Oh my! I was just meditating on the fact that it has been quite a while since I last blogged, which is a pity because my old entries have become something like a photo album for me...whenever I forget exactly how something happened, I go back through all my old blog entries to see if I wrote about it (which I usually did, because I used to be a very diligent blogger) and that's how I remember.
In any case, I will use the abridged list in the title to describe the important things that have come to pass this week.
The word of the week is: Boondoggle, a noun which means, "work of little or no value done merely to keep or look busy." It is the word of the week because Mr. Koschak has used it every day without fail to describe the antics of the physics students, who went on a trip to Carowinds today, missing the first day of the practice AP test. "If you are going on the Physics Boondoggle," he's been telling us at the beginning of each class, "then make sure that you get here early on Thursday to get the first part of the test done." I didn't believe that it was a real word at first, but it is, in fact, in the dictionary, hence the conviction that it should be included in this entry and be used forever more from here on out. The English language surprises me with treats like this every now and then.
Believe it or not, Balrogs and Communist containment go together today. A Balrog, for those who have neither seen nor read The Fellowship of the Ring, is a fire demon of the ancient world (in the context of Tolkien's books). "Containment" is the strategy that was pursued during the presidencies of Truman and Eisenhower with regard to Communism - that is, these administrations sought to keep Communism from spreading to other countries - from this foreign policy, we see developments like the Marshall Plan and others. In any case, we were reviewing the 1950's and 1960's the other day in AP US History, and I was thinking about containment, and I had one of those moments where something quite random but thought-provoking occured to me - and it will probably sound ridiculous if I go to explain why I found it amusing here or anywhere else. But I'm going to explain it anyway. So I was sitting there and meditating on the epic degree to which Americans observed the containment and brinkmanship policies as the noble battle of democracy against oppressive communism. And it occured to me that, had "The Fellowship of the Ring" been a movie during that period, the show-down between Gandalf and the Balrog on the Bridge of Khazad-dum would be a good representation of how Americans imagined containment. Standing on the Bridge between the Balrog (Communism) and the rest of the fellowship (not-yet-communist countries), Gandalf (the US) informs him, "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" And, true to his word, the Balrog is not able to pass - BUT THEN, both of them are pulled down into the pit of the Mines of Moria, fighting even as they fall. This, my friends, occured to me as a beautifully-ridiculous symbol of the concept of mutually-assured destruction, with both sides going down closer to DOOM as they fight (or as they obtain more weapons). I thought it was a neat, history-related epiphany in any case, and one which would have made nice Red Scare propaganda at the time.
Anywho, moving on to our next topic, which is Tom-catting. My readers mustn't take offense by my inclusion of this, which is purely for fun and sport. If you've read The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck, then you'll know that at the beginning of the story, the teenage boy Al Joad is off "tomcattin' around the country," which essentially means he's going around visiting and getting to know (both words in several contexts) his lady friends before the family has to uproot and move west. The little boy in me giggled when I read it, but since then, my mother and I have found the word to be very useful, and we have adapted the meaning of the word for our purposes. If it is given that a "tomcat" is a male, then "tomcatting" for us is the proposed act (always in jest) of going out to look for "tomcats." Because we aren't actually planning to find men wherever we're going, we use it for the most innappropriate situations and derive joy from it - for example, my mom might say, "Kalyn and I are going bowling while you're at school today," and I might reply, "Cool, well keep your eyes peeled, the bowling alley might yield tomcatting results." Today, as we were waiting for my bus 419 outside Reynolds, we were discussing our dinner and movie plans for tonight.
"We're going to go tomcatting tonight!" she announced excitedly.
"I know...I do hope we finally have some success." I said in jest.
"Well, I'll be sure to find us some tomcats while Kalyn and I are out shopping - as with rings, it's always easier to tomcat when you are already accompanied by other tomcats." (she was commenting on the phenomenon in which a married person, often a man, is shamelessly flirted with and tomcatted in public by women who do not seem to notice his ring...the real problem is that he has made himself sparkly in donning the jewelry, and is mistaken for a vampire. I'm convinced that this is the reason).
Next, I had the first memorable dream last night that I've had in quite a while - some of them have seemed to be memorable, but the speed with which I rush about in the mornings prevents me from taking the time to internalize the memory of most of these dreams, so the one this morning was special in that regard. In all other regards, it was quite strange. In the dream, my dad, Heather, Holden, Hope, and I were staying in this nice little mountain house - it was not one of the one high-up and secluded ones on the mountain, but it was in a suburb near the foot of the mountain - there were other quaint, yet fancy houses sitting around it. The community was set up like Boone in that there were isolated houses on the mountain but a glittering golden criss-crossing of city-lights in the valley. It was a booming semi-urban area with bluegrass concerts and lots of art.
In the dream, my dad and I took a trip to a nearby coffee-esque shop that was next to a bowling alley. We were to meet a friend of ours there, who will be named Leon for the purpose of the post. Leon's character is a nervous one, but a kind one as well - he was happy to see us and he beckoned us to join him at his corner table. He and my father spoke together for a while about the mountains and the regional football team while I day-dreamed. The blond-haired waiter came by and told me that next door, at the bowling alley, they were selling the most amazing watermelon flavored drinks and that I just had to try one. I vaguely agreed with him and he wandered away.
When I returned my attention to the table, I noticed that my dad had left, and so I asked Leon where he had gone - to which he replied that he had gone home to be with the baby, and that my dad had asked him to tell me that the taxi was still waiting outside for me, and I was to embark in it at 10:30 in order to get home before it was too late. I agreed and then was overcome with a wave of sadness, loneliness, and sleepiness. I leaned onto Leon's shoulder in a half-asleep manner and he patted me on the back awkwardly as I asked his jaw in near-proximity whether he had ever tried the watermelon drinks next door. He said that he had not, and that he didn't believe that I would be able to either, because he thought that they were sold at a bar.
"A bar in a bowling alley?" I asked incredulously, standing up after what seemed like hours. "That's ridiculous. I'm going to head over there to get a drink before they run out." I paid him a somewhat irritated "goodbye" before storming out and dashing next door. It was mostly darkness in there with neon lights, and much to my chagrin, the majority of the neon lights shone over a bar to the left-hand side of the building. Pink and green neon lights twined together to advertise the limited-time-only watermelon drink, which apparently had alcohol in it anyway. Disheartened, I left and entered the taxi, realizing with a wave of guilt that it was way past 10:30.
"I'm so sorry you've been sitting here all this -" I began to apologize, but the taxi driver, who was the sweet lady who drives bus 419 in real life, waved my apology away.
"You're here now, that's what matters," she turned around as another passenger entered on the far side. "Where to, Ms. Breece?" I looked over and Bennie Breece from the choir was entering the taxi on the other side - she was wearing the bunny ears that she had worn to our Holy Saturday rehearsal before Easter.
"Hey Bennie!" I said, glad after the watermelon drink catastrophe to see her.
"Hey!" she replied to me, and then she told the taxi driver that she was just going home. After plugging in both of our coordinates on her GPS system, we were driven home at what seemed curiously to be a breakneck speed if one watched the little dot on the GPS screen, but what felt much slower if you wrenched your eyes from it and simply looked out the window. That was the end of the dream.
Finally, we've had discussions the past couple days on the psychology of horror films. What is it that makes the scariest ones so scary? That's what I've been discussing with my mom, and she says that it all depends on what the individual finds to be scary. For example, ghost movies don't scare her, but zombie ones and homicide ones do. I personally don't find zombie movies to be scary (usually), and if both are done well, the ghost movies stick more in my brain after watching them than the homicide ones. This might say something about my fear of someone breaking into the house - I was thinking about it the other day, and I realized that I am far more afraid of waking up with a stranger staring at me or forcing my door than the sort of harm that might be inflicted on me after the fact. While I dread either occurence, it is the first one that occassionally occurs in nightmares relating to break-ins. This fear of something appearing that doesn't belong carries over to the sorts of movies that chill me - the ones in which a door is opened to reveal something that wasn't there initially, films in which a mirrored medicine-cabinet door is closed to reveal a person behind you, films in which computers or televisions (familiar materials) function differently to facilitate haunting. We just watched a movie from the 1980's that seemed to set a precedent for many of the half-way decent horror movies that started off the 2000s - it was called "Ghost Story" and it played off of exactly the sort of fear that I just described. They use these shots of her (the ghost's) face to accomplish it...for example, at the beginning of the movie, she is lying face-down on a bed and speaking mysteriously (though in quite a normal timbre) to a fellow sitting next to her who does not yet realize that she is dead. When he gets frustrated and tries to flip her over, he finds that her face is like that of a skeleton and he backs away and accidentally falls out of the window. This happens twice more near the beginning of the movie, and then as her character before the start of the movie is developed, the actress flips her hair over her face or is pictured facing a window and then turning - and each time the audience tenses up, expecting to see what they were not prepared to see at first - but it doesn't come. Everyone exhales and waits for the next part where the music sounds spooky again.
Putting that aside, I think that there must be some sort of universal element of fear that successful horror movies tap into - just as there is a universal element of comedy that directors appeal to when making comedy films. For example, whenever I ask anyone who has seen "The Exorcist" what they think is the scariest part of the movie, I receive one answer without fail: the part where the possessed girl climbs backward down the stairs on her hands. Now, why should this display of gymnastics inspire such communal fear in a population of movie-goers? It's really difficult to say; I don't think I have an answer for it. If you have any ideas, feel free to comment! Good night!
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