Daniel85

Just thought I’d post something to justify still keeping the blog. (Jules- please don’t hurt me for my injudicious use of the word ‘just’. I know you hate that.)

I’m back at uni now, which is always a joy. I’m only doing two subjects this semester- Scandal, Sex, and Sentiment - A History of the 18th Century English Novel, and Film Noir: Style and History. So far SSS has been heavy on the sentiment and lacking on the scandal and sex, but I think we get to that a bit later. Looking forward to it. Noir is fun and engaging, as usual for a cinema subject. I wish I could major in Cinema, but pragmatically it makes no sense. If I’m going to turn this Arts degree into anything useful, I’m gonna have to major in English and then head into something more vocationally sound postgrad. Either teaching or publishing, I’m thinking.

I turned 22 on Wednesday. That number is a little frightening. At 21 I could still make believe I was a teenager. 18-21, it’s all the same thing, right? 20 and 21 are essentially part of your teen years. (For our generation, anyway.) But 22 is definitely solid Twenties.

I was hit pretty hard by the news of Mrs. Frisch’s death. (For those who didn’t go to school with me, she was an English teacher at Geelong High.) Frischy taught me English in Year 10, and Literature for both years of my VCE.

I always valued my English teachers more than any others, because my interests fell firmly in that sphere even from the start of high school. My three favourite teachers were the enigmatic Mr Merlo, Mr Harris, and Mrs Frisch (Mr Kaberry gets a special mention for being such an endless source of amusement). All English teachers.

One event that comes to mind whenever I think about Mrs Frisch is from Parent-Teacher Night after first term in Year 10. She actually told my mum she thought I was ‘thick as pig shit’ until she read my classwork, because I was so quiet and unresponsive in class. I love how she didn’t mince words. Classic Frischy.

I’m not the kind of person who stays in contact with teachers after high school. Actually, I’m not the kind of person who stays in contact with anyone after anything. I wish I were in this case. Frischy was such a big part of my life for three years, three very important, formative years. And then I never saw her again. I wonder if she’d even have remembered me if we’d met a year or two after high school. I met a teacher who I’d had for two years in primary school once during high school, and she had no recollection of me whatsoever. It was awkward and depressing.

It’s odd how people can be so much a part of your life, influencing it immeasurably, and then just disappear when the circumstances that brought you together change. I’ve never kept in touch with teachers, with bosses, with coworkers… I barely even keep in touch with friends. I think it’s mostly because I’m so reticent and private that even when I am in daily contact with people I don’t really connect with them, so there’s little point keeping such a tenuous relationship going after the exigencies of our acquaintance end. It’s my loss, really, and something I’m going to have to work on if I want to stop feeling so disconnected and alienated all the time.

Wow, I didn’t realise this simple update post was going to turn into such a sullen self-analysis. I feel like I should end on something positive, so here’s a picture of me with my wonderful girlfriend Laura:

That was taken before we went out to karaoke with some of her friends. Something I never imagined I’d do, and definitely something I never thought I’d enjoy. Love does strange things to people… including making them sing and dance Justin Timberlake. I’d write a sonnet about it, but I can’t think of a rhyme for ‘Timberlake’ for the couplet.

Hey y’all. I’m back home now. I’ll post some more pics and stuff when I get around to it, but for now I just had to share something I came across in today’s Age.

I love it when sports writers try to act all cultured and literary. Check out this gem, from an article on Mark Blake’s role in the Cats’ defeat of Richmond by one Dan Silkstone (awesome name):

Yesterday’s encounter then, was a marriage of heaven and hell — a concept made famous by the 18th-century poet William Blake. It was his Geelong namesake, though, who wore the angel’s wings.

There’s a new concept in sportswriting– making literary allusions based on players who share names with famous writers. You just have to love The Age, don’t you? Even their sportswriters are pretentious fops.

The fact that The Marriage of Heaven & Hell has more to do with Blake’s appropriation of heaven and hell in his new mythology/philosophy than traditional ideas of the two can be ignored, I guess.