I should be reading Shakespeare sonnets;
But my card’s different, I have drawn it.
I’m buried in the works of Crane;
The Red Badge does tax my brain.
I’d love to read something without footnotes on it.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
Bill and Ralph
The smartest people grasp the zeitgeist and combine high and low culture, especially as pertains to language. These include Martin Luther, Raymond Chandler and of course, William Shakespeare. That's not an all-inclusive list, but mentions just a few people I know of who can sound both germane and profane.
Shakespeare was perhaps unique in that he was writing during a time that the language around him was changing at a blistering pace. Olde English was becoming modern English, and the lexicon of kings was blending with the harsher tongue of peasants and roadside robbers. In addition, as travel became comparably easier and faster, words were being borrowed from other languages. Spelling and pronunciation of the language he spoke were undergoing changes, new words were being introduced ... it must have been a linguistic tossed salad the likes of which has not been seen since the Tower of Babel (and that project failed). Shakespeare drew from all these phenomenae to ply his craft, nay, thrived on them. It's a wonder that his plays are even comprehensible (millions of high school sophomores might beg to differ), let alone entertaining.
He not only created new phrases that caught on; he is credited with creating new words. Lots of them. Maybe I should have known that, but of all the accomplishments attributed to him, that's the one that blows my mind. Not that he created new words; lots of people try that, both good and bad writers (and non-writers) among their number. But that he was able to condense the shifting vocabulary of his time, and that so many of the new words caught on.
Which brings me to the title of today's entry, and the following rationale: Shakespeare invented the word 'puke.'
You're welcome, high school sophomores.
Shakespeare was perhaps unique in that he was writing during a time that the language around him was changing at a blistering pace. Olde English was becoming modern English, and the lexicon of kings was blending with the harsher tongue of peasants and roadside robbers. In addition, as travel became comparably easier and faster, words were being borrowed from other languages. Spelling and pronunciation of the language he spoke were undergoing changes, new words were being introduced ... it must have been a linguistic tossed salad the likes of which has not been seen since the Tower of Babel (and that project failed). Shakespeare drew from all these phenomenae to ply his craft, nay, thrived on them. It's a wonder that his plays are even comprehensible (millions of high school sophomores might beg to differ), let alone entertaining.
He not only created new phrases that caught on; he is credited with creating new words. Lots of them. Maybe I should have known that, but of all the accomplishments attributed to him, that's the one that blows my mind. Not that he created new words; lots of people try that, both good and bad writers (and non-writers) among their number. But that he was able to condense the shifting vocabulary of his time, and that so many of the new words caught on.
Which brings me to the title of today's entry, and the following rationale: Shakespeare invented the word 'puke.'
You're welcome, high school sophomores.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Some Ado About Nothing
So my William Shakesyear is not beginning quite the way I resolved. I'm watching the same amount of movies, working out the same amount, and reading nothing except Entertainment Weekly and mac 'n' cheese boxes. Last night I spent an hour loading songs onto my mp3 player, then I watched part of The Hurt Locker and nodded off without even brushing my teeth. Never once did I touch the Shakespeare book. It is sitting on my "antique" "coffee" "table" in the same way my berry-scented candle does.
It's reader's block, apparently. It reminds me of finals week in college, when I would do anything - ANYTHING - to avoid studying. Finals week was the only time I would clean my bathroom. Heck, I would have volunteered time to give aid to those less fortunate rather than study. I told you: anything.
Reading Shakespeare isn't like studying. I just have to remind myself that I assigned it to myself, and while it is perhaps not as immediately gratifying as a war movie, it will pay more far-reaching dividends.
It's reader's block, apparently. It reminds me of finals week in college, when I would do anything - ANYTHING - to avoid studying. Finals week was the only time I would clean my bathroom. Heck, I would have volunteered time to give aid to those less fortunate rather than study. I told you: anything.
Reading Shakespeare isn't like studying. I just have to remind myself that I assigned it to myself, and while it is perhaps not as immediately gratifying as a war movie, it will pay more far-reaching dividends.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
January 4
Tomorrow, Tomorrow and Tomorrow
No progress today. This weekend I went to the town of Fremont, where my parents live, primarily to have pants that I got for Christmas tailored, but also to let my parents feed me (thanks, parents!). Anyway, the Blockbuster Video in town is going out of business, and their signs saying “Everything Must Go!” called to me. I was as a lust-blinded sailor walking into the depths of the sea to embrace a mermaid … and then too late I saw the mermaid had bad skin. I bought a bunch of DVDs for $2.99, none of which I needed – or even really wanted – yet ever since I returned to my home, I have been watching them one after the other anyway.
(And before I continue too far from the aforementioned and related note of pants getting tailored, 2010 as the year of rock-hard abs is off to a similarly slow and pie-filled start.)
So both of my resolutions are thus far still gathering momentum. No matter. My New Year’s Resolutions usually never get any traction until about August anyway.
Of course, I jest. I return to work tomorrow after the New Year’s Day holiday and a couple of vacation days, and that return to normalcy/drudgery will be just the kick start I need to begin in earnest my voracious consumption of Shakespeare’s words, as well as the advent of kick-ass abdominals. Not during the workday, naturally.
After I get home.
Where my DVD player is.
Um, yeah, seriously, maybe check back in August for my thoughts on The Tempest.
No progress today. This weekend I went to the town of Fremont, where my parents live, primarily to have pants that I got for Christmas tailored, but also to let my parents feed me (thanks, parents!). Anyway, the Blockbuster Video in town is going out of business, and their signs saying “Everything Must Go!” called to me. I was as a lust-blinded sailor walking into the depths of the sea to embrace a mermaid … and then too late I saw the mermaid had bad skin. I bought a bunch of DVDs for $2.99, none of which I needed – or even really wanted – yet ever since I returned to my home, I have been watching them one after the other anyway.
(And before I continue too far from the aforementioned and related note of pants getting tailored, 2010 as the year of rock-hard abs is off to a similarly slow and pie-filled start.)
So both of my resolutions are thus far still gathering momentum. No matter. My New Year’s Resolutions usually never get any traction until about August anyway.
Of course, I jest. I return to work tomorrow after the New Year’s Day holiday and a couple of vacation days, and that return to normalcy/drudgery will be just the kick start I need to begin in earnest my voracious consumption of Shakespeare’s words, as well as the advent of kick-ass abdominals. Not during the workday, naturally.
After I get home.
Where my DVD player is.
Um, yeah, seriously, maybe check back in August for my thoughts on The Tempest.
January 3
A Blog By Any Other Name
I have begun The Tempest, but will hold off on commenting further until I have finished.
In lieu of that, I will undergo a cultural inventory, to establish the baseline, as any scientist would in an experiment. I will also supply a brief biography, which probably should have been my numero uno posting on January 1. Mea culpa.
My name is Andy Oerman. I am 35 years old, 6-foot-six inches tall, weigh 220 pounds, and possess thinning brown hair, but am otherwise in good health. I have good vision, okay hearing, and a streaky but generally killer jump shot from anywhere inside 27 feet.
I am employed as the Supervisor of Copywriting at a prominent Midwestern insurance organization. I bought my first home four months ago in midtown Omaha. Am I single? The best answer to that would be a “yes” preceded by your favored profanity.
I grew up on a farm, am not particularly well traveled, have OCD tendencies, enjoy classical music or sports talk radio on the way to work, and sports talk radio or loud rock-and-roll music on the way home. My favorite bands are the Yeah Yeah Yeahs (although their last album was a step backward, IMHO) and Flyleaf. I watch The Office, which is about the only television show ever that has survived my fandom. My favorite colors are Husker red or Dodger blue, but I really don’t think much about colors, because I’m straight.
The last book I finished was Conqueror Worms, about months of rain driving giant worms from the earth to destroy the remaining humans that weren’t already dead from the flooding. It was penned by Brian Keene, who has been called “the next Stephen King.” Who hasn’t? (I think even Richard Bachman, one of King’s noms de plume, has been called the next Stephen King.) I must say I enjoyed “CW,” although it was about as far from Shakespeare as could be.
My exposure to Shakespeare has been limited, certainly for a post-grad English major. I read Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, and Macbeth in high school, saw the Mel Gibson movie of Hamlet, saw 10 Things I Hate About You (based on The Taming of the Shrew), and own an old vhs copy of Forbidden Planet, which follows the model of The Tempest. (I know that only from reading the Leonard Maltin entry; I wouldn’t have figured that out myself.) Right before Christmas, I watched the Reduced Shakespeare Company’s Complete Works of William Shakespeare, a 90-minute sketch comedy routine that purports to do all of his works, but in actuality spends about 25 minutes on Hamlet. I rated it 3 stars on netflix.* Also, I never saw Shakespeare in Love, out of protest, since I think it robbed Saving Private Ryan of rightful Best Picture honors.
My point is this: I am aware of how pervasive Shakespeare’s influence is in Western culture, even if I haven’t read many of the original works.
There’s my cultural inventory, so we can accurately measure the results of my experiment later. I’m a mixture of redneck, geek and snob.
* Oh yeah, I also have a movie called Romeo and Juliet and Zombies in the Saved section of my netflix queue. Angie, the person who you have to thank (or blame) for this blog, found it for me. I can’t wait for that one. I’m sure that will be like a welcome breath of fetid air.
I have begun The Tempest, but will hold off on commenting further until I have finished.
In lieu of that, I will undergo a cultural inventory, to establish the baseline, as any scientist would in an experiment. I will also supply a brief biography, which probably should have been my numero uno posting on January 1. Mea culpa.
My name is Andy Oerman. I am 35 years old, 6-foot-six inches tall, weigh 220 pounds, and possess thinning brown hair, but am otherwise in good health. I have good vision, okay hearing, and a streaky but generally killer jump shot from anywhere inside 27 feet.
I am employed as the Supervisor of Copywriting at a prominent Midwestern insurance organization. I bought my first home four months ago in midtown Omaha. Am I single? The best answer to that would be a “yes” preceded by your favored profanity.
I grew up on a farm, am not particularly well traveled, have OCD tendencies, enjoy classical music or sports talk radio on the way to work, and sports talk radio or loud rock-and-roll music on the way home. My favorite bands are the Yeah Yeah Yeahs (although their last album was a step backward, IMHO) and Flyleaf. I watch The Office, which is about the only television show ever that has survived my fandom. My favorite colors are Husker red or Dodger blue, but I really don’t think much about colors, because I’m straight.
The last book I finished was Conqueror Worms, about months of rain driving giant worms from the earth to destroy the remaining humans that weren’t already dead from the flooding. It was penned by Brian Keene, who has been called “the next Stephen King.” Who hasn’t? (I think even Richard Bachman, one of King’s noms de plume, has been called the next Stephen King.) I must say I enjoyed “CW,” although it was about as far from Shakespeare as could be.
My exposure to Shakespeare has been limited, certainly for a post-grad English major. I read Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, and Macbeth in high school, saw the Mel Gibson movie of Hamlet, saw 10 Things I Hate About You (based on The Taming of the Shrew), and own an old vhs copy of Forbidden Planet, which follows the model of The Tempest. (I know that only from reading the Leonard Maltin entry; I wouldn’t have figured that out myself.) Right before Christmas, I watched the Reduced Shakespeare Company’s Complete Works of William Shakespeare, a 90-minute sketch comedy routine that purports to do all of his works, but in actuality spends about 25 minutes on Hamlet. I rated it 3 stars on netflix.* Also, I never saw Shakespeare in Love, out of protest, since I think it robbed Saving Private Ryan of rightful Best Picture honors.
My point is this: I am aware of how pervasive Shakespeare’s influence is in Western culture, even if I haven’t read many of the original works.
There’s my cultural inventory, so we can accurately measure the results of my experiment later. I’m a mixture of redneck, geek and snob.
* Oh yeah, I also have a movie called Romeo and Juliet and Zombies in the Saved section of my netflix queue. Angie, the person who you have to thank (or blame) for this blog, found it for me. I can’t wait for that one. I’m sure that will be like a welcome breath of fetid air.
January 2
Night of the Living Dead Bard
Welcome to the first in what I hope will be a year of William Shakespeare-related posts. (I say “hope” because it springs eternal on January 2, maybe less so when basketball games are on ESPN or when the weather gets warmer.) I am inside, safely sheltered from a 1 degree night and falling snow.
About a month ago, I decided to make an early resolution, and declared (via Facebook, so it’s out there for all to see) that I would read the complete works of Shakespeare in 2010, even the sonnets. It was one of my more popular posts, firing the imagination of at least four people. Ahem.
Those four people did, however, give me some good advice, one of whom suggested this very blog. Another of them hinted that a book deal awaits at the end of my journey, and perhaps HUNDREDS of dollars. So there you go.
But even so, the larger question remains: why? Why commit to such a goal as reading the entire works of the Bard?
The answer to that is, in a word, “zombies.”
For some time now I have been widely known as an aficionado of all things zombie: movies (especially), books, occasional comics, even desk toys. My fascination with them is at least partly academic; they are modern times’ most metaphorical monsters. I wrote an “A” paper on them for a grad school class, in which I convincingly made the case for zombies as the ideal post-colonial Marxist heroes.
But no matter the amount of legitimacy I strive to inject into my lifelong love of horror, when revealed it is nearly always met with a raised eyebrow at best or open scorn at worst. So reading Bill’s writings is a solid way to be more publicly respectable.
But my motivation goes deeper than that, and will, I hope, reap benefits of a more personal nature. I am a writer in three capacities: a corporate writer/editor for my career, a writer of critical papers as an English graduate student, and also as a hobby (which I hope soon to turn into an additional source of folding money, if not fame and the adoration of buxom females).
As a three-fold scribe, “voice” is an important consideration to me. The three writers I admire most – Raymond Chandler, William Goldman, and Robert R. McCammon – all have very distinctive voices, or styles. I can write in their styles in my sleep, and manage to inject a bit more pizzazz than average into my corporate writings, as well. Beyond that, it had been a while since I received anything but glowing praise for my prose (at least from anyone that I think knows what they’re talking about).
Until the class I took last semester: Publishing Non-Fiction. Not that my stories were castigated – far from it. I got an ‘A,’ and everybody who read them enjoyed them a lot. It’s just that the professor described the style I used as amusing, but straightforward and “reportive.” He said that my stories might not be a proper fit for some more poetic literary journals. It didn’t occur to me at the time that reportive isn’t a word; I was too busy being offended.
I thought my writing, humorous and pithy though it was, still maintained a certain lyricism where I intended it. It was a subtle slap in the face. Maybe the slap was even nonexistent. Yet I perceived it all the same, and the next day, I resolved to immerse myself in something besides apocalyptic horror, dark fantasy or period mystery.
Since I don’t enjoy poetry per se (my worst graduate paper so far has been a new critical examination of Robert Frost’s The Building Wall*), I thought immediately of Shakespeare. And the rest is … admittedly recent history.
I have not really pondered much the order in which I will read the works. People asked, and all along I said I would read them in the order they appear in the old, cracked faux leather collection I have had since my grandparents left me when they passed. I have not pondered much. I have not plotted out the number of pages I need to read per day or any of that. I’ll just feel it out.
Au revoir. Snow falls on my driveway, and near my recliner The Tempest awaits.
* I think the best kind of poetry generally includes the word “Nantucket.”
Welcome to the first in what I hope will be a year of William Shakespeare-related posts. (I say “hope” because it springs eternal on January 2, maybe less so when basketball games are on ESPN or when the weather gets warmer.) I am inside, safely sheltered from a 1 degree night and falling snow.
About a month ago, I decided to make an early resolution, and declared (via Facebook, so it’s out there for all to see) that I would read the complete works of Shakespeare in 2010, even the sonnets. It was one of my more popular posts, firing the imagination of at least four people. Ahem.
Those four people did, however, give me some good advice, one of whom suggested this very blog. Another of them hinted that a book deal awaits at the end of my journey, and perhaps HUNDREDS of dollars. So there you go.
But even so, the larger question remains: why? Why commit to such a goal as reading the entire works of the Bard?
The answer to that is, in a word, “zombies.”
For some time now I have been widely known as an aficionado of all things zombie: movies (especially), books, occasional comics, even desk toys. My fascination with them is at least partly academic; they are modern times’ most metaphorical monsters. I wrote an “A” paper on them for a grad school class, in which I convincingly made the case for zombies as the ideal post-colonial Marxist heroes.
But no matter the amount of legitimacy I strive to inject into my lifelong love of horror, when revealed it is nearly always met with a raised eyebrow at best or open scorn at worst. So reading Bill’s writings is a solid way to be more publicly respectable.
But my motivation goes deeper than that, and will, I hope, reap benefits of a more personal nature. I am a writer in three capacities: a corporate writer/editor for my career, a writer of critical papers as an English graduate student, and also as a hobby (which I hope soon to turn into an additional source of folding money, if not fame and the adoration of buxom females).
As a three-fold scribe, “voice” is an important consideration to me. The three writers I admire most – Raymond Chandler, William Goldman, and Robert R. McCammon – all have very distinctive voices, or styles. I can write in their styles in my sleep, and manage to inject a bit more pizzazz than average into my corporate writings, as well. Beyond that, it had been a while since I received anything but glowing praise for my prose (at least from anyone that I think knows what they’re talking about).
Until the class I took last semester: Publishing Non-Fiction. Not that my stories were castigated – far from it. I got an ‘A,’ and everybody who read them enjoyed them a lot. It’s just that the professor described the style I used as amusing, but straightforward and “reportive.” He said that my stories might not be a proper fit for some more poetic literary journals. It didn’t occur to me at the time that reportive isn’t a word; I was too busy being offended.
I thought my writing, humorous and pithy though it was, still maintained a certain lyricism where I intended it. It was a subtle slap in the face. Maybe the slap was even nonexistent. Yet I perceived it all the same, and the next day, I resolved to immerse myself in something besides apocalyptic horror, dark fantasy or period mystery.
Since I don’t enjoy poetry per se (my worst graduate paper so far has been a new critical examination of Robert Frost’s The Building Wall*), I thought immediately of Shakespeare. And the rest is … admittedly recent history.
I have not really pondered much the order in which I will read the works. People asked, and all along I said I would read them in the order they appear in the old, cracked faux leather collection I have had since my grandparents left me when they passed. I have not pondered much. I have not plotted out the number of pages I need to read per day or any of that. I’ll just feel it out.
Au revoir. Snow falls on my driveway, and near my recliner The Tempest awaits.
* I think the best kind of poetry generally includes the word “Nantucket.”
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