Ismene and Scooby Snacks

So, Oedipus. Man, that's just gross. And I can't believe it took him that long to figure it out. I mean, I could never solve the mysteries on "Scooby Doo", but I think I would have noticed after ten years that I was banging my mom. I would have figured out the prophecy was about me from some basic deduction, perhaps with a Sherlock Holmes cap. Like, the chick I was procreating with looked a lot like me, my kids had webbed feet, this prophecy keeps coming back to haunt me, foreshadowing music plays in the background every time this guy who kills his father and marries his mom is mentioned, etc. Maybe the gang in the Mystery Machine and I have an advantage over Oedipus in that we both have Scooby snacks. Mine come in the form of S'Mores Poptarts, which I eat about every day in your class, Mr. C.

My first thoughts about Antigone actually have to do with her sister, Ismene. Now I've told my opinion about Ismene to just about everyone, from Mr. Greenlee to Greg. It's written all over the margins in my English book. Ismene is a tool. If Ismene were alive today and still ticking me off as she did some 3000 years ago (or whatever, I don't really remember Civ I other than Mr. Phillips introduced me to the awesomeness that is Metallica), I would put this on her locker:

Urban dictionary defines "tool" as, "someone who tries too hard. a poser. one of those chicks who holds the sign saying 'Carson Daly is Hot.' the &$%#@! who goes to a rock show because they heard one of the songs on the radio or mtv. or someone who insists on wearing velour sweat suits. Avril Lavigne," with the example sentence reading, "Jane is a tool because she dresses like Avril Lavigne while listening to New Found Glory and Dashboard Confessional just because Carson Daly told her to." Ismene at first doesn't help Antigone because she doesn't have the guts to bury her brother (it seems that Antigone inherited the guts in this family—perhaps something weird from the incest). But then, when Antigone is getting all this press coverage for burying her brother, Ismene bursts into the palace and yells (paraphrased), "I DID IT TOO!" to which Antigone responds (paraphrased), "Dude, you poser." Ismene represents the people who jump on bandwagons. She represents everyone who enjoyed the movie 'Napoleon Dynamite'.

But seriously, why do I despise Ismene, the tool, so much? Well, Antigone first approaches her about the burying Polynices to the person she trusts most: her beloved sister. Her sister thinks it's a swell idea, but doesn't have the courage to go forth with Antigone. Ouch to the family bond. This reminds me of a quote from one of my favorite movies of all time, Batman Begins, when Henri Ducard proclaims, "The training is nothing! The will is everything! The will to act." Then he beats up the future Batman in the wilderness of Tibet. What I'm trying to say here is Ismene's good intentions but lack of willpower to follow through with them make her worse than someone who lacked the good intentions at all. And she only voices her opinion on the matter after Antigone gets lots of attention about it. Ismene is an attention-seeking tool who might have become that way through the weird incest thing her parents had going on.

I was first a bit weirded out by Haemon because he was Antigone's cousin and they were going to be married. Thank goodness that's only legal in like West Virginia and weird parts of Utah. But then I realized he was okay. It was a bit of a low blow on Creon's part to be dissing Haemon's manliness. Even if Antigone wears the pants in the relationship. But Haemon was truly digging Antigone's view on the dead brother matter. So hard to find that in a guy.

In other news, I went to a comic book convention last weekend. That is much cooler than it sounds. However, I am troubled that I need to be eighteen years old to join the Rebel Alliance. Also, I read some excellent graphic novels. Plus I met the original Chewbacca. Now I can play "Let It Be" on my mandolin. I still have yet to have a proper lesson on the bizarre instrument, but teaching myself is going rather well. I sold my soul to Mr. Burns and might never get it back. Because, after the musical, I'm directing a one-act. My play is to be determined, but it will be awesome. Everyone should go see it. April 24th, guys. SCHOOL SPIRIT! It should be like Game Day, only more intentionally funny. Also, I've heard the musical is going to be awesome, mostly because I talk with a Brooklyn accent and Jimmy plays himself in ten years. Contrary to what you may think, "Bye Bye Birdie!" is not about an aviary or badminton. It is about girls swooning over Eric.

And now I'm going to roll bowling balls down Camelback Mountain and into my neighbor's pool. (830)

Knowing the Meaning of Life a Little Too Late

Well. Now that I'm done riding off the high that is a better-than-even-I-expected senior speech, here we are back in the oft-forgotten world of English blogs. Actually, before I get ranting, I would like to note one thing. Having a good senior speech is like your second birthday of the year. Seriously, with everyone congratulating you, and the balloons, and the free food (Deepa's mother makes some wicked awesome chicken curry), and the accolades, who wouldn't feel as loved as you are on your birthday? It's really awesome.

So, "The Death of Ivan Iliych". What a downer. Now, I know Ivan can be compared to Christ, especially when this was written in Tolstoy's "Holy cow, Christianity!" phase. But I see Ivan as more of a Job guy. Ivan had a good life. Maybe Job was a nicer guy, but Ivan wasn't exactly a terrible enemy. Suddenly, he has all of this suffering going on in his life, and the only thing he really did wrong was have an unextraordinary life. That's what a lot of us have. I found the novella particularly sad when, towards the very end of his life, Ivan no longer hates his family, but feels sorry for them, because he found true joy and they'll always live their materialistic lives. But before he can share this joy, he dies. Perhaps he dies from his first true moment of unselfish love.

Other than writing my college essays, I am now spending a considerable amount of time teaching myself the mandolin, a strange gift I gave myself this Christmas. It's really a fun instrument. Plus, the mandolin has the same strings as the violin—in fact, it's like the violin, but without a bow. The notes are in pretty much the same place. I can play two songs right now: "You Are My Sunshine" and the Beatles's "All My Loving". This repretoire will expand once I get actual music books and mandolin lessons. My ultimate fantasy is being able to bring my mandolin to school and jam during my frees. We'll see.

(345)