Did you fear I would never address the Obama/Romney election on this blog? Fear no more! The day of reckoning is here, and my ranting powers are at their full potential.
After all, it’s election time in the USA! Will we manage to survive yet another racist-ass, anti-woman, queerphobic disaster of a Republican Candidate (Mitt Romney) and elect a moderately conservative dude instead (Barack Obama)? Only time will tell!
Is Mitt Romney as horrible a slimeball as he appears? … YES!
Now, I know you don’t need me to tell you that Romney is a slimeball. And I know you don’t need me to tell you that he’s a racist, queerphobic, classist misogynist with big entitlement issues. Those things are pretty damn obvious.
But there IS something I have to tell you. Hell, I put my entire blog schedule on hold for this huge insight into the character of Mitt Romney. It’s GAME CHANGING.
You should probably hold onto something.
Or sit down.
Is a runaway Jane Austen character.
Oh yeah, I just brought in Jane Austen.
I… I think I just lost half my readership there. SORRY GUYS! I LOVE YOU! I PROMISE I’LL STOP TALKING ABOUT REGENCY LITERATURE IN MY NEXT POST. I’LL STOP MAKING VERY BIZARRE SPECULATIONS! COME BAAAAACK.
Then again, the three literature/poli-sci geeks in the room just started fist-pumping. “Austen – Romney FTW!”
And as I am a literature/poli-sci geek… well.
So. Random fact: I am totally obsessed with Jane Austen. I became an English literature student because of Jane Austen. I’ve read every novel Jane Austen ever published. I’ve read Jane Austen’s juvenilia. I’ve taken classes on Jane Austen. I’ve planned book-length projects on Jane Austen. I think about Jane Austen a LOT.
And a couple weeks ago, I was walking to the library, thinking about Jane Austen (as you do), and how interesting it is that her marriage plot, which appears so stuffy to modern readers, was actually radical and revolutionary, because she gave her female characters the right to say “No” to marriage proposals. And isn’t it interesting how this “no” always shocked male suitors? The entire thing really exposes the way the clueless male suitors felt so damn entitled to getting women… wait… you know who else seems to have that massive sense of entitlement to getting people’s support?
And I was all “OH MY GOD, I’VE GOT IT.”
Mitt Romney is the clueless suitor.
I immediately raced to twitter. “Romney,” I said. “Is like every boorish male suitor in Austen’s novels – Mr. Elton, Mr. Collins, Henry Crawford. The suitor asks the protagonist to marry him, and is shocked she could say “no, because, after all, they have MONEY. Just like Mitt Romney runs for president, and is shocked that people won’t vote for him, because after all, he has MONEY.”
I spent the rest of the day tweeting about this. People needed to know. They needed to know that Mitt Romney is a runaway Jane Austen character.
Now, I imagine you aren’t convinced by my brilliant thesis yet. Neither was I, at first. But the evidence kept piling up.
Let’s have a checklist!
1. The Longing Gaze
Jane Austen’s clueless suitors are known for gazing longingly at their object of their affection. In fact, Mr. Darcy’s longing stares at Elizabeth Bennet are so epic, they’ve given rise to the term “Firthing” (longing, silent stares) in honor of Colin Firth, the actor who portrayed Mr. Darcy in the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice.
And Mr. Mittens Romney, Clueless Presidential Suitor?
ALSO known for his (vaguely disturbing) longing stares!
2. Sense of Entitlement
Austen’s Clueless Suitors are always shocked that the objects of their affection actually expect them to behave WELL. Notable in the Mr. Collins proposal scene, where Mr. Collins is all “what are you talking about with your “no thank you”? I have everything a woman needs!” Or, in Mansfield Park, Henry Crawford’s total confusion at the fact that Fanny doesn’t love him: “Sure, I behaved like a total manipulative douchebag for the past two hundred pages. But I’m hot! And thus entitled to your affections!”
Or the Mr. Darcy proposal scene, where Mr. Darcy finds it incredible that Elizabeth Bennet expects him not to act like an asshole. Yo, I’m already asking you to marry me, Lady. And now you want me to act like a decent human being?
Next thing you know, these pesky women will expect you to treat them like human beings!
The suitors, in other words, are very entitled.
And Mitt Romney has a very similar sense of douchebag entitlement.
“What, you mean campaigns involve work? And scrutiny? and QUESTIONS? Yo, I’m being nice enough to run, let’s not raise expectations too high, okay?”
The poor man gets increasingly annoyed every time voters or the media dare to presume to ask basic questions, like “where are your tax returns?” or “can we get a press conference over here?” or “would you mind clarifying your position, please?” He seems to expect that we should just go along with his whole “don’t look at my record! Don’t look at my business record! Just look at the parts I want you to look at, and only as long as I want you to look at them!” schtick.
Note Ann Romney’s infamous quote on the subject of Mitt Romney’s invisible tax returns:
“We’ve given you people all you need to know!”
3. Hating Poor People
Jane Austen’s clueless suitors tend to also be giant snobs who highly dislike anyone in a lower class.
Example: Mr. Darcy, to Elizabeth Bennet, the woman he’s proposing marriage to: “Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections? To congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?”
“There are 47 percent [of Americans] who are dependent upon government, who believe that they are victims, who believe that government has a responsibility to care for them, who believe that they are entitled to health care, to food, to housing, to you name it. (…) My job is not to worry about those people. I’ll never convince them they should take personal responsibility and care for their lives.”
Or, translated into Austen speech:
Mr. Romney, courting the American vote: “”Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of 47% of the country? To congratulate myself on the entitlement of Americans, whose conditions in life are so decidedly beneath my own?”
SEE THE SIMILARITIES?
4. Acting like people are lucky to be able to vote for/marry them?
Going along with the “sense of entitlement” thing: Austenian suitors usually act like the women they propose to are LUCKY to have someone so handsome/rich/competent asking for their hand in marriage.
Mr. Collins to Elizabeth Bennet, asking her to marry him: “It does not appear to me that my hand is unworthy your acceptance, or that the establishment I can offer would be any other than highly desirable. My situation in life, my connections with the family of De Bourgh, and my relationship to your own, are circumstances highly in its favor; and you should take it into farther consideration that in spite of your manifold attractions, it is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made you.”
And Mr. Mitt Romney? Does he ever show any of this “you people are so lucky I want to be President” attitude?
Surely not! That would be too ridiculous! And entitled and…
Ann Romney: “It is time for all Americans to realize how significant this election is and how lucky we are to have someone with Mitt’s qualifications and experience and know-how to be able to have the opportunity to run this country.”
(uh, HUGE CHECK) 3
5. Last, but not least: Super Awkward!
Indeed, Jane Austen’s clueless suitors tend to be catastrophically awkward and stiff (which makes them all the more hilarious).
Mr. Romney, what sayeth you to this? Are you stiff and awkward?
Well, he loves laughter. So much.
And he’s so genuine.
… Your honor, I rest my case.
… I’m telling you. It shocked me too, but it is TRUE. Mitt Romney is a clueless suitor. He has escaped from one of Austen’s novels to our world, and is now plotting his evil evil ways.
As Dani Alexis (@danialexis) reminded me on twitter: “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a Presidency.”
Romney: “In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My desire to be President will not be repressed.” (credit for quote: @danialexis)
HIS DESIRE TO BE PRESIDENT WILL NOT BE REPRESSED!
… quite a scary concept, actually.
You know what else? If Mitt Romney is actually a Jane Austen character (which I believe I’ve thoroughly proved by this point), it also explains why Mitt Romney has so many problems with women!
Yes, indeed! For, as Mr. Collins tells us: “As I must therefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of me, I shall chuse to attribute it to your wish of increasing my love by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females.”
You see, women don’t have a problem with Mitt Romney because he’s from a party of giant misogynists who want to take us back to the stone ages. No! We’re just PRETENDING we’ve not going to vote for him, in order to increase his love by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females.
I JUST EXPLAINED THE GENDER GAP EVERYONE!
[She really loves him, she's just increasing his suspense]
So basically, we need Mittens Romney to ask women to vote for him a few more times, and we’ll totally change our minds!
… yeah, no.
I mean, I don’t want to make assumptions about anyone else’s political decisions, but… let’s just say I don’t think Mr. Romney’s “courtship” of my vote is going to end any better for him than Mr. Collins’ courtship of Lizzie Bennet’s hand.
Hey, Mittens, sorry, but I’m sending my absentee ballot off to the states just as soon as I find an American witness to… witness me voting.
And the name I checked?
But hey, good luck with your attempt to court all us elegant females!
And all you elegant females? And males? Be forewarned! Mitt Romney’s desire to be President will not be suppressed! He’s going to be courting you pretty hard!
And as a runaway Jane Austen character, I think there’s a good chance he’ll start organizing formal balls.
Mitt Romney Style!
** Before you ask, yes, I am aware that Mitt Romney is PROBABLY not a Jane Austen character. It’s a joke! I know it’s a joke! Moving on.
This morning my brother and my stepsister woke up at five (am) to – and I quote – “work on their abs.” Because they’re going to a waterpark today, and they need to look good in their swimsuits.
I will refrain from comment. At least they didn’t wake me up. [Thank Maud for small mercies]
Anyways! Meanwhile, back at the ranch: Now that WisCon is over – and now that I’ve gotten a couple social-justice related rants out of the way – it’s time to move back to what really matters in life: giant lists of books.
Because why did I start blogging if not to inflict my bizarre reading taste on the public? [Let us ignore the fact that "the public" right now is my brother and a few devoted friends]
In spite of the fact that this month included: the return of the “four times a week” migraines (joy), a transnational move, a Feminist Science Fiction Convention and at least four gazillion doctor’s appointments (if one more person asks me for my family medical history, I’m going to throw myself off a cliff), I did manage to do some decent reading. HURRAH!
Twelve books! Woo! Five better than last month! (yes, yes in fact I am ridiculously competitive, why do you ask?)
Reviews follow the list:
1. A Local Habitation by Seanan McGuire
2. The Killing Moon by N.K. Jemisin
3. Discount Armageddon by Seanan McGuire
4. The Orphan’s Tales: In the Night Garden by Catherynne Valente
5. The Demon’s Lexicon by Sarah Rees Brennan
6. Shine, Coconut Moon by Neesha Meminger
7. The Orphans Tales: In the Cities of Coins and Spices by Catherynne Valente
8. The Cloud Roads by Martha Wells
9. Chicks Dig Time Lords ed. by Lynne M. Thomas and Tara O’Shea
10. Redwood and Wildfire by Andrea Hairston
11. The WisCon Chronicles Volume 6: Futures of Feminism and Fandom ed. by Alexis Lothian
12. Impolitic! by Andrea Hairston and Debbie Notkin
[Fair warning: the longer the summer goes on, the longer these lists are likely to get. I think my record last year was 22 books in a month]
This is a very WisCon inspired list – seven of the books (The Orphan’s Tales, Shine Coconut Moon, Chicks Dig Time Lords, Redwood and Wildfire, The WisCon Chronicles and Impolitic!) were read in anticipation of the convention.
I’ve talked about Redwood and Wildfire, The WisCon Chronicles and Impolitic! at other points during my WisCon recaps, so I won’t go over those again here. Because yes, I do take pity on my devoted readers. I will say that all three books are fantastic and well worth reading, particularly if you’re interested in WisCon, or the Tiptree Award.
WisCon also inspired a rare event at the House of Disorientation: two re-reads. Yes, in fact, I have already read both The Orphan’s Tales: The Night Garden and The Orphan’s Tales: In the Cities of Coins and Spices. But I presented a paper about the series at WisCon, so I needed to re-read them for research [I have over thirty pages of notes. Have mercy upon me]. If you’ve never read Catherynne Valente’s Orphan’s Tales, you really should. They’re some of the most beautiful and thought-provoking books I’ve read in the past few years. Plus, Valente is an incredible prose writer, and her style has never been better.It’s quite difficult to explain what the series is about, so I’m going to cop to the very-basic and somewhat-inaccurate description: it’s a feminist retelling of One Thousand and One Nights.
The Orphan’s Tales are also tailor-made to my interests – they explore gender, bodies, monstrosity, mythology, storytelling, and above all, the concept of belonging. And part of the reason I love them so much is that the books aren’t a critique of fairy tales – they’re a reconstruction of tales along feminist lines. The books show us how stories could be different – they’re rebuilding an entire tradition from the ground up – which I think is arguably harder than just deconstructing a genre.
And the last scene of the last book makes me cry every time. It’s – you know the last two scenes of Lost? When Jack walks into the church and sees all the castaways again, and he remembers? And if you’re me, you completely lose it? Yeah. It’s like that. *sniff*
Okay, let’s move onto a happier note, shall we? [Sorry - the final scene of Lost always gets to me]
Seanan McGuire! Seanan McGuire is always a happier note.
When I discovered Mira Grant’s work, I wanted to read all her books. ALL her books. Unfortunately, there was only one them out at the time. Whoops. [There are now three books. Yay!] So I was thrilled to discover that Mira Grant was a pseudonym for author Seanan McGuire, who had published LOTS of books.
After reading the first book of McGuire’s popular October Daye urban fantasy series, Rosemary and Rue, however, I was… underwhelmed. It was good, sure. But it didn’t quite work for me.
And then I read the second book, A Local Habitation.
HOLY FREAKING MAUD I MUST READ ALL THE BOOKS NOW! NOW! WHERE ARE THEY? WHEREEEE???? I NEED THEM NOW! NOW! NOW! NOW! I MUST HAVE THEM OR I WILL -
Hem. I, uh, really liked the second book. As in: forgoing food and sleep in order to finish reading it. As in: reading it on the plane (which is a terrible idea, since I get motion sickness). As in – okay, I need to stop with the fangirl SQUEE. Calm down, C.D. Remember that people read this thing. It’s public. Get a grip.
So, er, plot summary. Yes. I can write cogent thoughts.
The October Daye series centers on October “Toby” Daye, the only changeling (half-human, half-faery) to have earned Knighthood. She’s also a faery detective operating out of San Francisco. In A Local Habitation, Toby’s liege lord, Sylvester, sends her to the County of Tames Lightning (Fremont,CA), to check on his niece, the CEO of a computer games company.
And after Toby arrives, the county is suddenly cut off from other Fae domains, and employees begin to die, one by one.
I love these sort of tense, psychological, edge-of-your-seat narratives, and McGuire writes them like none other. Her characters are fantastic – Toby alone is a masterclass of a character, one of the best urban fantasy heroines I’ve ever encountered. Add to that McGuire’s portrayal of Faery politics, her exploration of the Faery world, and the computer-science-magic that emerges near the end (a dryad uploaded into a computer, for example), and A Local Habitation is sheer, frackin’ brilliance.
Oh, and it’s terrifying.
Also, as your resident Literature student nerd, I should point out that all the titles of the October Daye series are taken from Shakespeare’s Plays.
Rosemary and Rue – Hamlet
An Artificial Habitation – A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Literature nerd alert, everyone!
I also read Discount Armageddon, the first book of Seanan McGuire’s new urban fantasy series (Incryptid).
The protagonist, Verity Price, comes from a long line of cryptozoologists – people who study and protect creatures whose existence has not yet been proven (also known as monsters). But Verity only wants to do one thing in life: dance. So she moves to New York to pursue a ballroom dancing career.
But don’t let the sequins and the high heels fool you. Anyone who can high kick over their head is someone you don’t want to mess with. Verity straps guns and daggers under her dance costume, and she knows enough about the lifecycle of unicorns to scare off a ghoul.
So when a professional monster-hunter shows up in the city and monsters begin to disappear, Verity is ready.
And the result is awesome. Discount Armageddon is the most entertaining of McGuire’s work so far – it’s sheer, ridiculous fun.
One of McGuire’s best traits as a writer – both as Seanan McGuire, and as Mira Grant – is her humor, which laces throughout all her work. In Armageddon, McGuire’s humor isn’t a sidenote, it’s front and center. I could not stop laughing.
“When in doubt, play dead. Well, unless you might be dealing with a ghoul, or a basilisk, or something else that likes its meat a little ripe. Actually, when in doubt, just start shooting.” (44)
“I really don’t think you should put your hand inside the manticore, dear. You don’t know where it’s been” (1)
“Mother nature is a freaky lady who probably created pot so she could spend all her time smoking it.”
Verdict? Fantastic. Like Buffy the Vampire slayer on steroids – if Buffy were protecting the vampires. Can’t wait for the next book.
One of my most anticipated reads of the month was The Killing Moon, the first book of N.K. Jemisin’s new series (Dreamblood).
I became an instant fan of NK Jemisin after reading The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms last year, and I’m convinced that the Inheritance series is one of the most best and most original epic fantasy trilogies to come out in the past ten years. So naturally, when I saw The Killing Moon was available a few days earlier than expected in my local bookstore, I bought it.*
(and by “bought it,” I mean “I started caressing it and murmuring “my precious” over and over, until security asked what was wrong”)
Needless to say, I had very high expectations.
Blown. Out. The. Park.
Seriously, I need to start reading some bad books, or people are going to be convinced that I love everything. I really don’t.
But equally seriously: The Killing Moon is incredible. It’s quite different from the Inheritance trilogy, which is good – I do eventually get bored with authors who are too one-note.
[Spoiler: Ninja Priests. Ninja Priests in the city-state of Gujareeh, on a world with two moons]
In Gujareeh, peace is the highest law. The city worships Hananja, the goddess of dreams. The magic-system is based on dreams, which citizens tithe to the priests of the Hetawa. The priests, in turn, use these dreams to heal, to guide, to soothe and sometimes, to kill. Gatherers – the aforementioned Ninja Priests – bring death to those who are on the verge of dying – but also to those judged corrupt. You don’t die in your sleep in Gujareeh. You are Gathered.
But when Ehiru, a powerful, faithful Gatherer, is sent to Gather Sunnandi, a diplomat from Kisua, he discovers a corruption that taints everything from in Gujareeh.
The world N.K. Jemisin has created is so different, so rich, so well-thought-out, so vibrant and internally consistent, that it feels genuine. Alive. Real. There’s almost no suspension of disbelief necessary, Jemisin’s work is so thorough. And her world is one that isn’t, unlike 90% of epic fantasy secondary worlds, based on a pseudo-european-medieval setting. And hey, I love european-medieval epic fantasy, but damn if it’s not refreshing to see something else for a change. And damn if it’s not refreshing to see something so fantastically well-constructed. We’re so used to medieval settings, we stop noticing how flimsy a lot of the world-building is. Jemisin’s is so superior that it highlights the fault lines in other works. With this book, I have little hesitation in saying that Jemisin is the most original world-builder we have working currently. She’s also one of the most original writers of magic we have working currently – an entire system built on dreams and dream theory? Really? Whoa.
The characters and their trials are equally well-depicted. Although I don’t have space to discuss these in great detail, I would like to briefly highlight what for me was the heart of the book: the relationship between Ehiru and his gatherer-apprentice Nijiri. Although the two are deeply loyal to one another, there are dark elements to the relationship. Ehiru starts to lose control of his magic about halfway through the book, and asks Nijiri to Gather him – to kill him – before Ehiru himself becomes corrupt. Meanwhile, Nijiri is in love with Ehiru. Ehiru is aware of this, and relies on Nijiri’s love, despite not being able to reciprocate it (Gatherers are celibate). That Ehiru uses Nijiri’s love for him to (try) to convince Nijiri to kill him is a fascinating, and repelling, dynamic. This is one of the book’s great strengths – the characters (and the city’s) ambiguous, complex morality.
I’ll leave the final word to my brother, who read the book right after I did.
“God, I love N.K. Jemisin so much!”
This seems to be my month for fantasy – now that I’m looking over the list, it’s evident that I read almost no science fiction. The Cloud Roads is sort of science fiction, if you squint and look at it sideways. But everything else is fantasy (or just literary). With the possible exception of Chicks Dig Time Lords, which is about science fiction (although it’s nonfictional).
Chicks Dig Time Lords: A Celebration of Doctor Who by the Women Who Love It is a collection of interviews, essays and cartoons written by female fans of Doctor Who. The contributors examine their relationship with fandom, and their love of the series.
Now, I’ve never watched Doctor Who (I know, I know. It’s on the to-do list). And I still found this book immensely entertaining and insightful. As a fan, I love watching other fans indulge in SQUEE. As a female fan, I’m always interested in seeing how women engage with fandoms that are typically viewed as “male.” And as a science fiction fan, I always like looking at analysis of science fiction shows! So I was quite pleased. SQUEE, science fiction and gender analysis all wrapped up in one shiny package: it’s like my birthday came early.
The book is extremely well-edited – it varies in both tone and content, so it never feels repetitive or one-note. There are essays that are pure fannish SQUEE. There are essays that address the specific trials and tribulations of female fans. There are essays dissecting particularly Doctor Who companions. There are near-academic essays. There are fun stories. There are sad stories. There are interviews with Who Actresses and writers. There’s a discussion of costuming at Doctor Who conventions. There’s even a comic (from the creators of Torchwood Babiez)
Chicks Dig Time Lords won a Hugo Award last year – and now that I’ve read it, all I can say is: Well deserved.
Before I close, a quick shoutout to the books I’m not reviewing in depth, but that I still loved: Sarah Rees Brennan’s The Demon’s Lexicon (great, snarky, dark YA; fantastic narrator; cannot wait to read the next book) and Martha Wells’ The Cloud Roads (old-fashioned fantasy in the best possible way; wonderful prose; interesting social dynamics)
And that’s it for May! I’m already well into June reading, and I’ve tentatively titled this “The Month of All The Incest” – because seriously, three books, all with incest. What’s going on?
But the books are good, so there’s that!
Finally, my self-policing statistics (for gender and race):
14 authors (or editors)
14 women (I swear, this was not intentional).
10 white editors/authors
4 People of Color editors/Authors
(better than last month)
This has been a very bizarre day with regards to my blog. I’ve been averaging 10-15 page hits a day – a perfectly reasonable number, given that I started posting two weeks ago. Then last night, the Internet discovered my post on Haley Reinhart, and my page hits exploded. I’m up to 212 right now. TWO HUNDRED AND TWELVE.
I’m a bit dizzied by the whole thing, but it’s absolutely lovely. Haley Reinhart fans – we are rabid! Uh, I meant dedicated!
I’m mostly just trying to enjoy the ride while it lasts – I know once the flood disappears, I’ll be back to my usual 10-15 hits a day. After all, this blog is mostly driven by literature and genre fiction/movies/TV – there won’t be much American Idol coverage. So the Haley phenomenon is my giant blip on the radar screen (and a wonderful blip it is). But in the spirit of challenging myself, I’ve decided that whatever record I set today will be used as a goal to strive towards for the rest of the year. (how I’ll ever get back up to 212 is beyond me, but it’s good motivation).
And if you’re a Haley Reinhart fan who found your way here – thank you so much for reading! I’m really grateful that the post is finding a wider audience, especially since I spent hours on that writeup, and I never thought anyone would read it!
Anyways, given the, er, bizarre circumstances, I’ve decided to have a day off from covering all things culture, and publish…
Something very, very, VERY vaguely related to American Idol. You see, since I’ve started following the show, I’ve discovered a medley of new songs, including Celine Dion’s “All by Myself” and Heart’s “Alone.” Somehow, those got caught up in the vortex that is my brain, and transformed into…
A love song to my migraines.
The tales I could tell about my migraines, dear friends, would make you clutch at your Excedrin bottles in sympathy.
Case in point:
Last week I knew I would be spending two long days on campus, with little access to food. Food is crucial to keeping me from getting migraines – if I skip a meal, my chances of getting a migraine are even greater than my changes of finding a crazy wife in a Victorian novel.
Of course, I’m in denial, so on day #1, I proceed to forget lunch, skip my snack, and avoid drinking fluids like the plague. By the time I get home, I haven’t eaten in twelve hours.
I make dinner, convinced that once sugar hits my bloodstream, the migraine will hit.
Nothing. My brain is clear and pain-free. I am most gratified.
Impressed, but not wanting to press my luck, the next day I am rigorous about my food-intake. I eat breakfast. I eat lunch. I eat a snack. I make sure I eat a decent dinner. I steal my friends’ food. I avoid carbohydrates (big migraine triggers for me). I even drink coffee, which is the equivalent of a pre-emptive strike against migraines.
By the time I get home, my head hurts so badly that I’ve got spots in front of my eyes. Every flash of light sends pain driving into my skull. I curl up in bed, and wait to die.
Well played, universe. Well played.
Since my brilliant strategies for managing my migraines no longer work, and since my migraine pills are now completely useless (the world hates me) – I have decided to resort to truly desperate measures.
I have written a song so terrible, so catastrophic, that it ought to scare off even the worst migraine. Unfortunately, my strident, off-key singing and terrifying lyrics may well make my migraines work, but I have nothing left to lose.
(with apologies to Hearts’ “Alone” and Celine Dione’s “All by Myself”)
“A Song to My Migraine”
“I feel the pounding of my blood against my temple
I’m lying here, the room’s pitch dark
I wonder if I can live without my right occipital lobe
No surgeons on my telephone
And the Tylenol works so very slow
I hope that I’ll end up, though, ALONE
Till now, I always got by on my own,
I never really cared until I met you
But now it chills me to the bone
Why won’t you leave me alone?
When I was young
My mind was free from pounding migraines
And taking Tylenol was just for fun
Those days are gone
All by myself
I wanna live…
All by MYSELF
Oh can’t you see – I want to be, I want you to be – Free (of migraines)
(Couldn’t resist the Haley Reinhart reference.)
**(By the way, for those of you who are here for the cultural coverage, I’ll be back with reviews of David Cronenberg’s A Dangerous Method and Pamela Dean’s Tam Lin later in the week)