Wednesday, July 30, 2003
I wish they would stop changing Blogger. It only creates confusion and misery.
My life as a telemarketeer has come to an end, so far. Thankfully. I have now returned to life as an unemployed sofa-wrestler, which is actually not bad at all.
The Story of the Novel dedicated pretty much an entire episode to James Joyce, of which I was grateful, and they even managed to do him justice. Of course, they seemed to forget that Joyce did not actually invent the stream of consciousness technique, but I guess that's a common mistake to make.
Jeanette Winterson remarked that: 'Modernism is a poet's movement' and refers to the importance of the exactness of word, of which I hadn't thought before, but which makes completely sense.
Other than that; Woolf, Lawrence, Orwell and Faulkner, among others, but the main man was truly Joyce. And he was, wasn't he?!
He foresaw his pale body reclined in [the bath] at full, naked, in a womb of warmth, oiled by scented melting soap, softly laved. He saw his trunk and limbs riprippled over and sustained, buoyed lightly upward, lemonyellow: his navel, bud of flesh: and saw the dark tangled curls of his bush floating, floating hair of the stream around the linp father of thousands, a languid floating flower.
Saw Secretary last night which I loved. So there's a bit that's a bit crap; the almost-wedding and the sit-athon in the office, but it was visually wonderful and Maggie Gyllenhaal is brilliant, she managed to make her Lee adorable and endearing in her shy awkwardness. The chemistry between the two leads was good - their love-story is appealing and attractive.
Monday night my boyfriend's band was playing at Cargo - it's such a cool venue and it went really well, so if you should ever stumble across Poisonflow (name debatable, I know), you should check them out.
Things I Don't Know, 5:
If it was David on the Jubilee Line last week around 6 p.m., getting on at Swiss Cottage and alighting at Green Park.
My life as a telemarketeer has come to an end, so far. Thankfully. I have now returned to life as an unemployed sofa-wrestler, which is actually not bad at all.
The Story of the Novel dedicated pretty much an entire episode to James Joyce, of which I was grateful, and they even managed to do him justice. Of course, they seemed to forget that Joyce did not actually invent the stream of consciousness technique, but I guess that's a common mistake to make.
Jeanette Winterson remarked that: 'Modernism is a poet's movement' and refers to the importance of the exactness of word, of which I hadn't thought before, but which makes completely sense.
Other than that; Woolf, Lawrence, Orwell and Faulkner, among others, but the main man was truly Joyce. And he was, wasn't he?!
He foresaw his pale body reclined in [the bath] at full, naked, in a womb of warmth, oiled by scented melting soap, softly laved. He saw his trunk and limbs riprippled over and sustained, buoyed lightly upward, lemonyellow: his navel, bud of flesh: and saw the dark tangled curls of his bush floating, floating hair of the stream around the linp father of thousands, a languid floating flower.
Saw Secretary last night which I loved. So there's a bit that's a bit crap; the almost-wedding and the sit-athon in the office, but it was visually wonderful and Maggie Gyllenhaal is brilliant, she managed to make her Lee adorable and endearing in her shy awkwardness. The chemistry between the two leads was good - their love-story is appealing and attractive.
Monday night my boyfriend's band was playing at Cargo - it's such a cool venue and it went really well, so if you should ever stumble across Poisonflow (name debatable, I know), you should check them out.
Things I Don't Know, 5:
If it was David on the Jubilee Line last week around 6 p.m., getting on at Swiss Cottage and alighting at Green Park.
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