35 Before 25: Non-Holocaust Revisionism or ReVision Quest, Part One
I'm still cooking up a better title for this, but when googling "Revisionism," it returned this. Hence, the awkward working title. I think I'm more partial to ReVision Quest at this point. That way, I could choose to say it's either an allusion to the Matthew Modine masterpiece, or a more esoteric reference to the native american rite of passage. It all depends on whether the person I'm talking to is wearing glasses.
There are some goals I've decided to strike. The first to go is the goal of purchasing one piece of clothes over $100 that is not a suit. Not because adventures in consumerism aren't exciting, but more because I've decided it's a more constricting challenge to assemble a wardrobe on a budget. It's like writing an italian sonnet, only gayer because of the distressed jeans. That said, fashion plate goals are temporarily suspended.
In its stead, I've decided to return to my roots and dust off the axe. My goal will be to learn five, previously unlearned songs on my guitar. I've decided to forget about composing any songs, as that was never my strong point. I was always more mynah bird than canary. This goal won't take long to accomplish, as I don't seem to have lost much in terms of dexterity over the last 7 dormant years. In order to make this more challenging, the songs will have to be from five different genres, eliminating the possibility that I could complete this goal by learning a half dozen Panic! at the Disco joints.
I can't even finish this post because all I can think of this returned result for Vision Quest.
There are some goals I've decided to strike. The first to go is the goal of purchasing one piece of clothes over $100 that is not a suit. Not because adventures in consumerism aren't exciting, but more because I've decided it's a more constricting challenge to assemble a wardrobe on a budget. It's like writing an italian sonnet, only gayer because of the distressed jeans. That said, fashion plate goals are temporarily suspended.
In its stead, I've decided to return to my roots and dust off the axe. My goal will be to learn five, previously unlearned songs on my guitar. I've decided to forget about composing any songs, as that was never my strong point. I was always more mynah bird than canary. This goal won't take long to accomplish, as I don't seem to have lost much in terms of dexterity over the last 7 dormant years. In order to make this more challenging, the songs will have to be from five different genres, eliminating the possibility that I could complete this goal by learning a half dozen Panic! at the Disco joints.
I can't even finish this post because all I can think of this returned result for Vision Quest.
Labels: 35 before 25, guitar, revision quest
This entry was posted by VJ, on
Tuesday, February 06, 2007.
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To clarify: did your analogy pair the Italian sonnet with the challenge of constructing an outfit on a shoestring budget, or was it meant to parallel the easy way out, buying Armani with a decisive flick of plastic? Because if one were Italian, writing a sonnet would be the easiest shmeasiest task on parchment, as every word rhymes. Or are YOU writing in Italian? I need answers.
It was supposed to relate to putting together a wardrobe with limited funds. See, I thought that an Italian (petrarchan?) sonnet would be difficult to write because of all the rhyming. Because of all the restrictions. Like having no money.
There's no need to expose me for what I am: the rotting husk of a former english major, all my usefulness culled by attorneys in expensive suits. That almost came full circle there, with the expensive suits and everything, but I couldn't pull it off.
What have I done? This was in no way a dressing-down, if you will. You are my most valued metaphor-making machine (why does a toaster come to mind here? Ghosts of old analogies written on the back of detention slips no doubt) so don't be deterred.
What do i know about writing Italian sonnets or suits? I am but a humble tweed jacket, worn thin at the elbows and threadbare under the pits from years of gesturing in the labyrinthine void of linguistic confusion, and ultimately, meaninglessness. Pay no mind to me, hang me up on the rack of history to be forgotten: frowning cloth were the stooped shoulders of vision once were.
(I'm sorry. I've been watching French cinema lately and this is what it's done to me.)
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