Personal Update- February 15th

 Part of my vision for this blog are periodic updates about my non-academic life. The purpose of these entries are to give a glimpse into the weird man behind the weird posts, as well as for me to have a place to post small, mundane things that I am proud of since I struggle to keep a journal.

Firstly,  I am both happier and healthier than when I started this blog. I have gotten my chronic stomach issues under control, and I am better medicated for my mental health issues. Winter is tough on my body as someone with chronic health problems and a poor immune system, but the weather has been getting slightly warmer, which has greatly improved my mood. I hang out with my friends more often lately, and have been much happier since finding more ways to incorporate the people I love into my daily life.

I find that I am getting more joy out of creative projects and things I love again, and my attention span has been at least somewhat better. 

All in all, February has brought great things so far, and it gives me hope for the rest of the year.

Image that inspired "The Larger Forgottonia Rapture"

 

This is one of my grandmother's art pieces, titled "Angel Anatomy". It inspired me to write the poem because in religious contexts, we never think of angels as flesh-and-blood nonhuman creatures, and to actually consider them as such is an interesting exercise in thought.

Inquiry Project Proposal

     One of my all-time favorite plays is "Arsenic and Old Lace". It's also one of my favorite movies, and one of my favorite radio dramas. When the stage version debuted on Broadway in 1941, it was a smash hit, leading to a theatrical movie release in 1944, an hour-length radio drama in 1959, and a TV movie in 1967. However, as a fan of this story in all of it's interpretations, I have noticed a numerous amount of differences within the adaptations. Some of them are easily explainable, such as non-plot relevant material being cut for time restrictions, or to better fit the mode the story is being told in, yet some- such as characters' first or last names being changed for seemingly no reason, and whole scenes and conversations being omitted- make less sense. I plan to research the differences in each adaptation and analyze them through adaptation theory, as in-depth as I can.

        I think that for such a cultural phenomenon in its heyday, Arsenic and Old Lace has fallen out of public consciousness, despite being a modern genre definer for both the screwball and dark comedy. With my inquiry project, I'm hoping to not only find out more about the history and reasons behind the different adaptations of my favorite play, but also reach an audience of people interested in theatrical history, or better still, people who have a specific interest in this play. As for my research questions, here's what I plan to start with:

•     What are the differences in the four main adaptations?
• What are the reasons for these differences, if any?
• How do these differences affect the story and how it's told?
• How do these different adaptations fit into adaptation theory?

        I plan to utilize my college's library database to find analysis papers on AAOL, any articles from theatrical sources regarding the play, as well as the original play script, 1944 movie shooting script, radio play, and both movies. I'm very excited to write this project, as I have been obsessed with analyzing this play for nearly four years.

Poetry: current work in progress

 This is a poem I'm currently in the process of writing, with the end goal of submitting it to a literary journal. The current title is "Aftermath of The Larger Forgottonia Rapture", based off of two paintings by my grandmother, which I'll post later. Here is the poem.

When the rapture came to our town, some of the angels got left behind.

Pretty shit place to get left.

If you're used to heaven.

We didn't know what to make of them, at first.

Thought the man upstairs left a few behind to help clean up.

It was a scene, after all.

All the good and righteous in our town miracled up to heaven right where they stood.

Or sat.

Or ran.

The intersection by the park was a nightmare,

Damn thing hit right after the evening commute.

My mama went with them.

So did the kid.

I wasn't surprised when they didn't take me.

Sure as hell wasn't when they didn't take my father. 

But about the mess now.

About the angels.

My Nana.

She went too.

My Nana was a painter, angels were among her favorite things to paint.

I hope she was happy to know she'd been right.

They were huge.

And winged.

And their skin was like glass.

You know those fish you can see straight through. 

at the bottom of the marianas trench?

Like my nana's paintings,

They gleamed with the green of their strange infinite lymph nodes.

They sang, with the great, undulating purple of their ever-fractaling lungs.

Their voices like a thousand choirs each.

To some they had no eyes.

To some they were nothing but. 

At night, their organs glowed through the trees on campus

Just like the hot air balloons in september.

They were so fearfully,

So wonderfully made.

They always looked so graceful.

Their feathers shining in the weak January sunlight like fiber optic cables.

It was hard to believe they were so dispensable. 

It was harder to believe he'd forget them. 

But they eventually gathered at the courthouse.

Shooting straight into the air like strange, silvery bottle rockets, one by one.

Sometimes for only an hour.

Sometimes for days.

The longest one was gone was a month. 

Maybe they just got lost.

Or maybe they were locked out

Scraping those terrible wings on heaven's door

Then the screaming started.

Right in the middle of town, they all turned their faces

However many

Skyward. 

Nobody knew what they were doing until they heard it.

Like trumpets.

Like infants.

Like a car crash.

Like looking at the sun straight on.

I heard it across town,

Fifteen floors up.

And could feel it shake the foundation.

Rupture the drum of my ear closest to the window.

Fill me with a grief that wasn't mine

A grief that was meant for a body so much bigger.

It was their pain.

Their last hope.

Their plead to reach Him.

And it caused twenty-three casualties.

Constructive criticism and comments welcome.