What is the stuff swevenes* are made of? Geoffrey Chaucer doesn’t know. Are they visions of the future? Reflections of one’s mental state? Revelations, or answers to one’s problems?
A DREAM IS A WISH YOUR HEART MAKES, BITCHES.
I was going to post this LAST Wednesday, but SOPA happened. So I dedicated that allotted ”waste time on the Internet” time to, you know, saving the Internet. This time around I both wrote AND called my senators. Which at the very end of the day meant I got twice as many automated e-mails from my state’s senators. Heck, they were still coming in on Monday.
But I digress.
Here are my thoughts on my classes this semester. And after
clicking through Harry Potter and Disney blogs much research, I have learned that funny GIFs and images make everything better. So, have some.
I only really had one resolution for 2012: Get more into technology. Job hunting last semester taught me that employers are looking for social media prowess, and so I dusted off some ancient social networking accounts, namely Twitter and YouTube, that I intend to keep up.
More “resolutions” after the jump.
By Jane Austen. Certainly not her best book, but it’s still witty. And the mere mention of the author’s name is why there was a 4:1 female to male ratio in my Early English Novel class.
Seriously, most guys would rather get their backs waxed than be forced to read a Jane Austen novel. At least the waxing is quick. But Northanger Abbey is shorter than, say, Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, or Emma, and the typical Austen love story is actually kind of put on the back burner. For this post I’m going to juxtapose my opinion of the book with my boyfriend’s. (He read it freshman year, I practically just finished reading it, and I’m a junior.) Does he know that I’m doing this? NO! That’s what makes it fun. :)
When my boyfriend learned that I was reading Northanger Abbey, he visibly cringed. He had read it in Freshman Writing and, having a Y chromosome and identifying as heterosexual, he hated it. He said that I should skip reading it and just say that the point of it was that it was “the defense of novels.”
Yes, and … ?
By Henry Fielding. This will be a wee bit shorter than my other blog posts because Tom Jones is LOOOONNNNG and I’m on kind of a time crunch. It’s upwards of about 900 pages total, at least in my 2001 Oxford World’s Classics copy. So I won’t blog the plot, because Tom Jones has Sparknotes and a 1961 movie that won the Best Picture Academy Award and is pretty congruent with the plot. So, no plot in this post.