thesis project

Seeing other peoples presentations this morning was very helpful in finally deciding my thesis for this project, also I can't believe how long it took eight people to go over their projects in 2 1/2 minutes, you'd think it would be about 20 minutes but it turns out its more like 50. Anyway it gave me some time to really reflect on this course and one topic in particular came to mind, pertaining to Beckett and Joyce. On the first day of class Dr. Sexson was going over these two authors and one theme in particular covered in their work, waiting, and how the time we spend waiting defines who we are. After waiting four months for my ribs to heal once and for all I can honestly say that if this is in fact true, which I believe it is, I am not entirely happy with how I've defined myself these past few months.
My thesis therefore is; the time we spend waiting defines us, however it is up to us to make the most of this delayed time, and always keep in mind what we are waiting for. Because sometimes time spent waiting is more important than time spent arriving.

My english accent needs work

Spoiler alert, for the world as myth and dream group we are doing a skit involving many of the novels, and characters of these novels we have read this semester. One of my roles is a character named Little Gideon based on the Englishman in The Alchemist, who obviously has an English accent.
Until about an hour ago I thought everyone had a little English in them and my accent would come out with a little practice. Unfortunately this is turning out to be far more difficult than I had previously thought and while I rarely stress out about public speaking, I will no doubt make a fool of myself trying to impersonate a British accent. Currently I'm watching all of the British Office I have On Demand hoping some of it will rub off on me, we'll see tomorrow I suppose..
Other than that our skit is super dope and the group after us is going to have a lot of pressure to perform.

Ok lets see if I remember how to do this..
The twenty minute lifetime theme has really struck a chord with me this year, and I didn't understand how much this pertained to me until recently. I grew up in northern Minnesota and since I was three skiing has been a big part of my life. I realize that of the ten posts I've written this semester half have been related to the subject of skiing, and I swear this will be the last one (probably). In northern MN the weather is cold, the town I'm from, Duluth, is actually the second coldest city in the United States. So it's no surprise that we Duluthians spend alot of time involved in winter activities, and one of the main reasons I moved to Montana, a state with a climate very similar only more snow and mountains.
Every year I try and get 100 days of skiing, while this may seem like alot it's never enough for me and the seasons seem to fly by, my twenty minute lifetime lasts for half a year and the time waiting for snow to fall again literally feels like a lifetime.
I've had a very unfortunate season this year and twenty minutes hardly describes the waiting I've endured. By December 9th I fractured two ribs on the right side of my chest. Waiting for them to heal felt like a lifetime and by the end of the month I was tired of it, and against Doctors orders decided I was ready to ski again. Every day hurt and by January 6th I had re-fractured the previously broken ribs. Now I was back to the beginning and this time ready to wait the six weeks for them to heal. For me this was another lifetime. But I was patient and by February 6th (my birthday) I was ready to ski again. Looking back on this time my lifetime seemed to fly by, I was happy and had a purpose in life again, beyond school. This feeling lasted until spring break, when I fractured ribs on the other side of my chest.
I've never experienced pain like this, physical and emotional. The painkillers prescribed to me worked well with the pain I had from everyday activities like walking, studying, and breathing. However they did little to help me come to terms with the fact that I had watched a ski season come and go.
If someone had told me before winter started I would spend it waiting for my friends to get back from Big Sky, well I don't know what I would have done, probably cried a little (lot). But after having learned about the twenty minute lifetime, and the two second lifetime, It helps me put all of this into perspective. And when it comes down to it, this Winter isn't a blur like all the others, It stands out among the others. The time I've spent with people in town while others are at the mountain this year is almost priceless, I've gotten really close with friends I didn't know I had, and without learning about the twenty minute lifetime this semester, I know I wouldn't feel the way I do today. I'd probably still be crying ha ha.

Your tale would cure deafness from sitting on a deserted beach for 13 years listening to nothing but the sea waves

So, the storm was all simulated? I can't find that in the play unless we're talking about act 1.2.20-30 "Lie there, my art" (all his powers in his cape?) and, "I have with such precision in mine art so safely ordered that there is no soul- no, not so much perdition as an hair betid to any creature in the vessel." Did he cause the tempest and then make sure everyone was safe, or did he just simulate a storm? Is this why Miranda is talked down to by her father then, because after all this time she still cannot see the power behind his art? This is true I suppose, but then more clearly Miranda's innocence is seen by the fact that the first real man she ever sees she immediately pines for.

Porcupine quills are dangerous

Brother battles are compelling stories due to their place in every brothers life. The struggle between Antonio and Prospero reflects a recurring theme that is eternal between all brothers. It's simple really, big brother has to keep little brother in check, until of course little brother gets bigger than big brother and shipwrecks him on a lonely Island in The Mediterranean Sea. Unfortunately for myself the same thing happened to me. I'm not sure when Ethan started getting taller than me but after it happened keeping him in his little brother place, behind me, became very challenging. No longer could I overcome him with sheer force so I had to introduce new methods, such as porcupine quills. Interesting note on those things, once you stab someone with them, they don't come out easily. Have you ever pulled up on some shag carpeting? That's what it looks like when your trying to remove a quill from your little brothers back while he's, understandingly, screaming for relief. Doctors have to become involved, and then things get all out of perspective and instead of looking like your just trying to do your older brotherly job of checks and balances, you look like a jerk. This is whats going on with Prospero and Antonio, except instead of Antonio apologizing after sticking his brother, he figuratively keeps the quills in his back by leaving him on a deserted Island. Eternal recurrence has a way of working everything out however, and Prospero's bookish obsession hones his magic skills and shipwrecks Antonio, and Ethan is just 5 inches taller than me so he can kick my ass without magic. And as for how this all relates to fwake, well I'm sure there's a couple Cain and Able references in there.

The truth is all lies

It took me awhile to understand why Beckett subtly lies to you throughout his novel, and for what reason could he find this advantageous, unless of course he finds truth in the duplicitous lives of the characters in his novels. And if you take a second to consider this, at first you may feel overwhelmingly pessimistic about life and who the people you know actually are. Do people I run into on the street or campus actually have an interior perspective on life as jaded as Moran, or as deceitful as Molloy? Are my close friends struggling with this double-consciousness? And who are these people really deceiving during these inner-monologues beyond themselves..and myself. The paucity (scarceness!) of truth in Molloy resembles that of a pathological liar, and then a light flickers in your head and you begin to understand the reason for the characters deceit, Beckett projects onto them another side of truth, wrapped up in lies. Where Joyce includes everything in Finnegans Wake Beckett empties all out, (Kenosis!!) so naturally a little hyperbole is necessary to keep the readers attention, even though Moran goes out of his way to tell you there will be none of this, "And in the main I observe it. And with such zeal that I am far more he who finds than he who tells what he has found, now as then, most of the time, I do not exaggerate" (126). Moran doesn't exaggerate, he lies outright and tells us while doing it no less, "it would not surprise me if I deviated, in the pages to follow, from the true and exact succession of events" (128). "When I said I had turkeys, and so on, I lied" (122). "It was not midnight, it was not raining." Beckett is writing in the modernist era, during a time when the rapid growth of industry is beginning to alienate people where once they felt optimistic. During this time, you can understand the anxiety Beckett has from modern advancements and influences by his contemporaries such as Joyce. And while Joyce focuses on themes such as eternal recurrence, Beckett can explore the ever growing themes of separation, and the declining ages which is causing people to become more deceitful in an attempt to keep up with the changes happening around them.

Daydream (my 20 minute lifetime)

I live about one mile from campus and since I do not have a parking pass (and have accumulated multiple tickets) I am fortunate enough to experience a 20 minute lifetime twice a day to and from campus. My walk takes me across College, through family housing, and up to my first class in Reid 101. During this short lifetime I throw my headphones on and trek throughout the expanses of my mind. Ever since I was in grade school I've always enjoyed walking to class alone, so that no one can disturb my daydreams. When I was young I can remember imagining normal little boy things, my action figures would go to battle in order to overtake different corners of my room. From what I can recall imagining them fighting on my way to and from school always seemed more colossal and glorified then what I could actually simulate with my toys in front of me. By the time I turned 13 however, I began to imagine what my life would be like and my twenty minute lifetimes went down a road they have yet to stray from. Every day on my walk to school, and every day since I was 13 my twenty minute lifetimedaydream has been about skiing. What I will do when I finally move out west, and once I got here, what I will do when I finally move wester. All day, every day, my short lifetimes revolve around snow,I get so entranced and excited to be skiing again when I'm walking to school that I forget to watch out for traffic. Nothing can break my concentration, sometimes girls, but even that is fleeting. I'm always surprised at just how long I can imagine the same run over and over again in my head, and then nod off while listening to a Professor lecture about Harold Bloom. Shocking!

Eternal reccurence in FWake and The Skin of Our Teeth

The theme of eternal recurrence is present throughout Wilder's play; The Skin Of Our Teeth and this archetype occurs as commonly as in Joyce's masterpiece. Both works are in a constant state of becoming, as the ending of both spills over into the beginning once again, representing life as cyclical rather than linear. One quote in particular that stood out to me in Thornton's piece was spoken by Sabina, in regards to how monotonous life can be, "That's all we do-always beginning again! Over and over again. Always beginning again" (Wilder 109). The way this piece of literature drives this point home has to do with the age of the characters, all of whom seem to be atleast four-thousand years old.
The idea that our lives will be the same everyday, and our children's lives will be the same, and on and on monotony to the next Millennium seems terribly depressing to me. However I suppose that after college life and then after the two year lee-way post college life graduates are granted, comes a career and with that reality. I guess all I have to look forward to will be the year or two I'm granted after I graduate to have irresponsible fun, before I will have to choose a career path and fall into a state of constant becoming. I guess that doesn't sound so bad, if the state and career which I am constantly becoming into will be a ski bum. Can a skier be in a constant state of becoming since he can only ski for half the season? Or do I need to move down to the southern hemisphere every summer to avoid a linear life.. I guess these are things I need to ask Joyce if I ever happen to bump into him.

Where Am I in FWake?

I was having trouble finding any Wakean version of my name throughout Finnegans Wake until I glanced at the chapter index (this book has chapters?) and found one titled, "The Tale of Kersse the Tailor and the Norwegian Captain." Here I found a lot of good traditional Scandinavian names such as Sven, Oscar, and (surprise) a few Eriks sprinkled in as well. One that stood out to me is in regards to the "erikness" that one of Scandinavian descent exudes. In this passage Kersse proliferates on, "this most unmentionablest of men (mundering eeriesk, if he didn't scald him all the shimps names in his gitter!)" (Joyce 320). Being as erriesk as anyone with the name Erik can be I know that normally it is not a very "erieskian" thing to, "scald him all the shimps names in his gitter" however after having spent a lot of time in the frigid waters off the coast of the "land of the midnight sun" it's understandable that even super chill vikings from Norway can lose their cool and yell at punks who have, "hissed his bungle oar his shourter and cut the pinter off his pourer and lay off for Fellagulphia in the farning" (Joyce 320).

Highbrow/Lowbrow

um highbrow is Shakespeare and lowbrow is Twilight.

First things I see when I wake up

I am a great morning person, when I'm waking up early to go skiing. However I have been injured for about two months now and aside from not being stoked on life recently, I have noticed that I spend a lot more time in bed in the morning getting re-acquainted with my room. Upon first waking up I always notice the one inch space where my curtains end and where my window begins. This seemingly insignificant crack does a lot for waking me up whether or not I need to. Generally this is a good thing since five out of seven days a week I need to be up by eight, so now I can take into account whats going on around me before I hop in the shower/just brush my teeth and run a comb through my hair. My bookshelf is just beyond my alarm clock and it contains all the novels I have had to purchase for school being an English literature major (I could never sell those back to the bookstore). leaning up against that is a lever-action .22 which I have yet to get fixed, and ZERO odds n ends. I hate clutter. I am a very neat person and if you spent the night you might notice the closet in my closet for shoes. I love shoes. However at eight in the morning all I really pay attention to is that one inch space between my curtain and window, wondering if I should get up to draw the shades a little tighter, knowing full well that if I get back into bed I will not be making it to my first morning class. I think I'll just get out of bed instead, just because I can't ski for another couple of weeks doesn't mean I'm not still a good morning person.. I think

Finegans Wake

This book is absurd.
I'm going to memorize the passage that we talked about in class on monday 1/25 on page 104 dealing with the Lord's Prayer. I have probably recited this prayer over one thousand times so I feel like it should not be too hard:
"In the name of Annah the Allmaziful, the Everliving, the Bringer of Plurabilities, haloed be her eve, her singtime sung, her rill be run, unhemmed as it is uneven!" (Joyce 104).