Sensible

Every time I read the beginning of my blog posts, I get really annoyed. I need to work on being more engaging and less enraging.

I suppose I just want to launch into the middle of what I'm saying, so I don't have much time for preamble. The trouble is, I'm usually saying nothing. And if I launch myself into the middle of nothing, it would just be 'thi'. Which doesn't seem like a comfortable combination of letters.

I could go back to that technique I used a few months ago, where I tell you what I've been listening to, watching, reading, smelling etc. At least that gave me some structure.

I wonder if this is the most self-indulgent blog on the worldWweb. Which might make it the most self-indulgent thing ever created. Not only do I expect people to read my words, but most of the words are a grumbling, griping comment on my own griping and grumbling. I'm like an angry pensioner trapped in a washing machine.

So let's stop talking about me, and start talking about how fantastic the world is! And how fantastic you are!

You're looking great, by the way. Love that skirt. It really brings out the colour of your skirt!

And you. I just wanted to say how much I appreciate all your hard work! You make a lot of difference to a lot of people.

And don't think I've forgotten you, you glorious two-legged human! Every second you're alive increases the aggregate happiness of the world. Good on ya!

(I used 'I' a bit too much there. I'm still only talking about myself. The second person and the first person are pretty much the same. Maybe his only way out is to use the third person?)

Enough of this.

Let's get infested with bookworms together!

***

An Idiot Flaps Odyssey - Part 14

You can inject words directly into your leg, you can inhale language through a nasal straw, or you can read books which contain ideas and events and characters.

I have chosen the latter option.

Intro
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13

***

Jane Austen - Sense and Sensibility

I am a man, and am therefore expected to like cars and spitting and Kasabian.

Women are expected to like olives, weeping uncontrollably and Jane Austen.

But I have read some Austen to rebel against social convention, and also because it was the next book on the shelf.

I've never read an Austen novel before, which is something to be ashamed of. She is, after all, one of the great novelists. I don't know what put me off. Possibly the uterus.

[I sense that this post may contain a swirling ironic vortex of sexism. Ironic sexism is the lowest form of humour. Except for jokes about Boris Johnson. Or the 'funny' bits in musicals. So I'll stop.]

Though I haven't read any Austen, I have seen quite a few different TV and film adaptations (usually at the fierce behest of Lucy), and have generally enjoyed them.

I'm not that interested in the romance, but the dialogue and character observation are spot on.

Sense and Sensibility is the same: minutely realistic, pretty fast paced, and full of funny little character bits and ironic asides.

It's so rooted in the social structure of its day, that it becomes quite claustrophobic: a constant struggle for money, respectability, and some semblance of romantic love. It's quite depressing and oppressive; enough to make you appreciate free market Capitalism.

A lot of the events in the story are almost formulated like a sitcom: characters unable to express their true feelings, people giving away more than they mean to, idiots believing themselves to be clever, people trapped in a domestic setting.

The focus on wealth and status can seem frustrating, but Austen's authorial voice (and the voice of the more sensible characters) acknowledges the ridiculousness of it all.

But I feel so divorced from that world that I can't seem to generate too much enthusiasm for the outcome. I'm just not that interested in which dull man the sisters end up with, because it all feels part of the same carousel of imprisonment.

What's really striking is how sophisticated it is for an early novel. Austen seems to be one of those people who are pioneers of a particular art form, but who also get it exactly right from the beginning. Like Super Mario 64. It's all so subtle and well put-together.

In conclusion:

me book read happy

***

How about a quick comedy sketch for a change of pace?

Hilary: I can't believe you didn't tell me you were married.

Franco: Some things are better left unsaid.

Hilary: Oh yeah? Like what?

Franco: ...

Hilary: Touché.

Franco: Anyway, who cares? Being married doesn't change who I am. It's like the colour of my eyes, or what kind of socks I'm wearing.

Hilary: What kind of socks are you wearing?

[The movers come in for the grandfather clock, load it onto a little trolley, then bash the door frame on the way out]

Franco: My left sock says 'Just' and my right sock says 'Married'.

Hilary: Oh.

Franco: And they're covered in confetti. And have cans tied to them.

Hilary: When do I get to meet the lucky lady?

Franco: If she's really lucky, she'll be able to avoid meeting you altogether.

Hilary: Oh Franco! Why must you toy with me this way? Can't you see I'm agitated?

[Franco smooths his hair back with the power of his mind]

Franco: I'll tell you what.

Hilary: What?

Franco: ... I'll tell you.

Hilary: When?

Franco: No, WHAT.

Hilary: No, when are you going to tell me what?

Franco: I'll tell you when.

Hilary: What?

Franco: No, WHEN.

[The ghosts of Abbott and Costello float through the room, looking disappointed]

Franco: You can come on the honeymoon. I'm sure we can squeeze you in.

Hilary: Really? You mean it?

[The movers come back in, looking forlorn]

Mover 1: Sorry, Miss. We accidentally dropped your vase into your piano.

Mover 2: We saw a bird, and our fingers... stopped...

Hilary: Fine, fine. Who needs a piano? I'm going on a honeymoon! Where did I pack my shorts?

[Hilary wanders into an adjacent parlour]

Franco: Excellent. I'm ready for the fireworks.

[The movers bring in the box of fireworks]

***

No-one has ever said I'm not Wildean.