The Amaranthine of Shakespeare

This time I'm branching out from my usual foray into the world of modern storytelling to hark back at the master himself. I'm also going to be completely honest, when it comes to Shakespeare, I'm an unadulterated fangirl, I just can't help myself. I get all tingly just at the thought of something that includes words such as 'thee', 'henceforth' and 'wilt'. A couple of years ago I nearly sold my soul for tickets to Hamlet (It was admittedly not only Hamlet that was the attraction but David Tennant who just happened to have the lead role for the occasion).

'Alas poor Yorrick...that he might answer me'

I'm celebrating Shakespeare today because I've made an investment. A boxed edition, leather bound RSC Complete Works of Shakespeare and I'm feeling rather squee about it. I have already thumbed through the 2000 odd pages. Inhaled the scent that only comes from something that is bound in leather. I've drooled over the imaginative vernacular within. More than anything else I'm eagerly awaiting some time so I can sit down and read each and every piece within. Some of which I'm amazed to find that I'm not familiar with, given my fangirl status, I'm surprised Mr. Shakespeare has penned anything that I haven't heard of. 

'My precious...'

So it is now sitting in plain view in my living room, so I may ogle it every time I walk past. After all Shakespeare deserves nothing less. Plus I'm quite proud of it. So it's got a place where everyone might see it. I'm going to be sorely disappointed the first time someone fails to comment on it. That in my mind is nothing more than an act of heathenism on their part, worthy of miscommunication on mine. 

I suppose all of this really should be leading to why I love Shakespeare so much. I mean my English heritage has imbued me with a fealty to the man I must admit. A love of Shakespeare runs in my blood. To which I now must admit that it is terribly English to worship at the altar which is Shakespeare. That others would see, Dante, say as the better candidate, and perhaps he is. However I shall remain true to my roots and squee over the wonder of Shakespeare's works. 

My love of Shakespeare came at a young age. My mother, who is an unadulterated fangirl about same (this is one of the few things we agree on when it comes to literature) saw benefit in educating me in same. As a result I can remember standing aghast, at about 11, when one girl I knew at the time, said that she hated Shakespeare because she couldn't understand the language. The shock nearly had me bowled over, and I was tempted to make a snarky comment back about being nothing more than a plebian, but it seemed uncalled for. Given everything she probably wouldn't have know what 'plebian' meant. 

'Did my heart love til now...'

What I couldn't understand about this was how such magnificent works could be cast aside purely by a fear of the language. Shakespeare's English may not be common vernacular, but the works transcend time. This is why I love Shakespeare so much. The interpretations of his work may change over time, but the stories remain steadfast within our society. After all Shakespeare has transcended all forms of media; 

Film

Ballet

Anime

Manga

and the original...The Stage

I feel at this juncture that it is important to mention that I am not blind enough to Shakespeare merits to realise that although his stories have held true through the years, that they have also been adapted to a modern audience. Many of the movies that I grew up watching were interpretations of a Shakespearean plot, '10 Things I Hate About You', 'She's the Man' and 'O'. This does continue to support my argument though, even if the original Shakespeare is beyond some people, the stories are not. They are truly amaranthine in their nature. 

So without further ado I shall say nothing more than a humble thanks to the man himself, for without him I would not be so squee. 

The Foretoken of Doctor Who

Since the reintroduction of Doctor Who in 2005 that there is a whole new generation of people who were never aware that there was something preceding this. After all with RTD at the helm very few people were considered enough to look back at what was, when they were presented with the wondrous things before them. Over night the 'New Who' had captured the minds of a generation.

This however caused a rift with the fans of the 'Old Who'. Many of them complained about the more soapy nature of the 'New Who'. That the Doctor was far too human given his Time Lord status. They had revelled in the scenery that shook, the crappy costumes, the hammy acting, all these things which they claimed had defined the show as what it truly was. That in the process of creating a new version of same, that it had lost it soul somewhere a long the way.

'Old Who'

'New Who'

Now I'm one of the few people who appreciates both the old and the new. After all I have limited memories of the 'Old Who', it having been cancelled when I was still quite young. So a lot of my experience has been through the 'New Who' as a result. In fact given my love of the new and went back and re-immersed myself in the old because of it. While I enjoy both it must be said that I do not have the same affection for the old. There are things that I enjoy of the 'New Who' that the old didn't have.

Unlike some of my peers, I like the more human Doctors. I would like to believe that having spent so many of his years surrounded by us, and his admiration of same, that the Doctor would become more humanised over time. Being the most intelligent being in the universe he could surely see the benefit of observing some of our customs. Not to say that I would imagine him totally human, after all the wonder that is associated with the Doctor is his alienness. In fact that is one of the reason I love the Tenth Doctor so much, he is both alien and so very human at the same time, mad, brilliant, exuberant and so sad all at the same time.

A young but ancient face...

Even though some people gag at the thought of it, I really enjoyed the Doctor's love for Rose. I grow tired of the argument that love is an emotion purely devoted to humanity. That any other creature could never exhibit such depth of emotion. In the Doctor's case, he makes the impossible possible so why is the fact that he fell in love so out of character? Surely nothing should be out of character for him, he embodies everything that we wish we could be, scared that we might be.

That is what makes it such a brilliant show. Ok at it's heart it is essentially about a man who travels in a blue box throughout time and space. It's completely bizarre and wacky, it's over the top and cheesy, but that's what makes it wonderful. That in the midst of all of this you could have something that can also be at times deeply emotional. That your lead can be the most wondrous and terrible creature at the same time. It's shows the possibly of what might be, and for that alone it deserves all the accolades.

Each and every one of them...

The Vacillation of Choice

Choice is one of those amazing things that is both remarkably easy and yet so tremendously difficult at the same time. Admittedly this is because choice can transmogrify itself from something harmless, say a puppy, to a fire breathing dragon, with seemingly little effort. This ability is why so many people vacillate over such things all their life without ever making a decision about anything. 

I consider myself a seemingly decisive person. Someone offers me something I want, I usually accept with little thought (strangers with candy a notable exception, well as long as they didn't look like Dean Winchester). After all, if it's something I want, I've already given some serious thought as to why I might want something.

Who can say no to that face?

Which is why at the moment I find myself so frustrated with several people around me. Admittedly one particularly has thrown me head first into this rant. Offered an opportunity of a lifetime and willing to shrug it off because it's outside what they know. I mean I know sometimes the thought of making such a drastic change is unnerving, I should know, I've made several of them in my lifetime. I've moved halfway round the world and back again to try and make of the most of them. It is terrifying. I won't lie. But I won't say that I didn't enjoy every minute of it. Even the bad ones. After all this is what we're here for to make the most of what we're given. 

Doctor Who would cease to exist if everyone was so rational....

I know there are good reasons to give some consideration to these big decisions, I mean there's the big one, money, not to mention all the other convenient ones, family, home, ability, but it is not the same if you keep making excuses. After a while you realise that all your life has ever consisted of are the excuses that you keep making to yourself and you have nothing else to show for your existence.

Life does not wait for you to gain the confidence to do these things. Confidence is nothing more than the face to put on to face the world. The opportunity you are given however will eventually pass you by and you'll be another one of those people who would've, should've, could've, without doing any of the things they've always been threatening to do. Personally in my opinion, there is nothing more pitiable. Who in their right mind would choose an unremarkable existence over the promise of something brilliant? 

Would you choose Wal-Mart over this?

So without further ado, I shall conclude by saying, I pity the people who are afraid to move past the vacillation that these choices bring them, for they are doomed to an existence of mediocrity, and personally there is nothing worse in my mind. 

The Nonpareil of Macarons

As part of my final year at school, we studied Ibsen's play, 'A Doll's House' (or 'A Doll House' I'm never quite sure which it is). My wonderful English teacher decided that each lesson we were reading through the play that people would take the roles of the main players, and rotate through until everyone had had a chance to read at least one part during this time. I was fortunate enough to be given to be given Nora in the final scene of the play.

I had admired Ibsen's egalitarian perspective in all of this, although he's credited often with being a feminist I don't think that's entirely accurate. He was merely humanitarian enough to realise that everyone should be treated equal regardless of their sex. He wasn't pro-women's rights as such, this was just the man he was. As a result, I found myself identifying with Nora in that final scene. As she stands in front of Torvald and watches her dreams of their life shatter before her.

The cover page of 'A Doll's House'

I know this seems highly irrelevant to the subjects of macarons (or macaroons if you're so inclined), but this is the starting point for my experience with them, Before this stage I have no great interest in macarons, to be honest, I'm not entirely sure before this I could have even told you what they were. As I grew up in a household that never had such things, they were not something I knew in my vernacular. After 'A Doll's House' I made sure that one day I would try them.

I wanted to try them, because of my empathy for Nora. She had tried to do the right thing, over and over, only to have everyone turn their backs on her. As for Torvald, he regarded her as very little more than the children they shared. She had no equal relationship in their marriage. This was evident in his decree that she should not be allowed to have macarons, despite her love of same. Her secret stash of them made me want to try them for the first time in my life. To see if her affection for same was truly warranted.

A rainbow symphony of Laduree macarons

Since then I have made it a mission of mine every time I am in Paris, to indulge in these small treats. To seek out the best macaronier that Paris has to offer. I've tried a multitude of different flavours, from date and fig to caramelised hummus to pistachio (my favourite). I've been to Laduree, Jean-Paul Hevin, Dallyou and some lesser known patissieres all in the search for the perfect macaron.

After all a perfect macaron is hard to come by. It should be crisp on the outside, gooey in the middle, and the cream should be smooth as it glides over your tongue. The flavours should be distinct and fragrant at the same time. It should be so wonderful that one macaron should be savoured for as long as you can manage. A perfect macaron should be forsaken for nothing.

Each one...perfect it it's own right

I love macarons that are interesting. Despite my love of the classics, as mentioned I can never go past the nonpareil of a pistachio macaron, I revel in the interesting flavours that I have been presented with. I found delight in a blueberry and lavender macaron, fire in a rose and mandarin one, home in a date and fig one, and much to my chagrin disgust in the caramelised hummus one.

After all for me, that is why macarons are so unique. They can take on all sorts of different complexities, they can be both sweet and savoury, classic and modern, they're a truly versatile commodity. For me, they are also a rare commodity. I seek them out only a few times a year to preserve their wonder for me. I travel halfway round the world to revel in them.

Some of the more interesting macarons
that are on offer

So I offer a heartfelt thanks to Nora and Ibsen for their introduction into the world of the macaron. It is truly worth it.

The Phenomenon of the Mundane

Against my better judgement I'm feeling kind of sentimental writing this post. Discussing the wonders of places to read with Yomiko brought to light the startling clarity of how wonderful the most simple things can be. That despite my love of the finer things in this world, the adventures in far off countries, that sometimes the things that make me happiest are seemingly insignificant in comparison.
A couple of years ago I spent some time with Jack. We've known each other for quite a while now and he's one of the few people in this world who sees me for who I truly am. It's amazing how many times with him I can remember with such clarity. This particular time, though, it's blazoned in my memory. Not that there was anything special about it. It was just perfect.
I spent 4 days at Jack's home, the first time I'd visited him. We ate too much, drank too much, did all sorts of things that weren't consequential. We decided to have a traditional Sunday roast, walk through a couple of mazes, bought lollies and drove up a mountain all because we could. None of these were particularly fantastic or exciting but the whole expedition had this whimsical nature that I've longed for since.
Since then my relationship with Jack has changed. We're still close but it's not the same.
I spent a long time angry at him for that. That it was him who made it so that our meetings now have a feeling of the mundane about them, the whimsical nature long since past. That it was him who stopped confiding in me. That it was him who blamed me for leaving.
What I've realised though and it's been a long road to this realisation, is that I've made my own decisions in this. I did leave, and by choice, I was offered something I wanted more than I wanted to stay. I wonder sometimes if that was the final nail in it all. That I made a decision thinking that everything would stay the same, being angry because it didn't. More than that though, that maybe in all our conversations with one another we never we said what we were thinking.
So there's the difference, nothing much has changed between the two of us, yet at the same time everything has. What once was whimsical is now simply mundane.
This is also everything I'll never tell Jack, that if I was the one who changed it, then I'm more sorry than he'll ever know.

Even the most mundane things
can have an ethereal nature to them

The Pulchritude of Supernatural

My experience with Supernatural somewhat mirrors my experience with the Vampire Diaries. Unlike the other though, I never even bothered to sit down to watch Supernatural until after the conclusion of the 4th season. I had seen shorts for it, and despite my incline towards shows with a supernatural element the idea of the show never really appealed for me. The other reason, which I'm slightly more ashamed to add, is that I am not good with horror movies. An overactive imagination as a child meant that the idea of ghosts particularly scared me witless. So I happily left it be, even though I was tempted once again, having seen Jensen Ackles portraying Dean Winchester.

Monster Movie...complete with Dracula and Dean in lederhosen 

At this point, I feel that it is relevant to once again credit my first experience of Supernatural to Scarlett. After all she pointed me in the right direction, insisting that I give the show a chance. I'm never quite sure why I'm so easily convinced by Scarlett when she says such things, but I'm obviously easily swayed by her recommendations. So much so that I sat down to the Pilot and never looked back. 3 weeks later and I had successfully finished all four seasons, and was now conclusively hooked.

Unlike the Vampire Diaries with its sybaritism, Supernatural won me over in other ways. Though again the enhanced contrast present in the lighting of the show reminded me of the visual nature of the Vampire Diaries. It was other aspects though, such as the grittier feel, which was refreshing in a show like this compared to the more lighthearted nature of Buffy, the Impala, and the wonderful array of guest stars that graced our screen. I was also pleased to see that although there were times when I was scared by the show; ghosts, always the worst; I revelled in the horror of it. It was scary but not enough that it would dissuade me from the show itself. More importantly there were comedic aspects to the horror which I appreciated. The fact that Supernatural wasn't always so serious was refreshing.

I am, however, the first to admit it isn't perfect though. As much as I have enjoyed it, I find the lack of strong female characters affronting and the storytelling isn't consistent, some episodes are fantastic, some almost painful to watch. Each show has it's own pitfalls though, and I was happy to succumb to these for the overall product I was presented with.

Castiel...the Holy Tax Accountant

Obviously though I had enjoyed it, and very much so. Unlike Vampire Diaries though my love of it was much easier to pinpoint. I came back every episode to see the relationship that existed between Sam and Dean. Admittedly I understand that the relationship that's depicted is not necessarily the relationship that exists between siblings, though I have no siblings of my own to compare it to. I know from experience, admittedly not always my own, that siblings are not necessarily obliged to be so dependant on one another, and it is easy to drift apart without much consideration.

That's perhaps why I admire it so. I mean my own feelings towards family are often dismal at best. I realise that I do love them, but I often find them aggravating, annoying and some of them I would rather never have anything to do with again. My family truly epitomises Bobby's comment that 'family are supposed to make you miserable', and they do that far more often than I'd like.

Sam and Dean on the other hand, sure they fight, they have different views of the world, but at the end of the day, nothing is more important than the other person. And I envy that. Their relationship has the emotive energy to both make you laugh and cry at the same time. The sacrifices that are made are heartbreaking to watch. Every tear they shed you share with them because you're at a loss to do anything else. Without Sam and Dean, Supernatural would be much less than the show it is today.

I mean sure it would be fun to live in this world where you can ride off into the sunset in a ridiculously cool car. To battle against good and evil, angels and demons. To be generally badass and kinda stupid all at the same time. But most of all I'd want to exist in this world if nothing more than to have someone that meant as much to me as Sam and Dean mean to each other.

After all the first rule of Supernatural is; without Sam and Dean there is no Supernatural. 

The Bourgeois of the Dorchester

One of my greatest pleasures in this world is High Tea, or if you're in the United Kingdom, Afternoon Tea. It is an experience that I have only in my adult life that been privileged to. Though there was the notable exception of my 12th Birthday, when my parents decided to take me to the Dorchester while we were in London.

The setting for Afternoon Tea at the Dorchester

Despite the experience of my 12th Birthday, I only became an connnoiseur of same upon reaching adulthood. I began to search for what truly was the most opulent experience I could find. I rated places on their atmosphere, their decorations, their furniture, their service, their champagne, their sandwiches, their cakes, their scones and most important of all their tea. I preferred the more traditional services to openly avant garde versions of same. I tried hotels all over the world, from Sydney to Paris, Shanghai to New York, all in an attempt to find something that could truly encompass the Bourgeois nature that I always associated with the spectacle of High Tea. 

My sanctuary...complete with Rolls out front   

In the end, my search always brought me back to the Dorchester. Some places I had found were slightly more innovative in their design, cakes or sandwiches. None other had the same atmosphere of the Dorchester though. The serving staff in tuxedos, overly polite to their patrons, which I enjoyed. Despite my bourgeois nature, I despise the supercilious nature of some serving staff. I do not expect to be treated like a plebian when I obviously have enough money to be frequenting the establishment. 

The Promenade of the Dorchester where Afternoon Tea
is served

The Dorchester also holds some fond memories for me. Since my 12th Birthday, I have seen the last 3 consecutive birthdays within its walls. Now I make it almost an annual event to make sure that I am in London to celebrate the event. Not only that though, but I was fortunate enough to be the person who introduced Scarlett to the wonder of it all. Indeed, in the time we both lived within the United Kingdom we found ourselves at the Dorchester 2 times, once on a whim, and the other planned weeks in advance. Indeed now, we already have plans for 2012, once we're both more settled to stay at the Dorchester, to continue our adventures in London. 

To this day I can think of very few experiences that I enjoy more than High Tea, and especially one at the Dorchester, so my only response is this. If you haven't been yet, to enjoy the bourgeois nature of same, what's stopping you now? 

The Sybaritism of the Vampire Diaries

Right, let's get down to this straight away. I watched the pilot for the Vampire Diaries several months ago now under a friend's insistence that my life would be incomplete without at least once having clapped eyes on the rather strikingly gorgeous form of Damon Salvatore. I suffered through what I considered a rather painful 35 minutes waiting for this new idol of hers to grace the screen in front me. When he did, while I was in accord with her assessment of his physical beauty, I was not taken with the character before me. Plus as I said I'd had to watch an assembly of rather unremarkable characters until that point.

The primary players of the Vampire Diaries, seemingly
far too angsty or ditzy or evil 

As a result of this I decided not to watch another episode. I happily told Scarlett that her love of Damon would always be her's and her's alone. After all, she's the one with the obsession with evil men, not me, I much prefer a Byronic hero, even anti-hero of same. I had no time to be wasting on a character who was purely good looking, while lacking any substance, I had more taste than that.  So with that I happily put Vampire Diaries into my pile of 'Hey at least I gave it a shot' and continued on with my life.

For reasons still slightly unbeknownst to me, one day, I decided that all I craved was the mindless enjoyment that only something, such as the Vampire Diaries could bring to me. I had resisted the call of same for the whole first season, but I was slightly curious. More so I was hoping for something as laughable as I found Twilight, though hopefully would be less painful to endure. So I sat down to the second episode and found that unlike the pilot, I was not forced to suffer the literal interpretation of 'Vampire Diaries' so much. The characters became slightly more dimensional than they had been, and straight away, having finished that episode I decided that I could endure another. That pattern continued for about a week, until I found at the end of it I had finished the complete first season. 

At this interval I'm inclined to bypass Scarlett's revelry that ensued upon the completion of same. Even more pronounced having found out, that at the end of it, Damon had slowly been transformed into something that I could appreciate. A Byronic (anti) hero. Sure, he killed people, and was generally a bit self centred, but he was a product of his circumstance. A strange amalgamation of Rochester and Heathcliffe (wailing about Katherine included). 

He is ridiculously hot, I'll admit it 

So it came down to the crux of all of this, why did I really enjoy this show so much? I mean I waited for the second season with baited breath. The premiere of which allowed me very little time to regain my senses. It wasn't until I was forced to explain this to Yomiko, another friend with whom I share a love of many literary works, that I fully understood my predilection for Vampire Diaries.

I mean I found Stefan too self righteous for my taste, Bonnie was too petulant after her return to the series, Caroline seemingly despite efforts to make her something more remained a ditz, and Jeremy was far too emo for anything other than the steps of Flinders Street station. The only two characters who I related to were Elena and Damon. Though with Elena I am quite certain that it was mainly due to the female solidarity and her protagonist placement in it all. 

So the question remained, why had I enjoyed it so much. The answer was simple. I loved the artistry of it, the visual spectacle was nothing other than amazing. I liked the fact that it was just scary enough without being too overt in its horrific nature. I began to enjoy the ensemble cast to a certain extent, each piece making for a much more substantial whole. I revelled in the storytelling which became more complex and extravagant as the series progressed. 

Most of all though, I fell in love with Damon's witty one liners.
'That's for me to know and you to dot..dot...dot...'

The supposed 'love triangle'...
Stefan, Elena and Damon

The Felicity of Modern Storytelling

In spite of my academic nature, I have found myself as I get older, revelling in the simple joys that life brings my way. I no longer yearn constantly for the intellectual challenge that I used to, because I have now filled my days with same. I work in an environment which tests my mental acuity, and I am now fortunate enough to be surrounded by people who share my love of same.
In response to this though, I have found that enjoyment does not always stem from an academic pursuit. After a day of work, I find that I long for nothing more that something that excites me, rather than tests me. In regards to this the wonders of modern storytelling have come to light. Despite my love of the written word, a lot of my leisure time is absorbed by the visual.
This love of visual I shall claim is harkened back to my love of art, and my generally visual nature, but that it rather supercilious of me, when I know the answer is far more simple. I just enjoy it. I have several TV shows that I am a devoted follower of. I am not restricted in my likes to a specific genre or particular formula, but rather each appeals to me in their own ways.
Despite this though, I have found myself ever more critical of the shows I watch. The more I have invested in them, the better I expect them to be. I have also a large amount of displaced loyalty to certain characters within them, and I sometimes find myself abhorring a particular story line because I feel that these characters are not given the poetic justice that they deserve.
I often consider these an indulgence, a consistent game of 'what if'. I live a calculated life, and I revel in those that don't. Thus my love of the extravagance that has become modern storytelling.

Shi Seiran, Saiunkoku Monogatari, an anime which
epitomises the extravagance of storytelling

The Existentialism of Deux Magot

One of my greatest joys was my first experience of Deux Magot.
This was due to having been one of those terribly obnoxious teenagers who consistently get a buzz from the rather pointed efforts of distorting other people's view of reality. I found great sport in trying to convince my associates that they were nothing more than a figment of my imagination. The more they denied it, the more I told them, well given I had created them, of course they would be indignant about it.
This sport was driven by a young love of philosophy.
I devoured every book I could get my hands on in regard to same, and found myself inextricably falling for the existentialists. Maybe it was my affection for Paris that drove this love, but I engrossed myself in the likes of Satre and de Beauvoir. I even made an effort to define the nature of post-modern literature and found myself hunting down Umberto Eco's 'Travels in Hyperreality'. I was that particular about my determination to be a philosopher. For a time even considered it as a potential career. After all I could have happily seen myself sipping wine in a Paris cafe, discussing the inexplicable nature of the universe.

Paris...as it shall always be

Thus my joy at being able to experience Deux Magot for myself for the first time. The haunt of the philosophers that came in droves to Paris. I fancied myself as one of them. The bourgeois ideal of such intellectual pursuits. I revelled in the rustic nature of the menu, which disassociated itself with the price of same. This was where I was meant to be I always thought, with my peers, deceased long before me.