(no subject)

Today I read the chapter of textbook on genre, plus any other page that mentioned Elegies. I skimmed the section I've already read that's about the poem that we're working on tomorrow. And I kind of poked around the book a bit in general.
I'd call it pretty good going but if I hadn't got diverted by a plot bunny where someone gives Sarah Jane access to the Torchwood computer I suspect I'd have got just a teensy bit more done.

Also remembered to run the dishwasher. If I do that more often life works better.

So that's two days of reading and cleaning in a row. Achievement!



Tomorrow we get our essays back and I find out of my Torchwood sonnet is made of lose or win as far as passing Intro Lit is concerned.
... concerned is pretty much the right word here ...


Also today the computer finished downloading all the 7th Doctor episodes.
Except now it seems to be DLing Dragonfire all over again.
Methinks the wrong buttons got pressed somewhere.

Once I've transferred these to the laptop I'll have 7, 9 & 10 to carry around with me at all times. Which is obviously the essentials covered.


... my priorities are sort of individual ...


For completeness I could put the 8 movie in there.
... I'm making a face a bit like biting a lemon ...



Now I'm kind of bored. I'll see if I can concentrate long enough to read from the other book. If not, DVDs.

(no subject)

Have developed new theory of why women in Torchwood fancy Owen:
You know that thing where someone is so totally gorgeous nobody dares ask them out?
That's Jack.

Then there's Owen standing next to him, grinning, happily attainable.


Now granted the theory seems flawed when Jack talks like he's the most attainable guy in Cardiff, or possibly in this arm of the spiral galaxy, but there's an awful lot more talk than actual doing. So that just adds a slight puzzlement to the dazzle. Exposure to Jack makes people think many sex related things, and then he's wandered off without them.

Owen gets the leftovers.



... well it amuses me ...



I still have an almost finished fic featuring Owen.
This theory has absolutely nothing to do with it.

(no subject)

Am re-reading the chapter on rhythm and metre, and hoping to actually finish it this time.
Have skimmed the bits I already read (highlighting FTW)
and actually read a couple more pages.

Am remembering why I quit it.

Syllables I get. Syllables I can count. Except for the thing where sometimes they squish together when some people say them or acquire an extra accent on the ed or something.

But then there's the thing with beats and stresses and how the beats is not always the stresses and
bzuh?

... my brain gears is grinding.



It appears to be saying that rhythm and meter in poems is
(a) very important
and
(b) not actually fitting

which 'creates subtle tensions'

rather than, just for instance, 'invalidates the whole concept of iambic bloody pentameter in the first place'

also when they quoted Shakespeare to demonstrate iambic pentameter they picked a stretch that was all 11 syllables. And with a beat with no word in it.
Just to be awkward.

I realise we're studying the complicated stuff now but couldn't I pretend it was simple for just a few pages? Could we not get one example of the version they described? Just a couple of lines of it?

But noooooo.



... it's possible this winds me up.



ANYways
am reading about it
then I get to ignore it once I know what I'm ignoring.



Also:

I suspect I've been spelling enjambement wrong all semester.
I blame the spellchecker.
Plus, you know, only ever having heard the word. That I can remember. I think.


I need to learn all the words. Instant download, Lit words for dummies.
... there probably is a Lit for dummies. There's an everything else for dummies ...


Bleargh.



Sometimes I read this stuff and I'm all "wow! this is exactly the cool stuff I want to learn!"
and sometimes I read it and I'm like *grouchy face* "poems! we shall speak of them no more!"

(no subject)

I have finished the chapter on rhythm and metre
there could in theory be a smiley there
but the next chapter has metre in the title too
so instead my face looks more like grrrrr.

these books are not so fun no more. I've read the whole damn thing and still the only message I get from it is "these things are important but you'll have to figure out how for yourself on account of it's always different. PS hee hee we gots ur moneys for dis"



I retroactively like sonnets. Sonnets are clearly Doing Something. They go
diDum diDum diDum diDum diDum
and then they do it again for a bunch of lines
and they rhyme
and they have a punchline (except for when it's really lame)


mostly these poems we gots to look at for class don't do that.
they do their own thing and don't go didum properly and don't bother to rhyme and only sometimes bother telling you what they're about without you looking it up in books.

I Sulk Now.



Tomorrow I get to go to college for a whole day in order to speak to the teacher for five minutes. I'd stay home and sulk instead, but then I wouldn't never get the five minutes. Also we gets our essays back.

But to be the most useful I'm going to have to carry, in my backpack, the purple folder from last semester, the giant reader of utter unreadability from this semester, the Reading Poetry book *and* the language in poems book by a guy called Short that isn't actually short really in a way that's not funny when you have to carry it in a bag.

No Fair.

... do I needs all of them? I mean I needs the further reading lists, but I could type them out... okay that would take a lot of typing.
If I had a scanner at home I could scan them.

The library should also have these books too, but last time I wandered in and thought I'd look up further reading in their one someone had borrowed it. Which is fair but unhelpful.

maybe I copy it up tomorrow.

Today is is 2030 and I've been awake since 0830 and apparently Is sleepy now.


This is the other reason I don't get much done. I'm pretty sure most humans have more hours in a day.



*headdesk*

*SULK*


... some poems is pretty, so why we gots to study ugly ones full of dead dudes?
want to study flowers. and possibly even kittens and apple pies. There's nothing wrong with flowers and kittens and apple pies in the grand scheme of things. In my experience there's entirely enough death and injury and ugly without actually going looking for it. And it don't rhyme there neither.


... okay, now I'm just whiny. Sorry.

(no subject)

I attempted sleep.

Then I gave up and ended up thinking about Ethan. And Andrew. I'm just in the mood for an old degenerate whispering suggestions to a sweet young thing who hasn't quite decided how naughty he wants to be. And Ethan knows secrets about Andrew none of the Scoobies know. Something about Halloween. Andrew hisses, never tell, but Ethan says they could do it again. Any time. He has just the spell. And he knows Andrew still has the ruby slippers.



Then of course some numbskull decides that they've just got to get in to the flats, via the time tested method of leaning on the buzzer until someone answers. Possibly followed by kicking the door in. I don't know, they could have been going up the stairs. Carrying an elephant.


Outside there's a noise I at first ignore, until I realise I've only heard sounds like that when staying at Heathrow, and even then they didn't go on quite so long or loud.
But there's no boom, so it's probably alright.
Besides, if aliens crash land here, do I really want to get in the way? Sure, the sex gas sounds like fun, but it's not like I have an ex to look up.


So now I give up, get up, take the painkiller for the niggly little not-quite-a-headache, and see if the world came up with anything brilliant in the last hour.
After turning the brightness on the monitor down.


That kind of night.