Ercassesanwi

Sick Again

2008-03-20T01:14:37Z

Holly is sick again. Holly is never sick, not really. This is bad. And I had plans to visit over Easter weekend. And for some reason, what seems cruelest is that my sister isn't there to answer her phone.

Let's Do It!

2008-03-19T02:17:27Z

This is hilarious. Anyone who's interested in doing something similar, let me know!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dkYZ6rbPU2M

ercasse_ainince @ 2008-03-13T13:58:00

2008-03-13T19:00:11Z

My score on The Which Punctuation Mark Are You Test:

ellipsis

(You scored 46% Sociability and 76% Sophistication!)

http://is3.okcupid.com/users/120/900/12090059896524230403/mt1129889288.jpg

Your life can be difficult because of your insecurities, but you should know that it isn't your fault. YOU didn't ask to be thrown in around thirty times per page in every bodice-ripper on the shelf! Those who overuse you can kiss your . . . you know. You need to learn to hold your head high and glory in your solitude. You really do have excellent, scholarly tastes. You must never forget that your friend, the period, will be there to support you at the end of every sentence where you truly belong, and, if what is left out is as important as what is said, why, then you are as vital as the alphabet!

Link: The Which Punctuation Mark Are You Test

Happy Singles Awareness Day!

2008-02-14T19:41:03Z

Celebrate the fact that chocolate will be on sale tomorrow!

First grad-school acceptance

2008-02-07T00:20:53Z

So the first graduate school to have the honor to accept me is the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. The English department hasn't yet said whether or not they'll fund me.

Holly is a Mary Kay Consultant

2008-02-02T06:04:42Z

I'm actually quite excited about the chance to sell Mary Kay. I've used the product for over six months and love it. The friend who sold to me and then recruited me to sell is doing well and enjoying the work. Now is an ideal time for me to learn the ropes of a very flexible job that I can do while in graduate school.

So why do I find myself, rather than announcing the decision proudly, apologizing for it and justifying it?

A lot has to do with preconceptions both about myself and about Mary Kay. When my friend first invited me to her grand-opening event, I got a mental image of middle-aged ladies all in pink smelling of lavendar soap. Once firsthand experience changed my mind, I met with the disparaging opinions of others of my friends. One in particular (forgive me for using you as an example; I'm not angry) said that no one makes money from Mark Kay until recruiting other poor suckers to sell, as if it were a pyramid scheme. (It isn't.)

The preconceptions I think others have about myself make me more reluctant to mention my new business. First, I'm a self-proclaimed geek. I'm not known for fashion or glamour sense. I fear those who know me will wonder how I think I can make money "selling lipstick," as I've heard people describe Mary Kay consulting work. This attitude I sense in others often plays into a mini identify crisis I've been having regarding my growing interest in looking nice. I grew up identifying as a geek, and I continue to do so. I maintain that geekiness is a matter of having counterculture or outside-the-mainstream interests, such as science fiction or role-playing games, not a matter of dress or appearance. Still, most people associate geekiness with being unfashionable, whether through apathy or conscious choice. Because of my court-reporting job, I've had to assume a nice "corporate chic" wardrobe. Then I lost a significant amount of weight and enjoyed wearing clothes that flatter my thinner shape. Then I started using Mary Kay to take better care of my skin, and then I started using their makeup. Now I'm afraid I look and dress more like those who made fun of geeks during my grade-school days. I feel a bit like a traitor. And I fear some may see the Mary Kay pin as the final flourish removing me from geekdom.

Secondly, I think no one considers me to have business sense. I'm afraid to mention that I've invested money in Mary Kay inventory, because I anticipate my friends will think I've wasted it. No one considers my savings hoarded for graduate school as wasted. Why shouldn't I invest some in a money-making venture that can support me in graduate school? I find myself jumping to my own defense and informing others that anytime within a year of beginning work as a Mary Kay consultant, if I want out, I can return any unsold product for ninety percent of what I paid. If I sell less than ten percent of my investment, I'll be guaranteed to break even.

And here I go justifying once again.

All that said, I'm still excited about this opportunity. I'm going to have fun and make money. Let me know if you'd like a free facial, or if you'd like to earn free product by hosting a skin-care class.

It Is Finished!

2007-12-23T02:55:56Z

As of 7:30 P.M., I have officially finished every last bit of every single graduate-school application, mailed off every piece of relevant material, and sent a final reminder email to a professor to upload his last recommendation letter.

That's right. I'm finished.

Merry Christmas.

P.S. Those of you who would like to petition God to have me accepted (and funded) at any particular institution may choose from the following:

Cornell University -- Ithaca, NY
University of Notre Dame -- Notre Dame, IN
Harvard University -- Cambridge, MA
Yale University -- New Haven, CT
University of Virginia -- Charlottesville, VA
University of North Carolina -- Chapel Hill, NC
University of Indiana -- Bloomington, IN
University of Texas -- Austin, TX

ercasse_ainince @ 2007-10-31T14:31:00

2007-10-31T19:35:02Z

So this morning before work I threw together a Childlike Empress costume to wear to the office. Even if I'm neither hosting nor attending a Halloween party, dang it, I will dress up. And I look awesome. I promise that before I die I will learn how to post pictures on my blog so my readers can see. Maybe.

(Note: LJ's spell check doesn't recognize "blog" as a word. How ironic.)

Warned Ye Be, One and All!

2007-09-19T17:34:16Z

Avast, ye villainous curs! Today be International Talk Like a Pirate Day, so festivities ahoy! Weigh anchor on the merriment, and swig some grog to me health!

(Any of ye, mateys, notice the unco' number of exclamation points in piratical talk?)

Suspected Vampirism Disproven

2007-09-17T18:42:31Z

So Friday I met a very intelligent, attractive man who gazed into my eyes for a half-hour and asked me to meet him again in a few days. Of course, I probably shouldn't read too much into the affair, since he is my ophthalmologist.

It seems I am not becoming a vampire. Rather, my new contact lenses have caused an infection in my cornea, one that should easily clear up. To diagnose the infection, this hunky ophthalmologist put yellow dye on my eyes. I then drove by my old college hoping to run across some former professors with whom to discuss my grad-school plans. It turns out they were in a faculty meeting, so I didn't get the chance to give any of them a creepy yellow-eyed stare and threaten them with the possibility of joining the ranks of the undead.

So maybe I'll just return that waterbed-coffin combo. Such a shame.

Holly Runs into a Real Bitch at Work, and Then She Becomes a Vampire

2007-09-13T00:36:10Z

So how many of you knew at once that my subject heading references a female dog? But on to the story.

Today I went to report the deposition of a senior-citizen expert with whom my firm is quite familiar. I was prepared to hear long, rambling testimony and to put up with flirting from someone older than my grandfather. Since the job was to last "all day," I was prepared not to have a lunch break but to sneak my packed grapes and peanut-butter sandwich during breaks. I wasn't, however, prepared for the dog.

She greeted me at the door with a growl. Then she poked her nose into my purse and the bag containing my packed lunch. The aged deponent informed me that most court reporters who come to his office know his dog and bring her a biscuit. I managed not to apologize sarcastically for not bringing an offering to placate the bitch. I set up my equipment and kept my bag as close to me as possible.

The dog knew I had food. She spent nearly half of the first three hours of the proceedings under my feet, near my bag and power strip, and once managed to trip over and unplug my backup tape recorder. Her grandfatherly master tried to coax her over to him whenever her low growling (directed mostly at me) disturbed the attorneys, but as she was deaf, it was difficult for him to get her attention. Whenever he did manage to call her to him, she would wait about five minutes before returning to her sentinel's post near my lunch.

As I'd predicted, we took no lunch break. At about 1:15, as the attorneys poured over some documents off the record, I began sneaking my grapes. The dog was on to me in a heartbeat. She watched each grape journey from my bag to my mouth, and she began to whimper audibly. When the senior expert witness asked if she were begging for some of my "damned candy" (the Tootsie Rolls I offer to attorneys and deponents during breaks), I said they were grapes. He replied, "Oh, she can have a grape." I didn't thank him for assigning a portion of my lunch to his animal over my stomach's growling, but I tossed the dog a grape and hurried to finish off the rest of them.

The entirety of the proceedings was over sometime after 2:00. The attorneys, the witness, and the dog left the conference room, and I began to pack up, deciding I'd eat my sandwich in the car on the way back to the office. The dog reentered the room and ran out. Just as she darted out the door, I looked up and saw my plastic-wrapped sandwich in her mouth. I blinked in disbelief, then looked to confirm that my sandwich was no longer in my bag. It wasn't. The bitch had it. I began to pack my equipment with greater haste, expecting any minute to hear a loud voice in the hallway saying, "Hey, what's that in the dog's mouth? Who gave her a sandwich?"

As I was zipping my case, the dog came back into the conference room with my sandwich. She had, it seems, decided to taunt me by eating my lunch in my presence. She settled under the conference table, and I heard her wrestling with the plastic. My only consolation lay in imagining her thoughts, something along the lines of "I know there's peanut butter in here. I can smell it. But it's trapped behind some kind of force field."

I thought I could escape before the bitch's theft of my lunch was discovered, but as I moved toward the conference-room door, the elderly deponent reentered followed by a retinue of young people with whom, it seems, he wanted to have a conference. He blocked my outbound path, entered my personal space, put a calloused hand on my shoulder, and said, "Thank you, Sweetie." I said in my most professional voice, "Certainly. Please excuse me. I have a very big bag." I wonder how far down the hall I got before someone discovered the dog and my sandwich. No one stopped me.

That's the story of the bitch. Now on to my new-budding vampirism.

I've noticed a strange phenomenon of late. My eyes are becoming increasingly sensitive to light. Sometimes it will be the computer screen or fluorescent lights inside, and I'll have to look down or away from the source. But mostly it's sunlight. And mostly it's when I'm driving. Today I had this problem both going to and leaving my deposition. I was squinting all the way there, and my eyes were watering. On the way back, I was in genuine pain. My right eye was the most sensitive. I spent most of the return trip with one hand over my right eye, as shutting it wasn't sufficient. Even sunlight through my eyelid was painful. By the time I got home, my tears had removed the makeup from my right eye. The left eye was squinted the whole trip, and it was a real struggle to keep it open enough to drive. If I hadn't known exactly where I was going, I would have had to pull over and wait for the sun to move.

Any thoughts on why such a strange thing is happening to me?

Thanks for the Memories

2007-08-30T14:40:20Z

I got a great idea from some responses to my last post, in which mnemonic devices came up. I encourage everyone to reply to this post with one or more of your favorite mnemonics. Here are a few of mine:

-- "These are the Stuarts. Here are their names: James, Charles, Charles, James." (Heard this one from icarus_suraki)

-- "PaTHWaYS" To remember the surnames of the monarchs of England -- Plantagenet, Tudor, Hanover, Windsor, York, Stuart

-- "Roy G. Biv" To remember the colors of the rainbow in order -- red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet

-- "TULIP" To remember the five primary tenets of Calvinism -- total depravity, unconditional election, limited atonement, irresistible grace, perseverance of the saints

-- "Never go down an incline" or "No good dogs are impotent" To remember the noun cases for Old English -- nominative, genitive, dative, accusative, instrumental

--"FANBOYS" To remember the seven coordinating conjunctions in modern English -- "for," "and," "nor," "but," "or," "yet," and "so" (thanks to my being a grammar tutor)

-- the now obsolete "My very-educated mother just served us nine pies" To remember the planets of the solar system in order of distance from the sun -- Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto

Now it's your turn. Thanks for the memories!

Diamonds in the Rough

2007-08-29T16:27:45Z

Proofing transcriptions is not exactly an amusement-filled task, but rare moments of humor intrude. I once had a typist to use the word "pneumonic" in place of the more appropriate "mnemonic," and I went into a fit of giggles imagining that "Please excuse my dear Aunt Sally" might be used to assist the lungs rather than the memory.

Today I've had two instances of homophone humor. The typist has the attorney asking whether someone's cognitive function is "in tact," causing me to question whether this person's mind is perhaps crude and boorish. But my favorite is the mentioning of "sleep depravation." Yes, this person's sleep is in the process of becoming depraved. Let's hope she's not a somnambulist.

I need someone mean.

2007-07-31T15:35:24Z

I'm tired of my job and tired of my procrastinating and even more tired of hearing myself complain about my job and my procrastinating. I want to go to grad school in fall '08, so I must turn in applications by December (preferably November) '07.

I promised myself I'd do grad-school research for an hour yesterday, and I did (more like an hour and a half). I've vowed to do so again today. But I'm already cowed by the process and how little I know about how to go about it. My fear is that I'll get discouraged and not keep up the effort. So I'm posting here seeking a taskmaster.

What I need in a taskmaster is someone mean, someone who won't let me get away with excuses. I don't mean I need someone to call me names or berate me. (I've done that to myself with no results.) I mean I need someone who will keep on me about it, check in with me, not back off when I slacken my efforts. Of course I'd appreciate any knowledge about or experience in selecting and applying to grad schools, but what I really need is someone who would require me to find that information and act on it.

I'd be thrilled with someone who would help/make me break down the process into smaller tasks and assign me deadlines for each task. My best friend Marjorie once said what she wanted for Christmas was the name of the grad school I would attend, but that assignment was too nebulous and complex. I'd start research, get frustrated, and stop. That Christmas passed, and I had nothing for her.

Any volunteers or recommendations for someone to be my taskmaster?

Even Wizards Need Court Reporters

2007-07-26T13:48:18Z

[No real spoilers, just pointing out details very few would notice]

I'm just over halfway through HPDH, and I've learned that the court reporter's lot is just as fagging and thankless in the wizarding world as in the muggle world. Who do we learn is the first person at the Ministry of Magic every morning? That's right, Mafalda Hopkirk, the witch court reporter.

Nobody Likes a Handsome Prince

2007-02-04T22:10:26Z

As promised, here is the companion essay to my beast-complex essays. I have written quite a few words in praise of literary beasts, such as the beast from "Beauty and the Beast," Mr. Rochester from Jane Eyre, Cyrano de Bergerac, and the Phantom of the Opera. (See http://ercasse-ainince.livejournal.com/21800.html and http://ercasse-ainince.livejournal.com/34630.html.) Now I will comment on the beast's foil, his nemesis, the handsome prince.

Most beasts in general and each of the beasts I have mentioned in particular have their handsome-prince foils -- Mr. Rochester versus St. John Rivers, Cyrano versus Christian, the Phantom versus Raoul, and, of course, the beast versus the prince. At first, the handsome prince looks like a very attractive romantic prospect. He is young, handsome, dashing, admired and pursued by other women. He is the textbook-perfect model of romantically attractive manhood, the kind of man a Beauty, a Roxanne, a Christine is supposed to want. He is the happy ending to the fairy tale.

Or is he?

Note the "supposed to." Note the attitude of "this should be," the foregone conclusion that any woman, particularly an attractive one such as a fairy-tale princess, must want the prince, must even be destined for him. Doesn't she get a choice? Few of us know or have ever been told that the Grimm Brothers' Cinderella runs from the prince all three nights of the ball and that he gets her shoe only by spreading pitch on the stairs in an attempt to stop her flight. It takes a royal decree to get those two married. Old-school (read "non Disney") fairy tales are full of girls who aren't out looking for love but who end up catching a prince's eye anyway. Christine is enjoying her first night as opera prima donna, due to the tutelage of her angel of music, when Raoul decides to notice her, remember their childhood romance, steal into her dressing room, and take her to dinner. She refuses, thinking of her angel's displeasure, but Raoul won't hearken to her objections. St. John Rivers, too, though Jane is in love with Rochester, doesn't ask but rather demands Jane's hand in marriage, saying, "A missionary's wife you must -- shall be. You shall be mine: I claim you." When she persists in her refusal, knowing that she cannot be the wife he will require her to be, he tells her, "It is not me you deny, but God." Jane sees even St. John's beauty as a form of his tyranny, saying that to be what he wants of her is "as impossible as to mould [her] irregular features to his correct and classic pattern."

What the prince and often the audience fail to realize is that the prince's love for the maiden isn't always requited. His admiration doesn't obligate her to him. Her heart is hers to give, even if everyone else thinks she should give it to him, even if her family and friends are willing to sell her for money and a title. When the forces of parents and society and religion join to tell a woman that she must like a certain man, even if he is a prince, how can she help but feel manipulated and trapped? Is it any wonder if she succumbs to the allure of the forbidden and gets a crush on the dirty, sweaty blacksmith?

When we step back from the prince and the brilliance of his title, money, and popularity, what is so confounded attractive about him? He is a pretty boy. I know that pretty boys and metrosexuals are plastered all over present-day magazine covers and touted as the pinnacle of fashionable, sexually attractive manhood (again with society's telling women what to like). I know that I should allow for varying tastes among women. But can a pretty boy really do it for so many? So he's young, cute, (often) blond, bright eyed, smooth skinned. He sounds more like competition than a date to me. When I think of masculinity, I don't think of a pretty-boy handsome prince. I'll bet that blacksmith I mentioned earlier could easily take down our prince here and not even break a sweat (beyond that which he's worked up while pounding metal and building up those biceps). Even blind and maimed, Rochester could snap St. John's neck like a twig. The waifish Christine has to save Raoul twice from the Phantom's wrath. And Roxanne actually charges Cyrano with protecting Christian first from their allies among the cadets and then from their enemies in the war.

Yet despite the prince's general uselessness and utter lack of manliness, he is his own biggest fan. We can hardly wonder at his vanity, since everyone has always told him how cute, desirable, and extraordinary he is. He is Queen Mommy's darling, King Daddy's chip off the ol' block. Women fall all over him, even if he spends more time primping at his mirror than they. Sure, he can't arm wrestle the blacksmith, but he can order the palace guards to do it for him and then take all the credit. The prince is good at taking the credit for other people's work; after all, it's his due as royalty or as a pretty-boy heartthrob or as whatever characteristic he chooses for his entitlement complex. The rather dim-witted Christian sees no problem in claiming Cyrano's eloquence as his own in wooing Roxanne. St. John Rivers declares that God has destined Jane to be his bride.

The prince's vanity and sense of entitlement make it very difficult to believe that he truly loves. What, after all, does he see in his desired woman but a pretty face for the family portrait, another check mark on his list of accomplishments? As Disney's Gaston says, "[She's] the most beautiful girl in town. That makes her the best. And don't I deserve the best?" Prince Humperdinck, too, declares, "I want someone who is so beautiful that when you see her you say, 'Wow, that Humperdinck must be some kind of fella to have a wife like that.'" As to the prince types I have named in particular, Raoul doesn't even notice Christine until she is made prima donna by the Phantom and displayed on stage, whereupon he says, "What a change! You're really not a bit the gawkish girl that once you were." When Christian tries to express his love to Roxanne without Cyrano's help, his words are, "Your neck! I'd like to kiss it." True, St. John wants plain Jane, but he wants her for his great missions work. As he says, "It is not the insignificant private individual -- the mere man, with the man's selfish sense -- I wish to mate: it is the missionary," and "You are formed for labour, not for love." In his way, St. John sees Jane as a missionary's trophy wife.

If this vain, self-centered prince marries his lady, will he love her selflessly? Will he make her happy? Of course he chases the fleeing maiden, because she challenges his view of himself as irresistible. But once he catches her, will he take her for granted as he would any toy of which he tires once he comes to possess it? Unfortunately for this question, the stories usually end with the prince's marriage, and we don't get to see his married life. But beauty/beast/prince stories in which the beauty chooses the prince don't give particularly glowing impressions of the couple's wedded life. Christine tearfully gives back the Phantom's ring and sails off with Raoul, and then we know nothing of her life except that she leaves Raoul a widower. Roxanne marries Christian minutes before he is sent to war, visits his camp just in time to hold him as he dies, lives in mourning at a convent for years, then at last learns that it was Cyrano who wrote the letters that won her heart, just in time to watch Cyrano die. She laments, "I've loved only one man, and I've lost him twice."

"But Holly," I hear you my readers say, "You titled this essay 'Nobody Likes a Handsome Prince,' and so far you've expressed only your own opinions." Well, now I will demonstrate that other writers are joining my cause and sharing my antiprince, probeast sentiments. The primary works I will discuss in this arena are Into the Woods, Shrek and Shrek 2, The 10th Kingdom, and a ballet version of "Beauty and the Beast" that I haven't seen but of which I've been told.

The first time I heard of a work that overtly agrees that a beauty should love the beast was when an aunt told me about a ballet version of "Beauty and the Beast" in which the dancer playing the beast dances around in a hideous mask. At the end, instead of his shedding the mask to become a prince, the Beauty character dons a mask and becomes a beast herself. I was so thrilled. Very soon afterward, I saw Shrek and was again glad to see Princess Fiona transform into an ogre rather than Shrek transform into a handsome-prince type. Even better than the sympathetic portrayal of the ogre Shrek are the characterizations of Lord Farquaad in the first film and of Prince Charming in the second film. Then I saw a college performance of Into the Woods, and I couldn't have been more pleased with the portrayals of the annoying handsome princes. And even The 10th Kingdom's Prince Wendell, though he isn't a romantic interest, is a wonderfully vain, spoiled, self-centered, useless prince.

The Shrek films do an excellent job of satirizing the "this is the way things should be" attitude of the prince type. (Sadly, these films take up satirical arms also against all fairy tales, which the films seem to recognize only as the Disney versions.) Lord Farquaad is a control freak who runs his not yet kingdom of Duloc as the most despotic of micromanagers and expects his princess to be part of his vision. As he says, "I will have order! I will have perfection!" Fiona, too, as if she has Stockholm syndrome from her long imprisonment, is at first a slave to fairy-tale convention. She balks at Shrek and his unorthodox rescue, saying, "It's destiny. You must know how it goes" and then "This is all wrong. You're not supposed to be an ogre." Later, however, she seems to realize the ridiculousness of marrying someone she doesn't know or like simply because it's expected of her. Shrek 2 does an even better job with Prince Charming, who also declares destiny has chosen him for Fiona. When Fiona's father the king points out that one can't force people to fall in love, the Fairy Godmother (Prince Charming's mother) says, "I do it all the time." The Shrek films are all about debunking convention and defying expectations, especially about love.

These new takes on handsome princes also tend to agree with me on the prince's lack of manliness. Shrek's Lord Farquaad is laughably short and must endure the resulting jokes and all their connotations, including jokes about his huge castle's being in order to "compensate." Prince Charming from Shrek 2 is incredibly effeminate and immature, shown sporting a hair net and sparkly lip gloss. He whines petulantly and must rely on his mother to solve all his problems, even to do his hair for the ball. The two princes from Into the Woods have their ridiculous phobias, one of blood, the other of dwarfs. Prince Wendell from The 10th Kingdom is easily duped by the evil queen and turned into a dog, leaving others to rescue him, save his kingdom, and restore him to the throne and to his human form.

As for vanity and a sense of entitlement, these princes have them in spades. Lord Farquaad declares he and his kingdom are perfect and will hear no word to the contrary. He believes himself fully entitled to wed Princess Fiona, though he doesn't bother to rescue her himself. In Prince Charming's opening monologue to Shrek 2, he declares himself "the bravest and most handsome in all the land" as he tosses his hair for the camera. He, too, thinks himself entitled to Fiona without slaying the dragon or rescuing her. The princes from Into the Woods strut like peacocks for every female they see. Prince Wendell, even as a dog, thinks himself entitled to unquestioning obedience from the dimensional travelers who are in no way his subjects. He is supposed to have performed "prearranged acts of bravery" as a coronation requirement.

Each of the amorous princes has selfish motives for wanting his lady. Both Lord Farquaad and Prince Charming want Princess Fiona in order to become king. Farquaad is willing to use his marriage to be king while locking Fiona turned ogre back into her tower prison. The princes from Into the Woods want Cinderella and Rapunzel as long as these ladies are unattainable. Once they marry their ladies, they begin to pine for other beauties in need of rescue. As Cinderella's prince says, "I was raised to be charming, not sincere." And I don't think it's coincidence that the actor who plays this prince traditionally plays the wolf, with his double-entendred lines, as well. It seems these new princes, just as I've always said of the old ones, are not capable of the selfless love that a beast has for his Beauty.

So it looks like popular culture is starting to agree with me that a handsome prince is no real man, no true lover. And at least to some extent, beasts are gaining in popularity. I'm glad we as a culture are starting to come to our senses, but I'm afraid beasts may never be appreciated as they deserve. In fact, I'm sure they won't. That, in the end, is what makes them beasts, what makes them so very attractive to those of us who understand.

Can't believe I did the silly meme

2006-12-01T14:55:29Z

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Beast Complex Revisited

2006-10-21T15:50:21Z

It has been almost two years since I first posted about my Beast Complex, thereby enlightening the world as to why beasts make the best lovers and are infinitely to be preferred to handsome princes. It may be helpful to my readers to review the initial post at http://ercasse-ainince.livejournal.com/21800.html. For those too lazy to do so, I'll reiterate that I identified four literary beasts -- the beast from "Beauty and the Beast"; Mr. Rochester from Jane Eyre; Erik, the Phantom of the Opera, from the musical named for him; and Cyrano de Bergerac from the play bearing his name. The beast qualities I identified are ugliness, masculinity, physical strength, and a love that is passionate, focused (on one beloved), faithful, and selfless.

In the intervening two years, I have ruminated over my intense reaction to beasts. It seems I have always felt this way. (I've noted before that all my education and literary training doesn't seem to change my opinions but only to augment my ability to express and defend them. Basically, one might say I have a BA in BS.) "Beauty and the Beast" has been my favorite fairy tale for as long as I can remember. I loved Erik and despised Raoul from my first hearing the Phantom soundtrack at eleven or twelve years old, long before I had any real romantic understanding. And Rochester is my number-one literary crush of all time. Even this entry at http://ercasse-ainince.livejournal.com/10674.html#cutid1, posted nearly a year before I first identified Beast Complex, shows the tendency was there before I realized it. What is it that resonates so between beasts and my soul?

To come nearer the answer to that question, I have begun to study the beast's beloved, his Beauty. After all, she, like me, loves and appreciates the beast. By studying her and seeing what she and I have in common, I may come to a fuller understanding of myself and my attraction to the beast.

Also, I have begun to look at some more recent takes on Beauties and beasts and handsome princes. I'm surprised and pleased to see that writers of various mediums are coming around to my view, exalting the beast and mocking the prince. These tidbits, however, I may save to post later under the title "Nobody Likes a Handsome Prince."

While contemplating Beast Complex one day, my muse pointed out to me one trend among beasts that I hadn't before noticed, that of luxury. When a Beauty enters the world of her beast, she is surrounded by luxury, often in stark contrast to the poverty of her former life. The fairy-tale beast lives in a beautiful palace with servants, invisible or otherwise, who grant Beauty's every wish and whim. Mr. Rochester's splendid residence at Thornfield Hall dazzles Jane. The Phantom's lair below the opera, though I've heard some disparage it as cluttered like an attic, is nevertheless rich and lavish, lit sumptuously with candles, hung with luxurious drapes. Just think of the carved-swan bed, with its brilliant spread and curtain canopy, where he lays the sleeping Christine. (For this luxury trend, we will have to excuse Cyrano. He is still a beast, but he doesn't fit the luxury mold.) firebreatherjen had me read The Fire Rose by Mercedes Lackey, a more recent and less "literary" beauty-and-the-beast story. It, too, has the beastly Jason Cameron living in the lap of luxury, where he brings the scholarly Rose to aid him in his studies. These beasts' luxurious homes are in sharp contrast to their Beauties' former lives. The fairy-tale Beauty's father has lost his profitable shipping business and moved his family to a much smaller and plainer home. The orphan Jane Eyre comes to Thornfield from a charity school where she was first a student and then a teacher. The orphan Christine lives in the ballet dormitories of the Opera Populaire. Rose has just lost her father and her livelihood and has had to become a working girl. (Of course, we are leaving out the wealthy Roxanne, as we did her poor beast Cyrano.)

So what does luxury have to do with being a beast? What does it mean to the impoverished Beauty? Yes, a fortune makes the beast a better prospect, but that isn't the point. Beauty has never been mercenary in any of her incarnations. In fact, she is the least materialistic of the fairy-tale sisters, the others of whom ask their father to bring them expensive gifts while Beauty requests only a rose, and that only when pressed. Beauty is, in fact, quite selfless. The 1987 Beauty and the Beast film has Beauty say to her siblings, "Without you, I'd have all this lovely time just to devote to myself. Someday... someday." Her brother replies, "If you had time for yourself, Beauty, you wouldn't know what to do with it." Beauty asks, "I wouldn't?" He responds, "No, you're much too unselfish to enjoy it." He is, of course, dead wrong. And here we come to my newest epiphany concerning Beauty and the beast.

The beast, with his riches and, more importantly, with his intense devotion to Beauty, allows the selfless Beauty finally to receive rather than to give. The vivid contrast between Beauty's former life of poverty and her life in the beast's luxurious home is the visual realization of her translation from giver to receiver. To the unfailingly selfless Beauty, who has rarely been allowed anything for herself, entering this world of receiving is magical -- an enchanted castle in a forest, a candle-lit isle in an underground lake. Even Thornfield Hall, a mere mansion of no particular magical quality, is wonderful to the selfless Jane. Jane comes there looking for "A new servitude," saying "There is something in that. I know there is, because it does not sound too sweet. It is not like such words as Liberty, Excitement, Enjoyment: delightful sounds truly, but no more than sounds for me, and so hollow and fleeting that it is mere waste of time to listen to them. But Servitude! That must be a matter of fact. Any one may serve." And once Jane has lived at Thornfield, she says, "I love Thornfield: I love it, because I have lived in it a full and delightful life [. . .]. I have not been trampled on. I have not been petrified. I have not been buried with inferior minds, and excluded from every glimpse of communion with what is bright and energetic and high." For Jane, Thornfield is magical solely because she has received there and nowhere else.

Of course, no selfless Beauty would presume, on entering a beast's home, that any of his luxuries are for her. The beast must give them to her. The Disney version has Belle shocked when the beast says, "I'll show you to your room." She thought she was to stay in the tower prison. In the fairy tale, Beauty finds a door clearly marked "Beauty's Room" behind which is a beautiful apartment filled with feminine luxuries that seem to have been selected specifically with her in mind. A note tells her "Here you are queen." Mercedes Lackey's Rose, too, is afforded a splendid apartment in Jason Cameron's mansion. Both Beauty and Rose are given lovely dresses to wear by their beasts. (Rochester offers Jane dresses and jewels and every luxury she can imagine, but the unreasonably prim Jane refuses to accept them.) And contrary to what the 1987 film brother says, Beauty is quite capable of enjoying all the beast's gifts, just as the beast is pleased to give them. His wealth has ceased to bring him joy in his loneliness, but now he finds joy in sharing it with his Beauty.

Still, it is certainly not only luxury that pleases Beauty about living with the beast. It isn't that she puts up with him because she gets to share in his wealth. The beast gives his Beauty not only his wealth (He is so wealthy that swamping her in luxury is no sacrifice.) but also his time, attention, and devotion. In his castle, in his heart, she is queen. Everything she says and does, every wish and dream she has is of utmost importance to him. More telling than the richness of his gifts is their aptness, how fitting they are for Beauty and for Beauty alone. She likes books; he gives her a library (in the fairy tale, too, not only in Disney). Christine dreams of a protecting angel of music; Erik becomes her angel. And even more important than gifts is time. Whereas before Beauty spends all of her time helping others, now she has time for herself. In the beast's world, there is only Queen Beauty and her loving beast. The only being who has contact with her is the one being who wishes only to serve her and please her. Think of what that means to Beauty. She cannot go against her selfless nature. She is compelled to serve those around her. Beauty's family, Jane's students, others' needs have always come first. What does Erik need? He needs Christine. What does Rochester need? He needs Jane. What does the beast need? He needs Beauty.

I hear some readers now hearkening back to the statement by Beauty's brother in the 1987 film that Beauty is too selfless to enjoy so much time to herself. I agree that a life spent in meaningless self-gratification would not be amenable to Beauty. But we must remember that she has the beast. In the beast's castle, Beauty has not only the pleasure of being queen but also the joy of knowing she is helping another. She is, in fact, the only thing that makes the beast's life worth living. Without her, he would die. (See my previous entry on Beast Complex for the fates of Erik, Rochester, and the beast without Christine, Jane, and Beauty respectively.) The selfless Beauty is in the glorious position of being able to accept all the wealth, time, and devotion the beast offers without suffering the slightest guilt. She knows that by accepting, she is only pleasing him. Her entire existence is pleasing to him. As Jane says of her relationship with Rochester, "There was no harassing restraint, no repressing of glee and vivacity with him; for with him I was at perfect ease, because I knew I suited him; all I said or did seemed either to console or revive him. Delightful consciousness! It brought life and light to my whole nature: in his presence I thoroughly lived, and he lived in mine."

In short, my newest epiphany concerning Beast Complex is that I love the beast because he allows me to be selfish. He turns the tables on me and my selflessness. (brukwurm says I have a scary definition of "selfless." She may be right.) As a teaser for the "Nobody Likes a Handsome Prince" post, I'll point out that no handsome prince can give the way a beast does. A handsome prince may have the money, but he has so many distractions and obligations that his princess can never be queen of his heart the way Beauty is queen of the beast's heart. No handsome prince's world of publicity and politics and duty can compare with the private world of love and devotion that is a beast's castle, a Phantom's underground island. We don't even have to bother posting a "Do Not Disturb" sign.

ercasse_ainince @ 2006-09-15T20:15:00

2006-09-16T04:07:20Z

Another gem from my GRE study material:

"You will have to wait to receive your essay scores because they are graded by humans."

I hope this is as amusing to others as it is to me. Perhaps my rather dry reading of late is coloring my perception.

ercasse_ainince @ 2006-09-14T19:47:00

2006-09-14T23:45:10Z

You can tell I have something important to do, because I'm posting frequently.

That said, I find it endlessly amusing to read in my GRE study materials, "Why is a passing knowledge of eighth-grade algebra important for a future Ph.D. in English literature? Don't ask us. Apparently ETS thinks there's a connection."

I kid you not. That's what it says.

ercasse_ainince @ 2006-09-10T11:48:00

2006-09-10T15:44:18Z

To encourage me to post more often (not that it works), I will sometimes forbid myself to read my friends' blogs until I post. So having just posted and finished my read-friends'-posts marathon, I have here another meme.

If you comment on this post:
1. I’ll respond with something random about you.
2. I’ll challenge you to try something.
3. I’ll pick a color that I associate with you.
4. I’ll tell you something I like about you.
5. I’ll tell you my first/clearest memory of you.
6. I’ll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I’ll ask you something I’ve always wanted to ask you.
8. If I do this for you, you must post this on yours.

I will, however, change Rule No. 8. You may post this meme on your blog if you choose, but I will not require it of you.

I simply can't leave well enough alone

2006-08-30T02:18:24Z

I have noticed two trends in my day-to-day life over the last month or two. They're good trends. I'm glad they're happening. But I can't seem to enjoy them as I should, because I don't understand why they're happening.

One trend is that of attorneys calling the office and requesting me specifically to report depositions for them. As I've said, this is a good thing. When an attorney requests me, I look good. My boss hears about it. She can assume that the quality of my work and my professionalism are of a high standard. She might consider (okay, probably not) giving me a raise or, if not that, at least cutting me some slack if anyone complains about me (as is bound to happen in such a deadline-oriented job). I should be very happy. Instead, I'm confused.

I don't understand why these attorneys are requesting me, and my lack of understanding keeps me from enjoying it. Just today I was with an attorney who had requested me. His paralegal had called the office, scheduled us for the deposition, and asked for me because, in her words, "He likes Holly." That's great, I suppose. The problem is that I can hardly remember who this attorney is. When I racked my brain, I remembered one time reporting a deposition that had involved him. However, he was not the one who had hired my firm for that job; he was an attorney representing another party in the case. That means it was pure chance that he and I ended up in the same room together. I don't remember having had any interaction with him in that proceeding other than to ask him, "Would you like to order a copy of the transcript?" How did I manage to make such an impression on him? How does he even remember my name? I don't know that I managed even to give him my card on that previous occasion. Yes, my name would have been on the transcript he ordered, but I find ridiculous the idea that my transcription skills are that impressive. Transcription is an art that, when done well, is unnoticeable, rather like court reporting in general. And I doubt even the best transcription would make an attorney "like" me. I'm at a loss to understand why he requested me.

Last week, I reported a deposition for an attorney whom I understand to be particularly important to my firm, though he doesn't give us frequent business. I'd first met him when I was still in training, observing a much more seasoned court reporter report depositions for him. At that time, he'd complimented me on my ability to "disappear," to be inconspicuous during a deposition. It has now been almost two years since I finished training, and I hadn't yet reported anything for this attorney. I had once or twice seen him when he was representing another party at a deposition where I was hired by someone else, but that was all.

For this recent job, I met him when we both arrived at the deposition location together. He was friendly and greeted me by name. In the conference room, while waiting for the witness, he chatted with me and jokingly introduced me to some long-time colleagues who came in to say hi to him. The deposition lasted three hours or so, and we didn't get to depose one of the witnesses. He asked me if I would be available Friday to report the deposition of the witness we'd missed, and I said I'd call the office and see what I could do. Then he asked me where I'd parked and insisted on walking me to my car in the parking deck and watching me get in before he would leave. He's a man well over fifty, and I thought he was simply being old-fashioned and chivalrous.

When I related this story at the office, it was greeted with much surprise. It seems this attorney has been giving us little business for a while because he prefers another court reporter to us. A coworker who has been with our firm much longer than I told me that he treated me with particular friendliness, more than he gives to others from our firm on the few occasions he hires us. Again I seem to have struck an attorney's fancy, and once again I'm unsure why. I am the least experienced reporter in our firm but one, and I know my court-reporting talent cannot be that stupendous. Nor am I more friendly or personable or confident than any of my coworkers; probably I am less so. My inability to make sense of these attorneys' liking for me is driving me a bit batty.

Then there's Trend No. 2. Again, I say up front that I know this trend is a good thing, and I am not complaining that it is happening. I fully expect every female reading this entry to hurl something at the screen, so I warn them now to make sure they have pillows or something equally nonharmful at hand.

I am inexplicably losing weight. I'm not sure how much I've lost nor for how long I've been losing. Part of the reason I'm weirded out by the phenomenon is that I have no way to quantify it. I haven't stepped on a scale in over four years. I don't know how much I weigh now nor how much I weighed whenever this trend began. I have made no recent lifestyle or diet changes. When I got the occasional "Have you been losing weight?" comment, I'd shrug it off and think my outfit must have a slimming effect. But now I can't argue. I've begun wearing belts with my jeans because otherwise they sag. I'm fitting into shirts I haven't worn since college. Yet again, I'm glad but confused.

I think I'm looking good, and I'd like to maintain this weight. But since I don't know what has occasioned the weight loss, I can't continue to do it. Could I begin tomorrow to gain weight inexplicably? It would make just as much sense as this trend.

And now, too, I have one of those "problems" everyone else would like to have. My clothes aren't fitting, especially my work clothes, which are, of course, the more expensive ones. I'm glad for the opportunity to buy new clothes relatively guilt-free, but I'm not looking forward to spending the money. Buying another work wardrobe won't be cheap or quick. It took me two years to assemble what I have now. And there are still variables to consider, like whether I will continue to lose weight, or whether I'll return to my previous weight. The not knowing, and especially the not knowing why, is killing me.

So as we can see, Holly is incapable of shutting up and enjoying her good fortune.

I'm cited again!

2006-08-23T14:59:15Z

It's not quite as noteworthy as my Phantom of the Opera review's being linked, but my review of the Keira Knightley Pride and Prejudice film has been linked at www.textblg.com/person/keira-knightley.htm . It's too bad I discussed my ignorance of the actress and didn't so much review her performance as complain that she's too thin and trendy. Still, now the world has that much more access to my invaluable opinions.

ercasse_ainince @ 2006-08-20T11:15:00

2006-08-20T17:09:05Z

This may very well be the first time ever I've done a meme, though I've been tagged before. Anyway, here goes.

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 23.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 3 sentences on your LJ along with these instructions.
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.
6. Tag five people.

"As she danced to the rhythm of the tambourine which her round, delicate arms held over her head, she seemed to be some sort of supernatural creature, with her billowy, multicolored dress, her bare shoulders, her shapely legs, which her skirt revealed from time to time, her jet-black hair and her fiery eyes.

"'She's a nymph, a goddess!' thought Gringoire. Just then a strand of the 'goddess's' hair came loose and a brass coin which had been attached to it fell to the pavement."

A semi-steamy excerpt that. It's from a copy of The Hunchback of Notre Dame that is nearest my computer only because I'm getting rid of it because I've discovered it's an abridged edition. Holly does not read Hugo abridged! It has come to my attention that several of my paperbacks are abridged editions, and it's hard to tell, because the word "abridged" is usually carefully hidden on the cover.

I'll tag brukwurm, firebreatherjen, shadmere, acquana, and icarus_suraki.

And here's another meme on which I was tagged long ago by lauralyrics and which I'm finally posting.

Name 15 fictional characters you would date, or might consider dating against your better judgement, or otherwise find attractive (in no particular order, add reasons if you wish) and then tag 4 people to do the same.

1) Edward Fairfax Rochester from Jane Eyre, my number-one crush of all time. I stole another critic's epithet for another of my crushes (No. 2), and I refer to Rochester as "sex incarnate."
2) Mr. Knightley from Emma. Whereas Rochester appeals to my baser parts, Mr. Knightley is noble, admirable, the perfect gentleman. I refer to him as "the most perfect male ever formed in the mind of God or man."
3) Professor Friedrich Bhaer from Little Women, a close second to Mr. Knightley in masculine virtue, and with a cute German accent.
4) The Phantom of the Opera, whom I call Erik. (Yes, I'm on a first-name basis with a fictitious deformed homicidal maniac.) He's got the voice of an angel, the mind of a genius, the seductive power of a god, and a love undying. So what are a couple of murders between friends?
5) The beast from "Beauty and the Beast." I mean the traditional fairy tale, not specifically the Disney version. As my regular readers know, the beast exemplifies and has named my Beast Complex. For fuller details see my 1-2-2005 entry.
6) Sir Percival Blakeney, the Scarlet Pimpernel, from the novel or from the film starring Anthony Andrews. He combines the appeal of the superhero with that of the historical love interest, along with a cape and a British accent.
7) Aragorn son of Arathorn. Yes, like Eowyn (with whom I identify strongly), I have stars in my eyes for this tall, noble, destiny-burdened heir to the throne of Gondor and Arnor. And he's much too far out of reach for either Eowyn or me.
8) Faramir son of Denethor. This man comes close to Mr. Knightley in masculine perfection. He's a skilled warrior who places himself in danger for his fighting men, his loved ones, and his country; but he hates war. He would rather study at Gandalf's feet and woo a wild shield-maiden of Rohan.
9) Dr. MacNeil from Christy. He's educated and eloquent yet fiercely loyal to his poor, rural homeland. He's dark, broody, and mysterious, with a tragic romantic past and a to-die-for Scottish accent.
10) Remus Lupin. Selfless and noble yet kind and accessible. His sympathy knows no bounds, and everyone is safe and cared for with him. Add to this his angst at being a werewolf (He's a beast!) and his resistance to putting the woman he loves in danger. Be still my heart!
11) Benedick from Much Ado About Nothing, especially as played by Kenneth Branaugh. A girl can spar verbally with him all day, and he'll finally stop her mouth with a kiss. Then he'll challenge the man who wronged her cousin and send chills up her spine with his masculinity.
12) Don Pedro from Much Ado, especially as played by Denzel Washington. This man is the perfect prince -- tall, handsome, royal, responsible, willing to fight, willing to play. He understands the importance of love, though he remains without.
13) Colonel Brandon from Sense and Sensibility. He's the older, wiser, sophisticated man who wants to shelter his young love from the hardships of the world. Add to that his sad romantic past, his unrequited (until the end) present love, and his sizable fortune and estate, and we have a very attractive prospect.
14) Nicholas Nickleby as played by Charlie Hunnam. This man is everything I say I don't like in men -- young, cute, blond, naive, idealistic -- and yet he pulls it off so well that I can't help but like him. He does manage to look very masterful when challenging the man who compromised his sister.
15) Batman. Come on, every girl has her superhero crush. And Batman is great because his "powers" are natural, not due to being an alien or being bitten by a radioactive bug or doused in nuclear waste. He's a rich guy who decided to learn martial arts, build a lot of cool gadgets, and fight crime. He, too, is the only superhero I know whose alter ego isn't a dork. Batman -- cool. Millionaire playboy Bruce Wayne -- still cool.

For this one, I tag anyone who wants to, but specifically brukwurm, firebreatherjen, shadmere, and icarus_suraki.

Waiterphobia and Other Phenomena of the Meek

2006-07-27T02:26:49Z

I have suffered from waiterphobia (further explanation below) since about the age of fourteen. I probably had the tendency even earlier, but it went unnoticed because of my childhood habit of ordering the same meal at each of the three restaurants my family habitually visited. My sisters and good friends laugh at me about it, while newer acquaintances react somewhere along the range of mystified to horrified.

It's tough to be meek.

A typical episode of waiterphobia will happen thus: I sit down at a restaurant with a group of friends. I pick up the menu, but one of the group wants to engage me in conversation. I dutifully participate in small talk, knowing in the back of my mind that I should be making my menu selection.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the waiter materializes with a crash of thunder and wants to take our orders. I panic. Even if I am the last one he questions, I will not have enough time to choose. Before my mind's eye flash the impatient, hungry faces of his numerous other charges, all of whom are waiting on their food because of me and my slowness. I see the chefs sighing in frustration as food cools and becomes stale because I am delaying the waiter. Then comes the terrible moment when the waiter turns his eyes on me and, in his person, I see the entire restaurant staff focused on me, waiting for my selection.

There have been occasions, I'm ashamed to say, when I've been rendered speechless by the pressure and have had to be rescued by a friend. What usually happens is that I look down at the menu and order the first thing that I see, regardless of what it is and whether or not I like it.

To avoid such an occurrence, I have developed a restaurant ritual. Immediately upon being seated with a menu, I open it and begin the selection process, avoiding most of the initial conversation. When I've chosen, I repeat my order about three times over in my head as practice for when the waiter comes. This tactic usually works to fend off the worst of waiterphobia, but other circumstances can still trigger the phenomenon to varying degrees. For example, the waiter may throw off my system by asking an unexpected question, such as "What soup would you like with that?" Or it may happen that the restaurant is out of the dish I order. Then I'm back to Square 1.

Another variable to waiterphobia is how early in the visit I "make a mistake" and thereby trigger the problem. If I make it through the ordering and receiving food without mishap, it's very likely I'll be brave enough to ask for more time to think about ordering dessert. If, however, I mess up during the ordering or before, I'll be afraid of the waiter for the rest of the meal. I once triggered waiterphobia before even being seated, because I mistook the restaurant to be one where the customer approaches the counter, orders, and seats himself. Once I realized my mistake, the meal was doomed.

I think waiterphobia may fall under the broader category of what I call little-sister syndrome, so named because I attribute it, correctly or not, to my experience as third of four sisters. Little-sister syndrome is basically my fear of bothering people. I have before said that hell on earth for me would be knowing that I have intentionally annoyed someone. Doing so unintentionally is second worst. Little-sister syndrome often shows itself in my reluctance to select a social activity for a group. "What would you like to do, Holly?" "Oh, I don't know. Why don't you pick?" My friend michiru223 once tried to force me to choose for the group, saying, "No, Holly. We want you to pick." She thought she was doing me a favor, that I would like at last to be able to select what to do. Instead, I was frightened by the responsibility. What if the rest of the group didn't like what I would pick? I tried to explain to her (and I think I failed) that I actually get more enjoyment from knowing the rest of the group is pleased than I would get from choosing an activity that I like. My best friend Marjorie has learned that to get me comfortably to choose, she must give me options. If she asks, "Where do you want to go eat?" I may very well freeze up. But if she asks, "Would you like Mexican or Italian?" I then have choices both of which I can assume are acceptable to her and won't annoy her.

I can think of only two others who may understand or even share in waiterphobia, and they are brukwurm and lauralyrics. I fully expect the rest of the world to shake their heads in bewilderment. And that expected misunderstanding, more than even the fear of waiters, is what makes it so tough to be meek.