Saturday, April 28, 2012
The Gross-Out II
After being reminded the other day of the Rhodesian Ridgeback, whose the cultivated gourmet palate preferred only the finest found feces of homeless Vancouverites, I must concede the 'my-dogs-are-grosser-than-yours' title.
I am okay with this.
Kudos to the new title holder whose disgusting deed (and ensuing regurgitation) I shall recount for many a day. It seems as though obscured in the dog's consumption and rejection of street person poo there was a veiled commentary on society's underprivileged.
In other news, I recently heard that British teenagers have begun a fad of communication via message in a bottle. It seems they are placing personal ads into bottles in the hopes of finding a romantic match--offline dating sites, so to speak. The current generation of adolescents has grown up with a level of technological sophistication incomprehensible to anyone who remembers Commodore 64 or getting the neighbourhood's first microwave/VCR/CD player.
The peculiar parallel between the British teens and our Ridgeback, is that in their subversive acts, both are unknowingly enacting a hegemonic defiance.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Why my heart belongs to Severus Snape
What it is, more than anything, I think, is that moment when we see him craddling her lifeless body, while not simply sobbing but actually wailing. Because it is a voice-over scene, his lament is soundless and, therefore, infinitely more powerful and tragic.
The master of a disciplined mind and of concealment reveals himself in his truest instant to be utterly devasted with grief.
In the past, his calculated frigidity has only once let slip some base level of rage, tempered with shame, at a recollection of school yard bullying, and some infrequent minor fears due to the burdensome demands of his headmaster.
When, as a theatre student in university, I had to explore the four major emotions of joy, fear, rage, and grief, I always felt my resources for the joy corner of the room were rather limited. Yet, I was full of information for grief. I, too, have often felt that I live my life behind a veil--forcing myself to be strong and to appear flawless--while concealing a fundamentally wounded core.
To live with, despite, or perhaps for a true love once glimpsed and then lost is a dank, musty, breathless tunnel. From the chasm, to live based on love seems somehow naïvely pure. Deceivingly simple in its complexity. And profoundly courageous in its honesty.
That is why my heart belongs to Severus Snape.
The master of a disciplined mind and of concealment reveals himself in his truest instant to be utterly devasted with grief.
In the past, his calculated frigidity has only once let slip some base level of rage, tempered with shame, at a recollection of school yard bullying, and some infrequent minor fears due to the burdensome demands of his headmaster.
When, as a theatre student in university, I had to explore the four major emotions of joy, fear, rage, and grief, I always felt my resources for the joy corner of the room were rather limited. Yet, I was full of information for grief. I, too, have often felt that I live my life behind a veil--forcing myself to be strong and to appear flawless--while concealing a fundamentally wounded core.
To live with, despite, or perhaps for a true love once glimpsed and then lost is a dank, musty, breathless tunnel. From the chasm, to live based on love seems somehow naïvely pure. Deceivingly simple in its complexity. And profoundly courageous in its honesty.
That is why my heart belongs to Severus Snape.
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