To Post or not to Post? Or another attempt at titling: If a post falls onto the blog will anyone comment?

I had always wanted to see this movie. I guess cause I was in 8th grade when it came out and wanted to see every movie but never could because I was, well, stuck in 8th grade. Well 11 years later I finally got my chance on a recent trip to Vegas. It was playing on FX right before I was to head for home. I got to watch the whole thing. Though it was really suspenseful and I was alone in the room. Naturally my skin was crawly. At the end I learned it was based on a book. I determined to buy it and read it. I was a little nervous because there was a significant homosexual thread through the movie but I got the book anyway and I'm glad I did. Because the movie's thread turned into a small piece of lint in the book. At the end of the movie Tom Ripley hooks up with a guy (who he then strangles on a boat to Greece for no apparent reason). This never happens in the book. At one point in the book Dickie Greenleaf announces that he's, "Not queer" to Tom Ripley. He says this after walking in on Tom all dressed up in his clothes talking to himself. It is true that the aunt who raised Tom referred to him as a sissy, and that Tom is repulsed by the thought of Marge, the main female character's, underwear laying on his furniture. Tom starts out being obsessed with Dickie and the thought of living with him forever. However, I would argue that this is the beginning of Tom's true obsession. Which is Dickie lifestyle and the freedom, gentlemanly class, and exploratory opportunities it offers. Because as soon as Dickie expresses repulsion and disdain for Tom, Tom kills him. Tom is obsessed with the lifestyle, originally wanting to just be with Dickie in order to achieve it. When this first less malignant option is no longer available he takes the next most logical step. . . Disposing of Dickie by the deft use of an oar, and convenient rope and cement block. He is then free to assume Dickie's identity, and who among us would not do the same! An ugly "walleyed" ginger kid gets in the way and is neatly disposed of as well.
TOLEDO! This book was really, really great! But in a freaky, freaky way. First off I was totally sucked in. I shared Tom's world. This is my favorite thing about books, when they suck you in and you literally share the experiences with the character's. I'll admit I was cheering for Tom the whole time. The killing of Dickie was written in a business like tone, and with Tom you forget that it really happened. It was just an unfortunate necessity. We didn't really want Dickie to die, but he left no other alternative. As a sociopath Mr. Tom Ripley only gets upset when he thinks he might get caught. I sometimes confused this with remorse but then I mentally checked the timing, and he only freaked out when things began to close in around him. I freaked out to! I wanted him to pull it off. But he sails through and I was glad he did. Intense!!

Environmental/Nature Writing Assignment

Here's a paper I just wrote. The assignment was "Sensory Impressions". We had to go out into nature and commune. Eyes closed for 10 minutes. All comments are welcome, except negative ones. Because I really just want to be told how awesome I am.




AJ Bell
Sensory Impressions
WRTG 4080

Quaking Winds

I quietly attempt to find a spot resembling the one in my head, or at least one filling a certain set of requirements. It's cooler today, I'll need sunshine, but not too much, not a complete clearing. Because trees directly overhead are also needed, like front row seats at the symphony. I pass a couple of prospects. I need more than just sunshine: soft ground cover, minimal amount of cattle remnants, mixed with an absolute absence of ants. This one should do, the degree of slope might even improve my comfort. Yes, this will do nicely. The light warms my skin as I settle in, muscles relaxing, molding to the ground. Now I wait, eyes shut. Wait, for the forest's breath to come. . . so it can sing.
The first wave approaches, breaking quietly. Initially it's as though I've just stopped talking, and in this new stillness a distant waterfall joins the conversation. But a water fall would speak in one tone, this sound is building. Steadily it grows, moving closer, louder as more aspen leaves join in. The ringing rustle reaches the leaves directly above, and the light outside my eyelids begins to flash yellow and orange. Then something unexpected, different, new. I've been here before. Sat among the aspens as the wind made them sing. I knew their song. I intentionally came today, to this spot to hear it. But today more of me joins in. Perhaps it's because today I closed my eyes, closed off that sense that others came alive. Today I don't see the trees, their little green leaves dancing in wind and light. I feel them. Today though still I feel movement, as sensation of swirling wind, sound of swaying trees cause my muscles to lightly contract and release in concentric waves across my body.
Before I laid down I wondered how long consciousness would last, how long I could lay peacefully with my eyes closed before sleep took me. The answer never came, only suspicions. Curiously, my eyes opened on their own, I quickly shut them again, but there was a change. I must have slipped away because as another breeze came in the leaves dance, but not the light. I tip my head back to gaze at the sun. It's now smiling back with no trees in its grin. The wind has changed to, not its sound, not its motion, but its attitude. Instead of rocking me in waves, the breeze comes in soft. It hits my face and causes a coolness to spread across my skin. I extend into this touch as into a lover's kiss. It kisses my arm.
That arm later receives another sensation, one potentially less friendly. Not wanting to acknowledge my first reaction, I hold as still as possible just in case it was only the brushing of grass. Unfortunately movement continues. They've found me. I lift up my arm to flick their little black and red bodies off into the void. A couple more flicks, a brush here, there, and I sync back in. I wonder if there are any woodpeckers around, there normally are. As if he heard my thoughts, drumming begins, pause, more hollow drumming. My thoughts deepen, and I fancy that he felt me missing him; drummed out to tell me he did. Have wind and trees, he and I have become one? I smile at my own profoundness and proposed power. But I soon question this. Perhaps my ears dulled by a sinus infection only caught his first drummings enough for me to subconsciously think “woodpecker”. Fully registering “woodpecker” only after his second set began. This doubt couples with the coolness which no longer softly spreads because it has conquered, add to this one of Grandpa's cows deciding to move through the area bellering all the way. Time's up. I send a couple more ants on there way as I get up. Then stalk off, suddenly self-conscious. When did my feet and jeans get so loud?