The End of An Era

Base, contemptible , deceitful, devious, disingenuous, double-dealing, duplicitous, furtive, guileful, indirect, low, malicious, mean, nasty, recreant, secretive, shifty, slippery, sly, sneaking, snide, stealthy, surreptitious, tricky, underhand, unscrupulous

I’ve been had. I am ashamed. I’ve fallen prey to your motives. I am aghast.

Our first class, I was relieved to find out that my final semester at St. Francis would involve absolutely NO PAPERS! I have been at this college thing entirely too long to devote any more of my time writing about topics that aren’t related to my major. Is Professional Studies a real major, anyway? Oh well, no papers regardless! Until I printed out my blogs and realized I had written a heck of a lot more than I would have in a five page paper!!!!

Then I considered that blogs would be fun, a way to utilize my creative writing skills. You see, in the Catholic schools I attended you weren’t really allowed to express yourself creatively on paper; if you weren’t citing someone, your paper wasn’t worth reading. Perhaps writing blogs will be time consuming, I thought, but the positives outweighed the negatives.

When I began writing my blogs, I honestly didn’t know where to start. For me, expressing myself for the entire world to see was a daunting task – partly because I’m somewhat of a perfectionist, but mostly because I loathe pressure situations. Having to complete three blogs a week and meet a deadline was stress I didn’t necessarily need. I’m overreacting, I know. Drama queen: guilty as charged.

As the weeks rolled by, I really took interest in my classmates’ blogs; I was eager to see what everyone thought about the texts, our class discussions and in addition, their own life experiences. After the first few weeks of class I was certain that this class represented the best group of students I’ve ever had class with at St. Francis. I respected many of the students in the class for their intelligence, a representative group I’ve been hard pressed to find in my many years here.

I thoroughly enjoyed reading your blogs as well, professor. All semester long, I thought you did an amazing job of presenting the material before, during and after class, via your own blog. I liked to quickly refer to it each week before class to get myself “in the zone”. I thought it was a savvy alternative to the antiquated Blackboard system that most teachers fail to make use of. Kudos.

To be honest, what I found most interesting about writing my blog was how difficult it was for me to do it at set points during the week, in lieu of most often writing all three a few days before class. I tried my best to do it in an organized fashion: on a Thursday, Sunday and Tuesday. I found it incredibly difficult to do so, which brings me to what I would change about my blog if I had the chance to do so.

Besides doing my blog on a set schedule, I would refer more frequently to the blogs of my classmates in my own. I truly did appreciate having the option of indirectly gaining insight from others who have knowledge about topics that might have confused me. I regret not giving them the proper credit they deserve.

Dopey Fucked a Penguin

I literally laughed out loud when I read that part of Tom's journal.
Dopey. Having sex. With a penguin.
Priceless.

What would Snow White have said?

Will and Tom, and their relationship altogether, made me think about a good friend of mine. She is an identical twin who grew up in her sister's shadow in every way possible. Nothing she ever did compared to her sister's long list of achievements and accolades. She was forever runner up, even though she was born a minute earlier.

I could never imagine having a twin, nor do I think the world would have been ready for something like that in 1981. I was trouble enough without a mirror image of my psychotic self.

Having a twin does come in handy, no doubt. The girl to whom I'm referring is actually getting married in a few months. Any normal girl would try on her dresses and choose her favorite, you know, the one she has dreamed about her entire life. Well, my friend is a special case.
When she goes this weekend to look for a wedding gown, her twin sister is actually wearing the dresses for her, so she can have a better view of what she'll look like walking down the aisle.

Tom, by giving his life for the sake of his brother, and practically saving his brother's marriage, did everything short of trying on gowns for him.
That pervert probably would have.

If Walls Could Talk

I am a child of the 1990's; I remember when KTU was new to the airwaves, when wearing t-shirts with cartoon characters in baggy clothes (from front and back) was cool, and when there was still some signs of order in this crazy world.

I know that sounds pessimistic, but after working with middle schoolers since 8:00 this morning, it happens. Am I alone? I'm sure someone else must remember when, if you were running at full speed down the hallway and a teacher opened their door and yelled stop running, you would. I'm sure someone must recall a time when you went to church on Sunday because if you didn't, someone would be disappointed. Anyone. And that mattered.

In House of Leaves, as the relationship between the Navidson's deteriorated, and in turn, an expansive void appeared, a culture defined by its loss of morality came to mind. I was there when it appeared, and now I'm suffering the consequences: their children. For Navidson, Zampano, and everyone else who tried to figure out the reason for the nothingness that occupied those dark, immeasurable hallways, we as a culture must also look for answers.

When will respect be "in" again?

When will it be "cool" to listen to a teacher when they ask you to do something?

When can I wear my t-shirt again? You know, the one with Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd in baggy jeans and gold chains?

Avoidance at all costs

For three years, I've been asking myself the same questions on my way home from work/school: What am having for dinner? Do I have homework? What's on TV tonight? Is there enough wine in the apartment?

Four weeks ago, after much thought, I decided to make a conscious effort to cease all drinking during the work week. Why?

I was a wino. A lush. A poor man's Amy Winehouse, decidely not in rehab.
I was wasted. I was boxed. I was my liver's arch nemesis.
I was trashed, I was twisted, I was one martini short of Karen Walker.

But, why?
Avoidance.

I started drinking every night three years ago when I moved into my first apartment. My first night there I became close friends with the man who owned the liquor store on the corner. To be honest, I'm not sure if that relationship could be defined as friendship, considering the only thing he knew about me was that I liked when he had gallon bottles of Carlo Rossi Sangria in stock.

So recently, when I viewed my progress over the past three years in every aspect of my life, I realized that, while in my coulded state of mashed-grape euphoria, I was a loser. I am still making shit money; I still have little idea of what i'd like to do with my life, or at least haven't made many moves to clearly define it, anyway; I'm still a child at heart, in all the wrong ways.

I can relate to Johnny Truant. I see why he lived the life he did, full of boozing, promiscuity, and drugs. After his distressing childhood, he created a life for himself devoid of responsibility, a world I can relate to. It's a fun life; a sad life really, and therefore, I had to make a change.

I am proud of Johnny for ending his substance abuse so that he could remember the small details that make life worth living; the details that help everything make sense.
I hope he would be proud of me.

Skip It

The only parts of the novel I skipped, and I'm being completely honest, were the long lists of references and the scientific garble that appeared a small number times throughout the novel.
For the most part, part of my difficulty reading the book was that there seemed to be so much more to read than the page appeared to contain. I am usually a ridiculously fast reader - no such luck with this bad boy. It took me hours to read less than 35 pages. NEVER IN MY LIFE! It was beyond frustrating!

********************

Terence tried to find every opportunity he could to read The House of Leaves. From the outset, the book intrigued him, as he quickly flipped through it on the elevator ride upstairs after purchasing it in the bookstore. After reading the back of the text, Terence though for sure, he'd enjoy the book as much , if not more, as he had the others read during his final semester at St. Francis College. That night after class, while impatiently expecting the R train, he finally dove head first into the readings and was immediately concerned. Was this going to be one of those books that doesn't really have meaning but makes you think it does until the very end when you come up empty?

After shaking off such pessimistic thoughts, he started to realize that although it wasn't an easy book to read, he found it surprisingly interesting. At that point, anyway. As he read, Terence began to realize that the analysis of the film, without the footnotes provided by Truant, was reminiscent of an academic paper, a thesis almost, and that sat well with him. When he felt compelled, however, to read the footnotes in courier, he became confuse, discouraged, and annoyed. Why is Truant such a mess?, he thought, while forcing himself to read on. The answer never really came. And that didn't sit well with Terence.
Before he knew it, Wednesday rolled around and the reading had only gotten more difficult. There were fifty pages left to read, and trying to make sense of it all was a painstaking process that Terence almost didn't have time for. "Onward!", he reminded himself, but to no avail, he repeatedly found himself rereading passages that had irked him before, and no change, they did once again. Please God, he thought, please strike lightening on this book and make it disappear! But you do appreciate the book, don't you, the little angel on his shoulder said. YES! Unfortunately I do! But that still doesn't make it any easier, he replied.

When a house is not a house

For the Navidson's, their house was a sort of new beginning; time away from modeling for Karen, the children could have a grounded home life with both parents present, and Tom, could see to all matters familial, for once and for all. When they returned form vacation, the change in the house triggered a change in them, or a return perhaps, to a place they were before the move; distance again separating the two partners as it had before. This time however, the distance lie behind a door that apparently appeared from nowhere, a dark void like that in the relationship between Karen and Tom.

What lies behind the door at this point is one thing: a secret. Is there a being behind the door, growling in the darkness? Will it eventually attack those who enter the dark space? Or is the space a metaphor for the darkness inside, the beast within, another biblical reference to join the many in the novel. Secrets are no stranger to the inhabitants of that house: Was Karen truly unfaithful? We witness a moment of weakness when a kiss is exchanged in the house while Tom is preoccupied. Is it true that Navidson is a closeted homosexual, as suggested in a footnote early in the novel? There is certainly no evidence of this accusation, but is an interesting angle none the less.

I wish I could decipher more about the hidden meaning behind the book. The truth is there's so much happening at once that it makes it difficult for me to narrow it all down. I'm hoping in the second half of the novel the secrets are revealed and there is some closure to such an open-ended piece of literature.

Character Sketch

Karen Green

• Former model

Pg. 11: "Once a model with the Ford Agency in New York, she has since put behind her the life of Milan fashion shoots and Venetian Masques in order to raise her two children.

• Practical to a fault

Pg. 30: "Karen refuses the knowledge (of the inconsistency in measurement of the house). A reluctant Eve who prefers tangerines to apples. "I don't care," she tells Navidson. "Stop drilling holes in my walls." Later in the text, she resorts to phone calls to her mother and friends to deter thinking about what is occurring in the house.

• Gatherer

Pg. 37: "She remains watchful and willing to let the bizarre dimensions of her house gestate within her. She challenges its irregularity by introducing normalcy: her friend's presence, bookshelves, peaceful conversation. In this respect, Karen acts as the quintessential gatherer".