With a hey na nonny and a hot cha cha

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

For some reason I can't get myself in the mood to read anything, which is weird. Edmund Spenser? Meh. Geoffrey Chaucer? Blah. Walt Whittman? No, but thanks. L.M. Montgomery? Okay, but only because Anne of Green Gables is the most eager-to-please book I've ever read. Seriously, how did I go through my childhood without such happiness?

Oh. Right.

Watched Duck Soup this Monday in film studies, and I have to say that I was mildly disappointed. I was expecting subtlety and sarcasm, but what I got was puns and canned dialogue, and Harpo Marx giving me nightmares. Like, really, he's scary as shit. And I don't even know why Zeppo is there. Probably just to look hot. And all four Marxes seem, er, bored.

But apparently they were really mad at Paramount, so that might have something to do with it. Still, I can appreciate what it was going for, but as far as old Hollywood comedies are concerned, I prefer things like Some Like It Hot or stuff with Cary Grant in it. The thing about the Marx brothers, especially Groucho, is that they were great at one liners. The funny thing about one liners is that they are one liners, and having an entire movie of them is a bit like overkill.

The week before that was King Kong, which was the most fun that I've had in the movies in a long time; even though it is obviously dated, I was a bit astonished by the special effects (given that they looked so good for 1933) and, though the script was beyond laughable, it said a lot about what the climate was like then, between the film business itself and, perhaps, the real world. And oh my god it was sexist and racist, which oh my god was totally awful. But it also made me laugh.

And I now have a thing for Fay Wray that is a serious thing for Fay Wray.

In other news, I'm still trying–trying–to write a goddamn novel. I'm going like two paragraphs per night, and though it's good, it feels so sluggish. I think I want to take Saturday to myself for the most part to write and read in the evening, and maybe Sunday too if I have to; though I promised my mom I would go job searching at some point. Soon.

Concert tomorrow. The Book Of The Duchess tonight. Soon I'll be able to write a blog in Middle English (blogge? Blagge?)