It's been a while. I'm sorry loves. I took the winter break at face value and did exactly that: break. I read what I wanted to read and relaxed doing so; I managed four books to be exact: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larrson, The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot, Bossypants by Tina Fey, and Dubliners by James Joyce. It was an eclectic and, with the exception of Joyce, fairly light bit.
...Dragon Tattoo was intriguing and I picked up the next book in the series, but I haven't been to see the movie yet. On all accounts, Blomkvist is kind of a man-whore, I can see why people more easily cling to Salander as the championed protagonist, even though she is not at prominent.
...Immortal Life, is the Honors Institute colloquium discussion source and an unwilling read at first. However, I was delightfully surprised with journalistic integrity Skloot managed to retain while coming so close to her subjects. Indeed, the Lacks family comes across not as subjects, but as good-hearted, albeit elusive, folks that happen to have information which Skloot has befriended holistically. The story of the woman behind the most enduring human cell medium in the world and the dubious circumstances in which the original samples were procured is an utterly intriguing one that branches out the borders of the capability of humans (not always in good ways) and ultimately satisfying once you learn to end result of where her grandchildren have ended up.
Bossypants was in short, hilariously wry. If you are a woman who has any intention to act (or act up :), read this for the betterment of the species; it is an amazing reminder and near guidebook on taking a step back from taking yourself too seriously. It was exactly what I needed, to defuse from the Fall semester from hell. I've been going back to it, since to recharge my improv/sarcastic levels and it hasn't failed me yet.
Dubliners, I got as a part of a double edition that included ...Portrait of an Artist. As a side note many thanks to my friends who know that Barnes and Nobel is highly preferred over FYE, when it comes to gift cards. You know me well. I picked the edition up as an indirect Christmas gift, wagering on its usefulness in my Irish History class this spring. While Yeats gets a day on the syllabus, Joyce unfortunately doesn't, so my effort was for not. On the upside, I've developed a wicked bad Irish accent, by reading the fifteen tales of Dubliners partially out loud, so some good has come of it. The stories themselves are intricate, and written in what I fondly call "Middlemarch-ese" in a dry reference to George Elliot's multi-tome that while considered a classic was, in my opinion, overwritten. It leads one to wonder why this style is so highly considered. Perhaps its a sophisticate way of condescending to those (all modern writers) who don't bother with telling us every detail. Not that the style doesn't have its benefits or anachronisms, or that my preference of a more paced plot is a sad commentary. I believe it has its place, and if I were to adapt Dubliners for the stage for instance (which is a distinct possibility), much of the quite useless detail would go away, as I go so far as to say that it is not even metaphorically useful and provides no subtext.
Other than that I just chilled. I finally glazed one of the acrylics in the kitchen, it now looks warmer and not so flat, I used Slo-Dri blending medium so it also has a glossy finish to match the other two. I worked, quite a bit.
And now it's back to the grindstone. I'm keeping up with my readings so far, got almost all my books and I'm trying to keep from being stressed with the responsibility of finishing those application essays. It's odd the see the two month mark come and pass for Columbia and Barnard.
Taxes and FAFSA filed my loves. I'm out for now.