apricity; N. THE WARMTH OF THE SUN IN WINTER (a word I won’t be using any time soon)
What hours I spent of precious time,
What pints of ink I used to waste,
Attempting to secure a rhyme
To suit the public taste,
Until I found a simple plan
Which makes the lamest lyric scan!
When I’ve a syllable de trop,
I cut it off without apol.
This verbal sacrifice, I know,
May irritate the schol.
But all must praise my dev’lish cunn.
Who realize that time is mon.
My sense remains as clear as cryst.,
My style as pure as any duch.
Who does not boast a bar sinist.
Upon her fam. escutch.,
And I can treat with scornful pit.
The sneers of ev’ry captious crit.
I gladly publish to the pop.
A scheme of which I make no myst.,
And beg my fellow scribes to cop.
This labor-saving syst.
I offer it to the consid.
Of ev’ry thoughtful individ.
The author, working like a beav.,
His readers’ pleasure could redoub.,
Did he but now and then abbrev.
The works he gives his pub.,
Did Upton Sinc. or Edith Whart.
Curtail their output by a quart.
If Mr. Caine rewrote “The Scape.”,
And Miss Corell. condensed “Barabb.”,
What could they save in foolscap pape.
Did they but cultivate the hab.
Which teaches people to suppress
All syllables that are unnec.!
If playwrights would but thus dimin.
The length of time each drama takes
(“The Second Mrs. Tanq.” by Pin.
Or even “Ham.” by Shakes.),
We could maintain a wakeful att.
When at a mat. on Wed. or Sat.
Foll. my examp., O Maurice Hewl.
When next you cater for the mill.;
You, too, immortal Mr. Dool.
And Ella Wheeler Wil.;
And share with me the grave respons.
Of writing this amazing nons.!
– Harry Graham, in Life, December 1909
Living in Seattle and knowing approximately 8 people instead of juggling 5 friend groups (and their extensions) like I did in CO has had an interesting long-ish term effect. At least, I think it’s interesting because it has to do with MY brain. and since this is MY blog, MY brain is super important to this BLOG. alug.
I am sort of an “out there” person according to some people, although, if you ask someone else, they might say I am “slightly eccentric” or if you ask someone else, they would say I am a normal 22 year old experimenting in all that life has to offer, taking by force what it doesn’t, AND POSTING ABOUT IT on this here blogalug.
On the topic of millions of friends vs. surrounded only by people who love you, I HAVE HAD A DRASTIC CHANGE of environment. The noticeable difference is that I rely less on outlandish sexiness and have more faith in my DAZZLING WIT, YA’LL, like it, like it, like it, do ya?
I feel a lot funnier and say exactly what I am thinking and feeling and do, sporadically, exactly what I want to do and I have never felt less crazy in my life. I think the key is not being surrounded by people who don’t understand or appreciate or fit into my style of communication (not that it is bad to be surrounded by that, it is GREAT, but the fact is, I AM CURRENTLY NOT.)
The debate about funny women and women being funny and can women be funny? is one that touches close to my heart because I think many of my female friends are riotously funny, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE, Monika Abraham, Christina Kelly, Laura Reilly, Kelly Gilmore, Kelly Fedderson, Juliet Gordon, Hannah Concannon, Emily Krakoff, Becca Schwarts, Kyla Pellouchoud, Becca Von Trapp, Sarah Bernstein, etc. I consider myself funny if you consider sardonic absurdity and self deprecating wit and over the top whimsy funny-ish, or, if you’d rather, you like bad punz, then yes, I consider myself funny. But not funny like cool, funny like, WHAT THE FUCK or funny like OOOO sparkles! perezhilton, keats? huh? HAHA! some people don’t get it and that may be because there is nothing to get except for the ability to laugh at yourself.
The ladies mentioned earlier are genuinely witty, and I couldn’t take that away from them. These women have the confidence to wax it on even when they’re around people who they don’t know very well. They make their own rhetorical stage and own the shit out of it. Something about women’s wit is wicked, lightninglike, and perhaps that is because it is unexpected. In the context of history, perhaps unnecessary.
Since my stage is 8 people who think I am the bee’s tits, let’s say I own it. It’s a small stomping ground after all.
Men get their funny from banter, shock value, repeating one liners from the fabric of their bro-culture at opportune or creative moments. Men’s comedy is often more rhythmically paced.
Funny women use timing, but their timing is a slice instead of a beat. Just like a woman’s most effective tool of seduction is a well placed side glance and a sarcastic smirk and a subtle swiping comment, a man’s is swooping in at just the right time, a classic line might work, but only if it has a surprising twist.
Timing Vs. Pacing.
Think about this juxtaposition in terms of the traditional gender binary. I am a staunch advocate of breaking down gender binaries, and I think most human beings, and especially creative-types, break these binaries constantly, and, by extension, traditional constructions of gender oriented humor. Take it as you will.
This is my own fucking opinion. call me a lipstick feminist or call me a self aggrandizing know it all, fuck it. I was never a very good seductress anyway, so what the heck do I know? subtle-ty is not my forte. At least, not without a sideshow.
But I feel funny all the time now and my clothing is no longer a Sabe body double to my Queen Amidala.
I still wear what I want but what I want to wear is less sexy. Maybe that is because I am less single, or maybe that is because I am less interested in appearing appealing and more confident that the people I am surrounded by are more dazzled by my energy of ME-NESS and less by the sartorial theatrics. the side-show.
In CO, I felt comfortable with a lot of people to a certain extent, and often relied upon performing myself to continue connecting with them if I wasn’t feeling particularly comfortable or sociable…clothes became the talking point. Clothes are easy because appearance is the most obvious and visceral impression THAT YOU IMPRESS upon people in the very first second you interact or intersect or interject your presence into their experience, or vision, or whatever. having a story about your clothing is rather like making yourself into a children’s book for adults (albeit, child-like adults– FASHION WORLD, YOU ARE JUST AS BAD IF NOT ATROCIOUS WORST THAN A COLLEGE CAMPUS!)
moving along- I do miss going out and knowing every person I see, but I do not miss feeling exhausted by constant (and often failed) attempts to connect with human beings.
For better or for worse, my skin is less cloth and more verbosity, or, more cloth but less presentation, so to speak. Both are good. It is possible to feel just as uncomfortable about yourself with someone you love as it is with someone you barely know. Just as it is possible to be more honest with someone you barely know than it may be to tell the truth to someone you love.
Does this make sense?
Sam, Sarah, Laura, Jamie, Will, Eric, Spencer, yay. You guys make me feel comfortable being the mouthy freak that I am, enough to hold back on the freaky chic. for better or for worse.
but when is enough, enough? already?
p.s. turns out yesterday Suri Cruise wore the same outfit I did to the nutcracker a while back?
see? I told you I’ve toned it down.
I sometimes wish that I would be ok with disappearing, like a monster, like a fish, into the tide, but I am just not, ok? So until then, this blog.
Until then, I’ve sworn off facebook for a week. only a week.