Et tu, Brute?
I believe I am being heckled. First there is Amy using TOO in a completely gratuitous and totally uncalled for way, as in, “I, TOO, am paranoid and obsessive”. Then Dee suggesting I should take personal responsibility, which is CLEARLY against my credo. And then my own mother who is trying to post blog comments but ends up emailing me instead by accident (when God created my mother, he felt that it wouldn’t be fitting that one human being know absolutely EVERYthing, so he decided what she would not know would be everything to do with computers. My mother knows so much about everything else that she has projected an aura throughout her entire house. For example, we have the exact same brand of washing machine on the exact same settings but hers will get off carrots and mine just sets them forever and ruins yet another cute little outfit. I am a mother, now, too; I thought the position came with powers. I thought you learned this stuff in labor. What is going to happen to my daughter when she grows up without a mother who knows everything or at least how to get out stains? Speaking of which, if you are a mother, go read Confessions of a Super Mom).***
WHAT comments is my own mother trying to post on her daughter’s blog? Accusations of lying. Lying about her and truffles. Well, truthfully, what she actually tried to post but ended up emailing by mistake was a series of compliments she has been collecting from the 500 people she and my father have given my book to, see under “Blind support.” She did however add a (deliberate) email that said: “even though you told lies about me about the truffles. Well, exaggerations. Okay, mea culpa.” Apparently she realized that if I said she ate one truffle, and she DID eat one truffle, that could not possibly count as an exaggeration. She did not eat half a truffle. I’ve never known anyone to eat half a truffle, in fact.
Anyway, I am being brave in the face of all this heckling and just going around the house muttering lots of Shakespeare, which I always enjoy doing anyway; the man has quite an amazing array of quotes that can be wielded against hecklers. Umm…I hope going around the house muttering Shakespeare isn’t going to make anyone comment anything like, “I, TOO, am completely nuts.”
Because I would be very suspicious about that TOO.
***About the parenthetical asides. I do like a parenthetical aside. I control myself in my work for publication, and don’t use them at all, but since this is a blog, I get to play, and I should warn everyone that I love, love, love e.e. cummings. I think he’s one of the best poets ever. Take a look at these first two lines of one of his poems:
noones are coming out in the gloaming
That is worth volumes of other poetry all by itself. And e.e. cummings certainly had a way with parentheses. In that particular poem I just quoted, you feel like he has ellipsized the whole world and placed it outside the entire content of this poem by starting and ending it with hush) and (hush. His influence perhaps wore off on me, perhaps a little too much.
In fact, in the ninth grade, we had the best English teacher EVER, Mr. Entrekin, who would stop me after class and hand me notes telling me what extra books I was supposed to read that week in addition to the regular class reading list, and they would be things like Brothers Karamazov and War and Peace, Crime and Punishment and Anna Karenina. You think I’m kidding about War and Peace as an extra, no credit just-do-it-because-I-have-high-standards-for-you assignment to a high school student, aren’t you? Nope. And I read it, too. The only one of his suggestions I didn’t read was Anna Karenina, because he passed away mid-year completely unexpectedly and I just didn’t have the heart for it anymore. Also, Tolstoy has some weird ideas about women that just did not do it for me. But Mr. Entrekin and my father between them started me on a Dostoyevsky kick that I think got me through most of D.’s major works.
Anyway, I so favored ellipses of all kinds that at one point I got a paper back from him that said, “Fewer dashes, Bozette!” on the top of it. And–this is what kind of nerd I was–I raised my hand and said, “I don’t understand. What does this mean?” And he said, “Well, you get us lost in your dashes. Straighten out your sentences some.” And I said, “No, I mean ‘Bozette’. What does ‘Bozette’ mean?” And he had to explain to me, in front of the whole class, that it was the feminine of Bozo. And if you are such a Bozette that you ask what Bozette means in front of the whole class…well. Then you have embarrassed yourself, what can I say? Even I have to blame that one on me.