Friday, November 11, 2011


Okay, I know I've already blogged enough for one weekend, but I'm trapped in the ketchup and mustard room for an hour because Clint's watching "Grimm" in the living room, and I can't watch it.  I'm a huge baby.  I got through the first minute of it, but once the girl started shrieking in the background because she was being tortured by whatever wolf-creature whisked her away, my stomach started rolling and I had to get out of the room.

Change of subject.  I'm currently reading Crossed by Ally Condie (sequel to Matched), and I am really enjoying it so far.  It is completely different from the first novel.  Matched was more light-hearted, shallow (in a cute way) and teen-agery, although it did get heavier towards the end.  But this one dives much deeper into the characters' pasts, and their current motives.   It's not that the story is incredibly riveting or fact, much of it is slower-paced.  But it's thought-provoking and intriguing.  Unrequited love in a tolitarian society just makes for a beautiful story.  And considering that the novel is geared toward the young adult audience, I'm surprised by how many quotes from the book come across as pure poetry.  Take these, for example:
And it is strange that absence can feel like presence.  A missing so complete that if it were to go away, I would turn around, stunned, to see that the room is empty after all...

The picture frightened me and thrilled me in some vague way--the sky was so spectacular, the land so beautiful and dangerous, so full of heights and depths.  I was afraid of the vastness of a place like that.  At the same time, I felt sorrow that I would never see it.

Because in the end you can't always choose what to keep.  You can only choose how you let it go.
This next one is a little bit more than just one little quote.  It's a conversation between the male protaganist and a smaller child, both who are fleeing from the society:
"Do you know how to paint?"  Eli asks.
"A little."
"My mother taught herself, and then she taught me," I say.  "My father used to come here and trade with the farmers.  Once, he brought a paintbrush back for her.  A real one.  But he couldn't afford any paint.  He always meant to get her some but never did."
"Then she couldn't paint," Eli says, sounding disappointed.
"No, she could.  She used water on rock.  Her paintings always vanished in the air."
"Then how did you know what they looked like?" Eli asks.
"I saw them before they dried," I say.  "They were beautiful."
I love that conversation.  Love love love it.  But I really don't know why.  I'll have to get back to you on that one.

Oh my gosh, it's 11:11 at night!  I have to post this right NOW so I can officially have a blog entry at 11:11, on 11/11/11 (yes, I realize my life is sad if I get off on ten "1s" in a row).


  1. I have to say, I love Grimm!! It's one of my favs, and definitely my fav on Friday nights. You saying it scares you, however, reminds me of something that happened this week.

    I was talking to my committee chair about the second chapter corrections for my thesis--wherein I'm discussing the Gothic. I had made, in there somewhere, the assertion that by Burke's standards terror (fear of the unknown) and horror (fear of the known) didn't exist in our modern society, that they were/are extinct. She said that I could leave what I'd said about terror (because by Edmund Burke's definition, it doesn't exist), but that I couldn't make the assertion that horror didn't exist in our society because it was a HUGE genre today, one people still ascribed to.

    We got into a short discussion about the nature of horror and it turns out I was making that assertion based upon my own experiences--a somewhat no-no when writing scholarship--because horror movies/shows/books don't scare me. I asked Matt, and they don't scare him either. So, now I have to re-write that part (among others) to reflect our society, rather than my personal issues.

    Wow, I've done it again, huh? Maybe I'll write about the terror/horror thing on my blog soon... while it's still fall and still pertinent to what I'm doing with my thesis. For now, I'm going to leave your poor comment box (which I had to expand) alone! ~.^

  2. Guess what I am doing? Watching Grimm! We DVR it and watch it when we can. You know I love this stuff. American Horror Story is so great, much better than Grimm. Tell Clint to check it out.

    I have been away from blogging for quite awhile. I've just been too busy. I very quickly looked over a couple of your recent posts but did not put enough time into really reading them. Between Grimm and the dryer signal telling me to go get the clothes out, I can't give your posts the attention they deserve. I will be back when I can spend more time enjoying and commenting on your posts. I miss them, Jodi. I miss you too. We have both been so busy at work lately that our lunch time has fallen through the cracks. Hey, this won't last forever. Later...

  3. Niecy, you're back! I really miss you too. I have one more week of Top Turkey, and then I'll be able to join everyone in the staff room again during lunch. And maybe after Thanksgiving break you can tone down your lunch detentions, throw those lazy kids of yours out in the cold (haha), and join us. We need some more of Niecy's not quite G-rated "education" at our'on, don't leave poor Bev hanging. ;-)

    Kristyn, I'm glad that my wussyness can help provide you with research for your thesis. If you need any direct quotes from a bona fide pansy, let me know and I'll be happy to help. Lol. But seriously, I keep hearing such wonderful things about Grimm that I think I'm going to just grit my teeth and give it a try. I hate to judge a program based on the first 60 seconds.


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