Brontes' Garden Party

Amongst the T-Shirts I would buy if I could afford to buy T-Shirts from overseas just because they amuse me is this one:



I love Kate Beaton's take on history and literature. I particularly love her take on the Brontë sisters.

Everyone reads Charlotte's Jane Eyre, with the brooding, yet decidedly jerky and obnoxious leading man. Everyone reads Emily's Wuthering Heights with the brooding, yet decidedly creepy and disturbing leading man. No one reads Anne's Agnes Grey, where the nice guy gets the nice girl in the end.

Beaton's version of Anne Brontë, as the poor sensible girl who has to put up with her stupid sisters' poor taste in men, is just brilliant.

The Estonian Sonnet

You know how, occasionally, you read some piece of information you already knew and suddenly you make a connection you hadn't made previously? So that it's almost like reading old information has somehow magically provided you with new information?

The other day I read a description about the pronunciation of Estonian that mentioned the fact that the stress falls on the first syllable of the word. All subsequent syllables are, apparently, unstressed.

I have read this previously, and previously I have asked myself: "But what about secondary stresses? After all, they have really long words in Estonian." Well, most of the things I've read have neglected to go into that sort of detail (don't they know there are nerds and geeks trying to learn their language?), except to mention that compound words have stresses on the first syllable of each component of the compound. They don't mention if these stresses are equal to the primary stress or secondary in nature. Losers.

Anyway, that's old stuff. The connection I suddenly made was: "But that means they'd never be able to write a sonnet in their native language!"

Iambic pentameter relies entirely on having the stresses fall on every second syllable in the line. The entire iambic rhythm structure would be an artificial imposition on the Estonian language which would preclude sonnets from ever developing in that language.

You might be able to get away with trochaic meter, as long as you only ever used words of two syllables in length...

Then again, there may be words that are always unstressed in a sentence which may either help or hinder as the case may be. I really don't know enough about about the patterns of the spoken language to understand these implications. Does anyone write books or essays dealing with the stress of spoken Estonian and it's relation to rhythmic feet?

All I know is, sonnets are out. And quite possibly blank verse as well.

I am not sure I can accept this truth.

Well, actually, I can, I just felt writing a sentence in iambic pentameter. I'm nothing if not an annoying show-off.

It makes me wonder, though, whether or not Estonians would feel more naturally inclined towards English poetry in a trochaic or dactylic meter than one written in iambic or anapestic meter.

Or, maybe I should just remember that the only reason why I care so much about classic verse forms is because I'm a time travelling immortal and, back when I was young, poetry was cool and knowing about poetry made you attractive. Most people today probably wouldn't know an iambic foot if it kicked them.

Searching everywhere for something new

Okay, I'm quite happy to admit I'm really boring. I don't know anyone who throws fun parties, and if I do I don't know them well enough to get invited to those parties. Even if I did know people who throw fun parties well enough to warrant an invitation, I probably wouldn't get one anyway because they'd know I'm likely to sit in the corner of the room exuding vibes of boringness. Or, perhaps, boringality. Or any other fake nominalisation you can think of for the word “boring”.

Therefore, it should come as no surprise to you that I celebrated New Years Eve by staying home and watching a DVD of Disney's classic film, Bedknobs and Broomsticks.

Now, I love that film. When I was a kid, I used to borrow it from the video rental shop up the road from my grandmother's place and watch it at least three times in a week before returning it. That, and Mary Poppins. Maybe I'm a fan of David Tomlinson, who stars in both films. Maybe I'm a fan of Robert Stevenson, who directed both films. Maybe I'm a fan of Bill Walsh and Don DaGradi, who wrote the screenplays for both films. Maybe I'm a fan of Richard and Robert Sherman, who wrote the music for both films. I don't know. All I know is that these two films, together, represent all that was once right and good in Disney films. It doesn't bother me in the least that Bedknobs and Broomsticks was probably a prime example of Disney executives saying, “Well, that other film was a success, let's make another one just like it!” I still love it.

For a while there, you couldn't watch Bedknobs and Broomsticks. Once the rental videos died, there was nothing to replace them. It took a long time to get released on DVD and it was never shown on TV. Then it did come out on DVD, and I intended to buy a copy, but life gets away from you, doesn't it? Ah, but when I noticed on shop had a double set of Mary Poppins and Bedknobs and Broomsticks for less than $20... Well, there was no power in the 'verse that was going to stop me from getting my hands on that. I got the last copy in the store, but I got it.

So, New Years Eve rolls around and I can think of no better way to spend it that to crack open a favourite film from my childhood and wash in the nostalgia of it all.

But something wasn't quite right. There was a scene early in the film that didn't run exactly as I remembered it. A conversation I didn't quite recall. Perhaps I should have twigged at that point. After all, even after all these years, I could still recite a number of the lines with the characters as though I'd heard them yesterday (“my first brrroom!”). It wasn't until David Tomlinson launched into an entire musical number I'd never seen before that the penny dropped – the film had been “restored”!

Apparently the film I knew and loved had been cut quite dramatically to bring it under two hours running time. There was over half-an-hour's worth of material that I had never seen before. Songs that were cut, conversations that were halved, entire subplots that were excised. When Disney brought Bedknobs and Broomsticks out on DVD for the 25th anniversary they found as many of those bits as they could and put them back in. Even then, they didn't exactly find them “whole”. In most cases they found the picture, but obviously not the sound, so they had to record new ADR voices. They had to leave out a musical number (technically, the first in the film) because they had the sound, but not the images (they included it, with stills, in the special collections).

The film I watched on New Years Eve was a much longer film, but for the most part also a richer film. There was the subplot with the Rector trying to woo the witch (he didn't know she was a witch, obviously) because he wanted to get his hands on her house. There were shades to Professor Brown's character that were more thoroughly fleshed out. There were musical numbers I hadn't seen, and longer versions of the musical numbers I had seen. The romance between Eglantine and Prof. Brown was fleshed out a bit more (but still, somehow, not convincing).

Being such a fan of the film I should have been happy to see more of it, and, on one level, I was. I wasn't happy with the way they did the ADR for the restored scenes. I'm usually a fan of Jeff Bennett's work, but he didn't sound a thing like David Tomlinson – and his timing was off. Nothing drags you out of a story like noticing the main character's voice is different and his lips aren't moving at quite the same time as the sound. I suspect they got Angela Lansbury to do her own ADR for those scenes, what with her being not dead and all. That was my only real gripe with the way they did the restoration.

However, I felt vaguely cheated. I was all set to watch a favourite film from my childhood, and instead I watched something else. Something very similar, mind you, but not the same. And I have no other options. The only version of this film available on DVD is the restored version. If I want to watch the one I grew up with – the one where David Tomlinson's voice comes out of his face in every scene – I'm plum out of luck.

I felt the same way with the re-mastered Star Wars films. I didn't particularly like the newer versions more than the older versions, but for a while there you couldn't buy anything else. I think that's one of the reasons why I really can't be bothered with Star Wars these days.

I understand something similar happened to Blade Runner when the director's cut came out. The only version you could get was not the version you remembered from the cinema.

Maybe it's just being petty, but it would be nice if, in this age of almost unlimited choices, I had been given the choice of watching the old version if I wanted to.

That said, man I'd love to see that first musical number from the film if they ever found the images.

knickerbocker holiday

Heh, the things you end up doing when you're on holidays.

So, we got lost in Oamaru and accidently found ourselves in a little neighbourhood where all of the buildings are from the Victorian period and made of limestone.

Turns out there's a little Victoriana thing happening, with a bicycle museum dedicated to penny farthings and the like (I know, I get lost and find a bicycle museum - what are the odds, right?)

Also in this area is a shop dedicating to clothing from the 1890s through to the 1920s. I'm not kidding. They make a lot of the clothes on site for re-enacters and the vintage car people.

I just happened to find a pair of early 1910s style knickerbockers. They just happened to fit me very comfortably. This, in spite of the fact that they were made on site for a "random" size (which wasn't even on the pants) and I'm a girl with girl-shaped hips.

Yes, I know the pants are technically gender inappropriate (a phrase that can describe far too much of my wardrobe), but I don't care.

I've decided that it's high time mens fashions from before the Revolution* became perfectly acceptable women's clothing today. Everyone who's ever watched Firefly would agree that mens styles from the late 1800s look pretty good on women, and I think we should just bring steampunk into the mainstream with high waisted pants and braces for all.

I will admit that I still want a pair of bloomers (and a matching basque), but I know I'll also have to get the foundation garments to go with it. Quite frankly, the thought of wearing a corset (whale bone or otherwise) chemise, drawers and a dickie in the tropics is unappealing - especially when you're wearing the other clothes on top of all that**. Men's fashions from the period were much more flexible and allowed for more movement (hey, look! Nothing's changed!).

Join with me, all of you. Men and women alike. It's time we started mixing and matching the fashions of the last two hundred years. Empire line dresses with sneakers one day, knickerbockers and T-Shirts the next. What a bright and glorious future it will be***.


*Nothing too political folks (depending on your point of view). I'm talking about the sexual revolution in the Sixties - you know, the one were it started to become perfectly normal for a woman to wear jeans and a T-Shirt without having to explain to her father why she still dresses like a boy even though she's past 18 and should start wearing more pretty dresses if she wants to land a husband any time soon - thus paving the way for those horrendous power suits in the 1980s.

**I once had a strange desire to go around dressed in nothing but a chemise, corset, pair of drawers and multiple layers of petticoats (standard "foundation garments" from the mid-to-late Victorian period) and see if anyone noticed that a) I was walking around in public in nothing but my underwear, and b) I was still wearing more clothes than anyone else.

***Okay, I'm possibly not crazy enough to actually expect anyone to join me in this endeavour. I'm not even crazy enough to actually join myself in this endeavour - but largely because I know I'll have to sew my own clothes if I want to do this economically, and that's not something I'm likely to take up any time soon.

****Bonus footnote: Interestingly, women's fashions do shadow mens fashions from several decades ago more than you may think. I once bought women's vests from the 80s to dress a couple of actors who were playing men in the 20s, because the cut of mens vests in the era were closer to women's clothes from the 80s than mens clothes from today.

Wanaka - or "One Lane Bridge"

Two things I have discovered in the past three days:

1. New Zealanders don't think their bridges through when they build them
2. Wanaka is very pretty. And Puzzling World rocks. I would have put an exclamation mark after that point, but this keyboard won't let me. Thus there shall be no exclamations.

I don't know what it's like on the North Island of the Land of the Long White Cloud, but in the South Island, they have a fondness for single lane bridges. All well and good when it's a little bridge over a little creek in the backroutes and side-roads. When it's a) the major road, b) a major river and c) shared with a train line... well then it gets a bit ridiculous.

I've lost count of the number of bridges I've driven over in the last two days, but I can count on one hand the number which had more than one lane. Of the single lane bridges, some of them were long enough that you couldn't clearly see if there was a car at the other end. Some had "queues" that started around blind corners on winding road through steep mountains. It's not good, people. It's just not good.

Not only that, but there were some pretty serious bridges. We're talking cast-iron suspension bridges, cable-stayed bridges, and truss bridges. These costs some serious money and engineering. Roughly the same amount of money and engineering it would have cost them to make it a two lane bridge. Yes, two lanes cost more, but not as much as two seperate bridges. A single lane bridge is a false economy - ask any engineer worth his/her salt.

Anyway, running out of time at this kiosk, so: Wanaka.

If you come to the South Island of New Zealand, you must come to Wanaka. You must go to Puzzling World, which is on the way into Wanaka (it's soooo much fun. Illusion rooms, a multi-level branch maze and a shop full of puzzles and games), and you must go for a walk along Wanaka Lake for some mighty fine scenery.

This cannot be avoided. If you go to the South Island and do not go to Wanaka, the good holiday fairies will hit you over the head and refuse to give you as much fun somewhere else.

That is all.

Away with me!

If anyone is interested in such things, I'm leaving town. And the country.

I may be hard to contact for a while.

Say, if anyone finds a body in the boot of an abandoned car in the car park outside the Fisheries building...

I didn't do it.

Strange Days - Or, Welcome to the Real World

I regularly communicate with a man named Colm (hi, Colm!).

Colm and I have never met. We've never been introduced. We've never even started a conversation with each other. In fact, this post marks the first time I have ever produced the words "hi, Colm" in my entire life.

I've never seen Colm or spoken to him. I've never written him a letter or an email - or sent him a text message. He's never written to me. I only know what he looks like thanks to one picture, which I saw for the first time some months after I started communicating with him. He did not send me the picture, just as I have never sent him a picture of myself - although he has seen one.

We've never been in the same country at the same time. We have walked some of the same streets, but months apart. Even if we had been walking down the same street at the same time, we probably would have walked passed each other without a flicker of recognition. We do not know any of the same people and, as far as I know, none of the people we know know each other.

We move in different circles on different sides of the world.

Yet, I know more about Colm than I do about many of the people who work my building. I know where he lives (not an exact address, but a rough ballpark). I know who he lives with. I know what he does for a living, where he works and when he got that job. I know where he was born (again, just a ballpark). I know what his highest educational qualification is. I know what he thinks about issues ranging from gay marriage to the use of English in the Eurovision Song Contest. I know English is his native language, but he doesn't particularly like it. I know he finds the last days of Autumn in Estonia miserable. I know he's thinking about buying a new computer, but he's hoping to avoid it for as long as possible. I know what he usually eats for breakfast.

If you asked him, he could probably tell you he knows a similar range of facts about me. He's never particularly told me any of these things, just like I've never particularly told him most of the details he knows about my life. This information is a matter of public record - anyone in the world could find out these details. Heck, anyone in the world could read every word Colm and I have written to each other.

I know Colm because there are a couple of blogs which we both read and comment on. After reading each other's comments on these blogs for a while, we started reading and commenting on each other's blogs. Pretty much every word we've ever "said" to each other has been in relation to a blog post first produced for the world at large.

If you asked me to classify my "relationship" with Colm, I'd put us in the same bracket as people who eat lunch in the same staff-room and often participate in the same conversations. Friendly acquaintances, I guess. Friendly acquaintances who've never met and don't know any of the same people...

Except the men who write those two blogs. I know more about those guys than I should, as well - considering I've never met them, either. Heck, I've even seen pictures of their children.

Oh, and the reason why I read those blogs? My cousin got me onto them. A cousin I haven't spoken to in person for over ten years.

Crazy world.