Don't read this if you're not into House

Jumping the shark is an idiom used to describe the moment of downturn for a previously successful enterprise. The phrase was originally used to denote the point in a television program's history where the plot spins off into absurd storylines or unlikely characterizations. These changes were often the result of efforts to revive interest in a show whose audience had begun to decline, usually through the employment of different actors, writers or producers (from wikipedia)

Say it ain't sooooooo!!!

The new premier of House has thoroughly pissed me off. It has totally jumped the shark. Excuse the frequent profane interjections. Let's examine:

1. Chase, once again, is a man-whore :( I love all of the jokes House makes because Chase is such a "pretty" guy, but seriously, you're going to try and fuck Thirteen who is not only dying from Huntington's Disease but also had a long relationship with Foreman?!? Party foul supreme. That's not my Chase. There's no way he'd be that much of a douchebag even if there's been some sexual tension between him and Thirteen. It's only because they're two pretty people, not because either cares about the other. Dammit!!

2. House/Cuddy has been brewing since the first season. I'm glad that something finally happened, but I think the manner in which it happened is ridiculous:

• House is 50-something. He has just gone through a terrible ordeal in the last episode...his patient dying among other things. He's even injured and really, really longing for Vicodin. You're not going to have sex 4 times in less than 48 hours. He didn't take Viagra. Logistics, people!!

• Two, House is not that "cute." No. He can have his moments, the key word here being "moments." He doesn't get to be all lovey for almost the entire episode. That is not the House we've been with for 6 seasons. He doesn't get to change just because he got laid.
  

• Three, WTF nakedness?! That Mac scene, where House is naked with just the Mac over his junk....I couldn't even handle that. I'm all for humor in nakedness, but it could have stopped with the neurosurgeon. And WTF was with that?! It was over as soon as it started. It was all about Huddy and not the case. And Cuddy, naked the whole damn episode. I felt like I was watching soft-core porn. It just wasn't necessary. Sex and nakedness for the sake of sex and nakedness is what you pull out when there's just nowhere else to go.
  

• Four, the whole "you're screwed up but I love you"....WHAT?! We just went through 6 seasons of you two not getting together because House is a fuck-up, and now it's just OKAY?! No. No. It doesn't work that way. I'm not buying it. If you loved him even though he's screwed up, you wouldn't have been with Lucas and everyone else. You would've just been with House from the beginning. House and Cuddy deciding that it was all just a mistake, or if Cuddy had actually been an illusion, would've worked better. The show chose what the fans wanted to see, "Huddy," over what would've made sense for the show. I am not impressed.

3. Cuddy....she's not my favorite character but she was definitely a presence in the show. She was yin to House's yang (no pun intended). She didn't take too much of his shit and definitely knew how to put the boys in their places, but now she just...gives up. She's a smart woman, no doubt, yet she's going to throw away everything, even the thing she holds most high (her job) to be with House. She wouldn't do that. She knows sleeping with the enemy is going to screw everything up, and she does it anyway. So, so not consistent with her character.

4. Screw this episode. House, I love you but you've let me down. I want the snarky, sarcastic and mean doctor who thinks religion is the enemy and that "everybody lies." Where did he go? I get that the show has to evolve, but the writers have just thrown away everything that makes House, House.

Damn puritans..

Here's a prose-y poem about how much i hate the puritans. I'm reading Wigglesworth's "The Day of Doom," which is really just the cherry on top of all of the irritating Puritan-related shit I've been doing in a lot of my classes. I'm just getting really irritated. I know I don't have a shred of puritan-ness in my body, but it just makes me really hate my entire race, probably humans in general. If you use religion to justify anything, you can use it to justify everything. It's just scary.

But anyway, here's a poem because I'm really really procrastinating tonight. It needs either edited or scrapped all together, but I don't have time to edit, and I think it has a couple good lines, so anyway, here it is:

If I could go back, to the ships, Plymouth and the like
to shake those damn puritans
till god bled out their ears
onto dirty ship decks.

I would.

I would
stick their noses in it,
say here,
here, you've done wrong.

You will push tan skin and dark hair over mountains,
kill them in droves. You will push black skin till tired tobacco,
cotton bodies leak red fluid on your boots.
You will do evil you cannot imagine.
You will spread your god disease like small pox,
You will make people in the next millennium feel guilty
for a whip they never cracked.

And for what?
money--no
god. The blindfold.
The shoe polish on a spurred boot.




I think I want to follow a writing prompt where I make myself write two-minute poems all the time and see where it gets me. All this academic writing for my classes is starting to get me down.


edit: I posted a status on Facebook saying "puritans are such downers." A girl in my class and I both commented on it, and about how over the religious shit we were.... then my aunt, in true ironic fashion says:

"Well God Bless you girls and I hope he helps you through your class."

Stranger than fiction. Seriously. I would be irritated if it wasn't so funny in context.

I have a confession....I'm absolutely terrible when it comes to old poetry. I can handle it if someone gives me the basics-- what the hell is going on and where to look-- but I can't handle this stuff on my own. I have to do a New Critical analysis of Ode on a Grecian Urn, and I feel like a cheater for turning to Google and Sparknotes, but I need a starting point, but it sort of feels like cheating. Oh well, I guess. It's not like I'm plagiarizing, I just need somebody to give me the basics...like that the poem is about the images carved/painted on an urn, something I should've been able to get by myself, but my concept of an urn is either the think they put ashes in or a giant planter. Not right. The poem is okay after you start figuring things out, but I will forever favor contemporary poetry over this. Give me Bukowski, Plath and Angelou. Maybe a little Dickinsen too. Here are my favorites, enjoy:

To the Whore Who Took My Poems" by Charles Bukowski

some say we should keep personal remorse from the
poem,
stay abstract, and there is some reason in this,
but jezus;
twelve poems gone and I don't keep carbons and you have
my
paintings too, my best ones; it's stifling:
are you trying to crush me out like the rest of them?
why didn't you take my money? they usually do
from the sleeping drunken pants sick in the corner.
next time take my left arm or a fifty
but not my poems;
I'm not Shakespeare
but sometime simply
there won't be any more, abstract or otherwise;
there'll always be money and whores and drunkards
down to the last bomb,
but as God said,
crossing his legs,
I see where I have made plenty of poets
but not so very much
poetry.



"Alone with Everybody" by Charles Bukowski

the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.



"Alone" by Maya Angelou

Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don't believe I'm wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

There are some millionaires
With money they can't use
Their wives run round like banshees
Their children sing the blues
They've got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No, nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Now if you listen closely
I'll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
'Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.


"Lady Lazarus" by Sylvia Plath

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it----

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
0 my enemy.
Do I terrify?----

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart----
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash ---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

"I'm Nobody, Who Are You?" by Emily Dickinsen

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us — don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!




one more....from the opening of Into The Wild:

"I Go Back to May" by Sharon Olds

I see them standing at the formal gates of their colleges,
I see my father strolling out
under the ochre sandstone arch, the
red tiles glinting like bent
plates of blood behind his head, I
see my mother with a few light books at her hip
standing at the pillar made of tiny bricks,
the wrought-iron gate still open behind her, its
sword-tips aglow in the May air,
they are about to graduate, they are about to get married,
they are kids, they are dumb, all they know is they are
innocent, they would never hurt anybody.
I want to go up to them and say Stop,
don’t do it—she’s the wrong woman,
he’s the wrong man, you are going to do things
you cannot imagine you would ever do,
you are going to do bad things to children,
you are going to suffer in ways you have not heard of,
you are going to want to die. I want to go
up to them there in the late May sunlight and say it,
her hungry pretty face turning to me,
her pitiful beautiful untouched body,
his arrogant handsome face turning to me,
his pitiful beautiful untouched body,
but I don’t do it. I want to live. I
take them up like the male and female
paper dolls and bang them together
at the hips, like chips of flint, as if to
strike sparks from them, I say
Do what you are going to do, and I will tell about it.

IDK

I'm sitting here watching some end of the world show on the History channel while eating oatmeal. I am overhearing my incredibly noisy hamster running on his wheel.

I think I'm going to have to ban myself from the History channel. I'm pretty sure I've been half-watching it for like four hours. Pretty sure because when I turn it on, it sucks me in and I become incredibly sympathetic to weird things....like a Triceratops. Seriously, if I were a dinosaur, that would be it. I also tend to become really paranoid, especially with these end of the world shows. Like, I feel like I should build an underground hideout in the backyard. All things considered, Pennsylvania's a pretty good state to deal with the end of the world in. No ocean, not many tornado and hurricane issues, no fault lines, no volcanoes that I know about.

I find the animations on the History channel of dinosaurs coughing to be incredibly funny.

Apparently Hitler and Napolean were the first two Antichrists and we're waiting on the third to make them-self known. Hitler is such a douchebag.

I want to know where the History channel gets all of their stock videos of riots and and famine and other things. Like, where the hell is this video actually from? Can't they put a little footnote at the bottom of the screen? I want to know.

This post was totally pointless. I'm just stalling from doing the mound of homework I have to get done before Tuesday. Really, I just wanted to talk about the triceratops, which, in a perfect world, would be my preferred means of travel.

Clothes and Titanic

So, I'm starting to dress more like an adult and less like a homeless person. I don't really know how I feel about this.

On one hand, I've been getting compliments lately which is a new thing for me, which is probably why I turn bright red and can't make eye contact. The only compliments I ever got were sports or zombie related. Since I started dressing better I'm not getting mistaken for a freshman as much, which is something that really tends to piss me off.

I'm getting older. Might as well look like it.

But, I also feel like I've sold out a bit. I'm not wearing as many band tees but they've been my chief form of clothing for the last six-ish years. It's just odd. I don't know. I've never really dressed like a girl before, as weird as that sounds. On a side note, my mom is thrilled. She just bought me a bunch of clothes from Macy's.

Also, goddamn Titanic is on. I both love and hate this movie. Rose doesn't let Jack have any of the goddamn door she's floating on at the end. Then he dies and I start yelling and crying. Every goddamn time. I don't know why I do this to myself.

Another side note, I really want to go to Greece. Or become Greek. Or marry a Greek. Best food, beautiful country, rich history. Not to mention Greek men are gorgeous.