTube and type in the title and watch the short film. Then, a tiny light bulb goes off in my head ,(about half the size of an LED light or so) and I realize that the Smashing Pumpkins created a video titled Tonight, Tonight which is based on this short film. (Judging by your vast musical taste, you may have heard of them before, even fancied them?) That video is on YouTube as well.
Fast forward to the next day, I find myself opening the burly aged doors to our local Barnes and Noble booksellers once again. This time walking cautiously in the middle of the aisles so as not to draw undue attention from any book wielding vigilantes. That is the last thing I remembered. I awake, sprawled out on the floor like a crime scene victim. Through the stars circling my head and the double-vision I look up to see above the shelves a sign with seven faint but distinct letters, F I C T I O N. Isn't there supposed to be a N O N preceding that I wonder? Perhaps this is the end, this is how it all ends, no pearly gates, no light at the end of the tunnel, just something terribly amiss! Puzzled by this my heart begins to race out of control, breathing becomes a laborious task, and the lights begin to dim. As suddenly as the light dims, I find myself sitting at a table surrounded by Starbucks barristas. (I begin to think now that this dying thing is a joke now. Come on, a near death experience that uses Starbucks as a locomotive to shuttle me to the netherworld?) But it seems so real. So I hear this voice reverberating in the background saying this strange word, "fiction", over and over again. Aha!! I know of a girl who probably harbors many books of fiction..(Perhaps, even fancies them!) I recall that, without any admission of guilt in her voice, she admitted to loving fictional books. Alas, the non-fiction books were just "not her type". This admission both repulsed and disgusted me at the same time, "how hideous", I thought. So I spat a few vituperative statements in defense and subsequently, a few sheepish laughs arose at her expense. Somehow I remember her smiling through it all, there was even a hint of a sparkle in her eye...I wondered, does the devil have a sparkle in its eye?
Suddenly it occurred to me, I took pleasure in a book of fiction, perhaps even loved the book since I had read it not once but twice! I clutched the book in my arms drawing it near to my heart as I carried it to and fro. I told others of this book, how beautifully the characters lives intertwined and unfolded to tell a very convincing story. Like a whirlwind, as quickly as the story began, it had come to an abrupt end. I was left out in the cold feeling dejected and miserable. Impulsively I went to the local bookstore for more, only to find myself sprawlwd out on the floor, unconscious.
When I finally came to, I decided that upon receiving medical treatment for injuries sustained, I would share this story with this mysterious girl who delves in the realm of fictional books.
So I find myself typing this message, dispersing fictional accounts randomly, laughing at how I could have been so ignorant (a word I loathe with a passion). I never wanted to read a fictional book, as I felt as though it was a story unto itself. Little did I know, I would learn of a filmmaker Georges Melies, whose movie inspired a group of musicians almost a century later, to produce a video based on one of his movies. I did not realize that fiction could be based on real events.(non-fiction..haha)
Now for my philosophical interpretation. Learning is the single most rewarding accomplishment known to us. It not only is gratifying, but a necessity for self preservation. Knowledge trancends any physical limitations we have come to know, from the steady drumbeat of time, to the prisons we sometimes banish ourselves to. Knowledge was once passed through the ages by skilled orators, then by written word. Knowledge is also passed on within us. As we exist we gather and store information in our brains, I like to think of the information as points. Points because you have in a sense, won something, a bit of knowledge to be drawn on at a later time. The prize in the end is that when you have accumulated enough knowledge, you can connect these points into a picture that has an appeal unlike no other.
I hope this wasn't terribly boring for you. I love writing. I sense you are far more scholarly than most, judging by the way you word your statements and blog entries. I have a hard time filtering through people. Most seem caught up in everything else that is important to others or worse yet, the mainstream (AAGH!)
Thanks for coming over with O and J, I probably haven't laughed that much in quite sometime.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------J--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
P.S. I almost forgot the reason I was writing, (cough, cough...ahem) sorry I made fun of you for liking fiction. There I said it.
You guys. YOU GUYS. IT'S ALMOST TOO MUCH. Afnasldsdfjsl!!1
I just got this message in my myspace inbox from frappuchio-dude-who-I-must-remind-myself-constantly-is-ten-years-older-than-me.
(When we were over at his place I mentioned that I'd much rather read fiction than non-fiction and he was like WHAT and we had a mock debate about which was better, hee.)
So I'm driving around, and decide that with nothing else better to do, I park and wander into the maze of aisles in the local Barnes and Noble bookseller to peruse the legions of books that inhabit the store shelves. Myself not needing any more tasks to handle, dart for the children's section to browse some books for Haylee.
So i'm walking leisurely towards the back of the store minding my own business when I hear a sort of sliding noise. Nervously, I pause and stop right in my tracks. I hear the noise again, I look in back of me and that is when the incident ocurred. A book titled The Invention of Hugo Cabret savagely thrown from the shelves above strikes me right in the head, all 544 pages, drilling me into the ground. When I finally came to, I opened the book and saw some very well drawn illustrations and a brief synopsis of the book. Keeping in mind that Hayleee loves drawing, I decide upon reading the synopsis, and soon purchased the book. Yes, it is a fictional book. (ugh!!).
So I read the book (I always preview the books that I let her read...Is that really censoring?) I'll let you know what I thought of the book in a minute, but first I must enlighten you with the basic plot.
The book tells the story of a clockmaker's son who becomes an orphan growing up. It is set in a Paris train station and revolves around a disheveled automaton. Hugo's father works refurbishing this automaton until his untimely death. Hugo finds the automaton and figures if he can salvage the piece and make it work, it will somehow tell a secret that connects him to his father. In any case, he eventually makes it work, and much to his surprise it draws a picture of a rocket that has crashed into the moon. The picture is signed by Georges Melies, a filmmaker who made one of the first motion pictures. The picture was from a scene in the movie La Voyage dans la Lunes. ( A Trip To The Moon). So I go to YouTube and type in the title and watch the short film. Then, a tiny light bulb goes off in my head ,(about half the size of an LED light or so) and I realize that the Smashing Pumpkins created a video titled Tonight, Tonight which is based on this short film. (Judging by your vast musical taste, you may have heard of them before, even fancied them?) That video is on YouTube as well.
Fast forward to the next day, I find myself opening the burly aged doors to our local Barnes and Noble booksellers once again. This time walking cautiously in the middle of the aisles so as not to draw undue attention from any book wielding vigilantes. That is the last thing I remembered. I awake, sprawled out on the floor like a crime scene victim. Through the stars circling my head and the double-vision I look up to see above the shelves a sign with seven faint but distinct letters, F I C T I O N. Isn't there supposed to be a N O N preceding that I wonder? Perhaps this is the end, this is how it all ends, no pearly gates, no light at the end of the tunnel, just something terribly amiss! Puzzled by this my heart begins to race out of control, breathing becomes a laborious task, and the lights begin to dim. As suddenly as the light dims, I find myself sitting at a table surrounded by Starbucks barristas. (I begin to think now that this dying thing is a joke now. Come on, a near death experience that uses Starbucks as a locomotive to shuttle me to the netherworld?) But it seems so real. So I hear this voice reverberating in the background saying this strange word, "fiction", over and over again. Aha!! I know of a girl who probably harbors many books of fiction..(Perhaps, even fancies them!) I recall that, without any admission of guilt in her voice, she admitted to loving fictional books. Alas, the non-fiction books were just "not her type". This admission both repulsed and disgusted me at the same time, "how hideous", I thought. So I spat a few vituperative statements in defense and subsequently, a few sheepish laughs arose at her expense. Somehow I remember her smiling through it all, there was even a hint of a sparkle in her eye...I wondered, does the devil have a sparkle in its eye?
Suddenly it occurred to me, I took pleasure in a book of fiction, perhaps even loved the book since I had read it not once but twice! I clutched the book in my arms drawing it near to my heart as I carried it to and fro. I told others of this book, how beautifully the characters lives intertwined and unfolded to tell a very convincing story. Like a whirlwind, as quickly as the story began, it had come to an abrupt end. I was left out in the cold feeling dejected and miserable. Impulsively I went to the local bookstore for more, only to find myself sprawlwd out on the floor, unconscious.
When I finally came to, I decided that upon receiving medical treatment for injuries sustained, I would share this story with this mysterious girl who delves in the realm of fictional books.
So I find myself typing this message, dispersing fictional accounts randomly, laughing at how I could have been so ignorant (a word I loathe with a passion). I never wanted to read a fictional book, as I felt as though it was a story unto itself. Little did I know, I would learn of a filmmaker Georges Melies, whose movie inspired a group of musicians almost a century later, to produce a video based on one of his movies. I did not realize that fiction could be based on real events.(non-fiction..haha)
Now for my philosophical interpretation. Learning is the single most rewarding accomplishment known to us. It not only is gratifying, but a necessity for self preservation. Knowledge trancends any physical limitations we have come to know, from the steady drumbeat of time, to the prisons we sometimes banish ourselves to. Knowledge was once passed through the ages by skilled orators, then by written word. Knowledge is also passed on within us. As we exist we gather and store information in our brains, I like to think of the information as points. Points because you have in a sense, won something, a bit of knowledge to be drawn on at a later time. The prize in the end is that when you have accumulated enough knowledge, you can connect these points into a picture that has an appeal unlike no other.
I hope this wasn't terribly boring for you. I love writing. I sense you are far more scholarly than most, judging by the way you word your statements and blog entries. I have a hard time filtering through people. Most seem caught up in everything else that is important to others or worse yet, the mainstream (AAGH!)
Thanks for coming over with O and J, I probably haven't laughed that much in quite sometime.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------J--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
P.S. I almost forgot the reason I was writing, (cough, cough...ahem) sorry I made fun of you for liking fiction. There I said it.
You guys. YOU GUYS. IT'S ALMOST TOO MUCH. Afnasldsdfjsl!!1
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no subject
Date: 2007-03-19 05:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-20 06:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-19 03:37 pm (UTC)... YOU SHOULD TOTALLY MACK ON HIM.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-20 06:49 am (UTC)AND JENSENAPPROVEWELL
*barely restrains self!!*
no subject
Date: 2007-03-19 06:21 pm (UTC)especially when he's such a great writer!
no subject
Date: 2007-03-20 06:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-20 05:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-20 05:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-20 06:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-20 03:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-21 06:59 pm (UTC)On a totally related note, haha, I got a phone call from my brother because I sent him some stuff for his birthday and he wanted to thank me. Anyway, further along in the conversation, he quotes a line from Kids in the Hall and then anecdotes himself using the line with his friends. For some reason, you popped into my head and I said, "See, another thing you and my friend Sarah have in common. You two should totally be friends, at the very least." And he laughed, then asked, "Where does she live?" Ahahaha, I thought that was cute. Anyway, I tell him Florida, and he goes on to say, "Oh, we can see Florida from our ..." something-or-other device space shuttle thingy that he helped put together and NASA sent to Pluto. Random, but somehow also connected, right? Ahahaha.
Hey, did you know my brother's work is "out of this world"? *rim shot* ;p
no subject
Date: 2007-03-24 12:57 am (UTC)