Thursday, August 12, 2010

Mit Gegenüber, or where I get in touch with my Inner Bitter.

Beaver Creek Foliage

I was looking for some fantastic German word or phrase to encapsulate the anarchy in my mind. Mit Gegunuber are two words I put together. It may not be proper German grammar, but I make the rules on this har blog. It means, to me, "with opposite" or maybe it should mean "opposite with." Oppositional. You know they have personality disorders based around oppositionalism. I feel oppositional right this moment. Like a petulant two year old.

Gimme gimme now now.


Beaver Crick 8.8.10


Our crick has dried up. First time in the four years we've been here that it has run dry. I'm ornery, the weather's ornery, who isn't ornery? They should stay away whoever they are. I'm ready to spread the wealth on any unsuspecting passerby. Poor, poor passerbys.

Yeah, so a few weeks ago I rewatched The White Ribbon. It was a foolish mistake on my part. The critical press couldn't get out of their way on this one. I have nothing nice to say about most of the reviews I read parroting the narrators own postulation that the society presented may explain the fascism that overtook Germany during her national socialism period (1925 to 1945).

Anyone who wrote that in a review should be mocked. Says, me, of course, unqualified me. We all look back to our past and with the clear vision of hindsight apply crisp, soothing platitudes to raw, burnt memories.

I can't get my head around all my thoughts but here's a summary.

1) The little boys are coddled. They are soft and sweet and full of love and compassion, and most importantly, naivete: The doctors young son trying to grasp death, the pastors' son wanting to nurse the bird back to health, and the yeoman's son aching for the loss of his mother.

2) The pastor's oldest son is filmed glaring at the camera with the short blonde hair and hollowed out eyes reminiscent of Mia Farrow in Rosemary's baby (during the first trimester of the pregnancy where Farrow is in pain 24-7). He has been visited by his first nocturnal emission and this new biological fascination has him losing sleep.

3) Women are chess pieces. Only the rich Baroness has any pretense of autonomy. The young nanny is stopped by the school teacher. It is her day off, probably her first and last for a good week or so, and the teacher stops her. She is polite and waits for him to finish his nonsense conversation.

I can't help but wonder if she was disallowed from breaking off the conversation altogether. Did society require she give him attention as long as he sought it out? He knew she was on her way home, and yet in his attraction to her, he ignored her obvious desire to be off on her holiday, and kept her close with his flabby conversation.



Shetland Printemps





 

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