Skiving (but without snackboxes)

The lovely thing about Georgia is that you can eat lunch outside on the last day of November.

And the lovely thing about state universities? You can be a terrible student without any risk of losing your scholarship.

Okay, maybe "terrible" is too strong. But I'm quite definitely a bad student--and my professors all seem to think I'm a very good one.

On a typical Thursday, I get up around 8, get dressed, throw together a quick lunch (yogurt, banana, Kashi bar), and drive to Linguisitcs. Despite my good intentions, I'm usually 5-10 minutes late.

I like linguistics reasonably well. Unfortunately, though, the professor is rather boring, and most of the students are perpetually clueless. So I do my homework in class. This usually takes no more than 10 minutes, despite the fact that I never read the textbook. Then I do my theory homework, which is due later that day (all the while keeping half an ear open in case he calls on me, and glancing up at strategic intervals with an interested expression).

Theory homework completed, I check my cell phone. Still half an hour left. I pull out my faithful red notebook and start sketching out the next scene of my novel. I have to be careful, though: when I write dialogue, I have a tendency to start mouthing the words and making appropriate facial expressions. The writing makes me look attentive; but facial contortions look suspicious--and while prof is a bit absent-minded, he doesn't lecture with his eyes closed.

After linguistics, I drive 15 minutes to the music building. Here I have "Skills"--50 minutes of sight-singing, rhythm-counting, dictation-taking frustration. I actually do some work for this class, but it never seems to help.

Then it's lunch & email-checking in the Mac lab, and on to theory--good subject, bad prof. Well, he's not bad exactly--but about the second week of the semester I realized that his brain processes theory very differently than mine does. So I simply don't listen in class, and figure things out when I'm doing homework in Linguistics.

The homework isn't due until 5:00, technically; but I always turn it in at the end of class. This allows me to get some organ practice in before work--which mostly involves sitting behind a desk from 5-8:30. Just long enough to read a short novel. Then it's 45 minutes home, and I have just time to finish the novel or watch a TV episode before bed. (This semester I've been watching Bones, Heroes, Boomtown, and Wonderfalls.)

This is the pattern of my Tuesdays and Thursdays. Not a bad pattern, really, though it's a bit too nomadic for my state. A couple of weeks ago, though, I changed it.

The worst part of my nomadic lifestyle is that it often prevents me from seeing movies. I had already missed at least 2 that I was excited about, and on Wednesday I realized that another movie I was interested (The Darjeeling Limited) in would be gone on Friday. Also, I was half a week into a really nasty cold.

So when I woke up Thursday morning, feeling horrible, and thought about my linguistics class, I rolled over and went back to sleep. By the time I woke up again, linguistics was half over, and if I ate breakfast I wouldn't have time to make Skills.

I ate breakfast.

Then I drove downtown, and sat in the windowless Mac lab trying to care about my theory homework--until it suddenly struck me that I could skp Theory, too, and go to the afternoon showing of The Darjeeling Limited.

It was a perfect fall day: deep blue skies above crazily colored trees--bright yellow, rich gold, crimson, purple-red, and orange; and the wind was just cold and strong enough to make you want adventure.

It was the wind's fault, really. I cast off my last vestige of good-studenthood, and went to the movie.

Oddly enough, it was the perfect movie for the mood I was in. Best part of my week. Well, except for the epiphanic church-playing and the Magic Tea. And the blind date wasn't too bad, either. But those are whole other stories. :-)

The Golden Controversy

For the past couple of years, I've found it ironic that conservative Christians complained so much about Harry Potter while remaining oblivious to His Dark Materials, a popular young adult fantasy trilogy. Harry Potter's portrayal of magic is innocuous; His Dark Materials, on the other hand, is deliberately subversive--and its main target is Christianity.

Now that the trilogy's being filmed, of course, all that has changed. Christian groups are organizing boycotts, Hanna Rosin is writing articles . . . . and the director, is desperately trying to convince people to watch his movie.

The really ironic part? The studio apparently insisted on diluting (or deleting) all the religious references in the first book, in an effort to pacify Christians. The Christians weren't fooled, though--so all they've done is upset the fans and the atheists. Hence the poor director's desperation. (He hasn't said he's desperate, but when you keep protesting that "Nobody's seen the movie!"--well, you sound a little desperate.)

Rosin's article does a good job outlining the concerns of both sides. It also has a good summary of the trilogy's major plot points, if you want to get an idea of the storyline without reading the books (otherwise--spoiler warning!). It also has some fascinating quotes by the author, Philip Pullman, and the director, Chris Weitz.

The trilogy's title comes from Paradise Lost, and the story revolves around the idea of the Fall. This much is clear in the first book, The Golden Compass (or The Northern Lights, if you're British. American publishers seem to like changing titles, for some reason). But it's not until the second book, The Subtle Knife, that you realize where the story is going. In The Amber Spyglass (the final book), the ideology starts to take precedence over the story, which becomes increasingly slow, dull, and frustrating as a result. The long-delayed climax is, well, anti-climactic. (Though it has nothing against the weather. :-)

It would be nice if I could simply dismiss the books, but it's not quite that simple. The Golden Compass is among the best of recent fantasy novels. It has rich and complex characters, a fully-developed and fascinating parallel universe, and a well-constructed, exciting plot . . . all building to a climax that is shocking and beautiful, and leaves you eager for more.

Sadly, the more doesn't measure up . . . the second book, while good, doesn't work quite as well; and the third, as I said, is kind of a mess. Not only because it gets hijacked by its own "message," but because it's argument against Christianity is fallacious (the famous "straw man," in fact). Basically, he sees the Fall as represented the change from innocence to experience, from childhood to adulthood. In the book--and in his own explanation of the book--this is defined in sexual terms:

“This is exactly what happens in the Garden of Eden,” Pullman told me. “They become aware of sexuality, of the power the body has to attract attention from someone else. This is not only natural, but a wonderful thing! To be celebrated! Why the Christian Church has spent 2,000 years condemning this glorious moment, well, that’s a mystery. I want to confront that, I suppose, by telling a story that this so-called original sin is anything but. It’s the thing that makes us fully human.

A complete misreading of the Genesis story, obviously . . . and not the way any branch of orthodox Christianity has ever interpreted it. (It's hardly surprising that Pullman also misreads Lewis--calling Narnia "morally loathsome . . . ugly and poisonous," apparently because he thinks it advocates eternal childhood and denigrates sexuality.)

And that's hardly all; we've also got a rebellion against "the Authority," who turns out to be a senile angel who's pretended to be the Creator in order to control people. (There isn't a Creator. Life comes from Dust . . . but that's another post.) Our youthful protagonists end up killing him. Accidentally; he's glad to die, though. Turns out death is a happy thing, where we dissolve into molecules that float off and become part of the grass and the trees and the sky, and we'd rather have that than a purely spiritual afterlife.

So, given all this, how does one respond to the movie? I'm kind of looking forward to it, honestly. It looks like the filmmakers have done a brilliant job translating Pullman's world to the screen, and like I said, The Golden Compass is a really good story.

For anyone with children or young siblings, though, I'd advise caution. Weitz has explained that he hopes this one is a big hit so he can make the next two without watering them down--and, given the nature of the stories, I don't see how they could be made at all without the religious (or anti-religious) ideas taking center stage. It would be easy to get excited about the first movie, and not realize until later where it was gong . . . which could be a problem with children who aren't old enough to understand the issues.

For older fantasy fans, though, I'd recommend the first book. And the movie? Well, I haven't seen it yet. :-)

There's "woo!" and there's *serious* "hoo!"

Joss Whedon has a deal for a new TV show!!

With Eliza Dushku in the lead role!!

Yes, this occasion merits double exclamation points!!

But . . . there's also "uh-oh" and "why now?".

'Cause the Hollywood writer's strike is going to delay it.

(See Whedonesque for more details.)