(no subject)
Aug. 20th, 2004 10:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
iceinyourmusicClearly, I never have anything to say in August. (You say that like it's a bad thing!)
... I was tempted to buy one or both of the main tabloids today. "Female doctor bites off husband's finger!" and, "Is beach volley adult entertainment?" One needs to know about these things. But I'd already spent all my money on books. On a book. Aino Kallas. She should make my bookshelf look just this much more complete.
My sentence (mother-tongue, in head) has been hijacked by the ubiquitous Male Author of the late 20th century.
(Of course, there are differences between Jari Tervo and Kari Hotakainen [suggested alternative spellings: Hootenanny, Hardening, Shotgunning, Patagonian] (one of them is from Lapland and the other is not, and the natural consequences of that), but basically, they are so joined at the hip that most tests conducted in a dark room after a minimum of four glasses of beer indicate that 4.3 out of 5 people don't give a damn about which one is which.)
But, the thing is, I really started reading K.H. out of contrariness, wanting to find either that the Male Author doesn't exist or that the Male Author exists and really really isn't all that, but. It exists, and my awful, disloyal, indiscriminate sense of humour lets me down me every time - I laugh at the stupidest jokes, and even though I feel bad about having laughed, the physical act of laughing has already transported me to the good place where the drinks are free and the girls are pretty and Auntie Mae is baking cookies, and then the warm, cherished memory of that place proceeds to completely undermine any serious disapproval of the text in question. So there we are: Klassikko makes me laugh out loud.
(Very RPF, incidentally, but postmodern, literary, bitterly satirical, gauging the Feelings of the People & all that, and narrated by a postmodern literary Male Author called Kari Hotakainen, so state-sanctioned and good-for-you.)
But, but. This will possibly (hopefully?) be my last year as a full-time student, so I feel I must decide on goals, and while I'm thinking "serious, studious, will catch up on my reading in my spare time", the Male Author is thinking "binge-drinking, promiscuous skeezy affairs, will still catch up on my reading but will be more interesting as will be hung over all the time". Which, well.
you know. August.
... I was tempted to buy one or both of the main tabloids today. "Female doctor bites off husband's finger!" and, "Is beach volley adult entertainment?" One needs to know about these things. But I'd already spent all my money on books. On a book. Aino Kallas. She should make my bookshelf look just this much more complete.
My sentence (mother-tongue, in head) has been hijacked by the ubiquitous Male Author of the late 20th century.
(Of course, there are differences between Jari Tervo and Kari Hotakainen [suggested alternative spellings: Hootenanny, Hardening, Shotgunning, Patagonian] (one of them is from Lapland and the other is not, and the natural consequences of that), but basically, they are so joined at the hip that most tests conducted in a dark room after a minimum of four glasses of beer indicate that 4.3 out of 5 people don't give a damn about which one is which.)
But, the thing is, I really started reading K.H. out of contrariness, wanting to find either that the Male Author doesn't exist or that the Male Author exists and really really isn't all that, but. It exists, and my awful, disloyal, indiscriminate sense of humour lets me down me every time - I laugh at the stupidest jokes, and even though I feel bad about having laughed, the physical act of laughing has already transported me to the good place where the drinks are free and the girls are pretty and Auntie Mae is baking cookies, and then the warm, cherished memory of that place proceeds to completely undermine any serious disapproval of the text in question. So there we are: Klassikko makes me laugh out loud.
(Very RPF, incidentally, but postmodern, literary, bitterly satirical, gauging the Feelings of the People & all that, and narrated by a postmodern literary Male Author called Kari Hotakainen, so state-sanctioned and good-for-you.)
But, but. This will possibly (hopefully?) be my last year as a full-time student, so I feel I must decide on goals, and while I'm thinking "serious, studious, will catch up on my reading in my spare time", the Male Author is thinking "binge-drinking, promiscuous skeezy affairs, will still catch up on my reading but will be more interesting as will be hung over all the time". Which, well.
you know. August.
