Category: Shakespeare


Back…to the Twenties!

Ambitious little creature that I am, I am going to attempt to stage and direct Love’s Labour’s Lost in the spring term.

It will be set in the Roaring Twenties – because, let’s face it, things set in the Roaring Twenties are AWESOME.

I intend to play Moth myself, unless I find someone totally incredible who has “Moth” inscribed in their little thespian veins.

There will be NO Holo-fucking-fernes because he is a deadly dull BORE of a man.

WE WILL WEAR WINGTIP SHOES AND BE AMAZING.

As a result of my mad brain-racking, I have been trawling through samples of classic ’20s jazz hits looking for suitable musical accompaniment.

Also, today I signed up for both pole- and swing-dancing lessons at the uni. I am thoroughly excited, if a little unco-ordinated and, well, stocky. I blame my genes and my awful metabolism: since returning here, I’ve gained FIVE POUNDS. This isn’t at all fair, as I haven’t been snacking between meals or drinking anything more vicious than diet cappuchino sachets and occasional glasses of lemonade. The only things that can have contributed to this disgusting weight gain are:
– Two slices of birthday cake; no, I did not wolf them down in quick succesion;
– Three fun-size bags of Maltesers – again, not eaten one after another;
– A glass of wine.

…Erm?

Of course, I’m doing a lot of curling-up-and-reading for my course, but that doesn’t really account for anything – it’s not as if I’m normally leaping around lifting weights and doing cardio. Bah humbug.
…Or just the bah, the humbug contains empty calories.

Resolutions

– I want a first. I want a first so badly it physically hurts. And this I shall achieve by reading and rereading set texts, and getting my derriere to the library as often as possible to do some actual book-based research instead of relying on the internet (bad idea) for essay fodder; I shall do all work when it is set. This I fervently promise.

– I will find a new hobby and throw myself into it. I am very nearly sort of considering dancing. Yeah I know. Except, I really want to be able to dance. Failing that, to siiiiiiing like a skylark!

The Rocky Horror Show is coming to Brighton next month. I want to recruit people and go dressed up, which isn’t out of the ordinary, but is a requirement. Dibs on Magenta. I has the hair!

This is what my reading list looks like at the moment; things in bold are things I’m reading/rereading now, things with lines through are obviously the ones I’ve already read. Doing…OK, I suppose.

Twelfth Night (1601)

A Midsummer Night’s Dream (1595/6)

Coriolanus (1608)

Henry IV, Parts 1 (1596/7) and 2 (1598)

Othello (1603/4)

King Lear (1605)

Cymbeline (1609/10)

The Tempest (1611)

Aphra Behn, Oroonoko

Madame de Lafayette, The Princesse of Clèves

Daniel Defoe, Robinson Crusoe

J. W. Goethe, The Sorrows of the Young Werther

Charles Dickens, Great Expectations – yeah, I finally finished it! Nearly cried. It was awkward.

Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary

Henry James, The Portrait of a Lady

James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man n.b. I like to think I have an advantage with this one, since I’ve been given a lecture on the book by the lady who wrote the accompanying notes, Jeri Johnson. Not only is she very intelligent, she is extremely funny. Incidentally, I once mentioned this to a weirdo I was debating the merits of Critical Thinking with on the internet, and said weirdo said not to name-drop. a) I shall name-drop as much as I wish and b) I MET JERI JOHNSON, BITCH. One-nil to ME. Ahem.

Marcel Proust, The Way by Swann’s [Vol. 1 of In Search of Lost Time]

Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my friend and housemate Rachel for today. She is elderly because she is no longer a teenager, and as such the occasion needs to be marked with wine. And spirits.

Both high and liquid 😉

…the fanfags of Burton’s Alice in Wonderland update. Just go on the IMDb board for it. Go on, I dare you. You have to try and read all the posts without sinking into a violent fantasy world in which you’re dismembering the scene kiddies with hot pliers, minus anaesthetic and a valid surgery qualification of any sort. Please let me know if you’re successful in this, because I sure as hell wasn’t.

She loves Lewis Carroll so much.

I shouldn’t hate these little darlings for wanting to discuss their absolute favourite thing in the world, should I? They’re just expressing their opinion about it. And arguing with each other over it. And ejaculating over their favourite actors in plain view of the rest of the internet and oh Jesus, you know what? Sod freedom of speech or whatever, somebody gag these children and lock them in their bedrooms with some intelligent books – some Shakespeare, some Wilde, some Gaiman, Clare, Allende, Banks, Sebold – until they’ve safely passed puberty and can contribute to society without trying overly hard to be “dark” and “different.”

The pen is mightier than the Paramore, you know.

(Unfortunately, some may remain dark little bunnies into adulthood. Case in point is, unluckily, me. Although I should point out that this isn’t due to overdosing on Tim Burton, not like these disgusting little worms [I like ‘Corpse Bride’, just not a great wanky amount]. It’s due to the five-plus years of physical and emotional bullying I endured in my formative years, coupled with the fact I was an overweight, acne-ridden, bespectacled child with braces. You couldn’t make up a character to rival how awkward and nerdy I was. And being cornered by a boy three years older and repeatedly whipped with an elastic band doesn’t really make little girls into happy adults who openly embrace attention and affection from the opposite sex.)

Women who post birth videos on YouTube.

Apparently, this is a popular trend now.

Erm…

What the fuck?

Why would you expose yourself in that manner TO THE WORLD? What’s WRONG with these fruitcakes? What possesses them? What makes them think, “OOH, you know what the internets will love? My mucus-covered black hole of a vagina!”? These women need to be told that, look, YOU think birth is a wonderful, sensuous, beautiful process; some of us (i.e., ME ONCE AGAIN) do NOT. In fact, we feel sick when you lumber towards us, doing a brilliant impression of Jupiter, whilst we’re trying to eat, and then you and your…spawn-in-progess lounge in plain view while I attempt not to projectile vomit at your swollen feet. I don’t want to see your livid stretch-marks. I don’t want to hear about your overwrought bladder. I certainly do not want to witness your brat slithering out into the world whilst you bellow like a heifer before snotting all over your hospital-issue gown because you’re so emotional.

“Don’t search for the videos, then!” I fear they’ll cheerfully tell me, should I be unfortunate enough to enter into conversation with these breeding cretins.

No.

DON’T POST THE DISGUSTING THINGS IN THE FIRST PLACE, say I in this hypothetical exchange. Keep it behind closed doors. You know, like a normal human being! That way, you’ll only have to pay for your husband’s therapy. Cheers.

…I’m actually too angry to write anymore. O world, you’re full of lovely individuals!