Sunday, March 13, 2005

one more week...

or 5 days, more precisely. Spring break is coming, though spring itself may not, I fear. The local weatherman predicts snow again on Wednesday. Grumble grumble.

The weekend has flown. I've spent much of today (though not as much as I should've) grading papers for my Shakespeare class, and after last week's excessive attention to freshman comp., this is a welcome relief. I'm breezing through these in comparison. But here's what I'm noticing: Some of the students have chosen to do a bit of outside research for their papers-- which is certainly fine.... But several of them are entirely losing their own voices as they bring in the other critics. That troubles me. I told them (before they handed in papers) to be sure, if they were using outside sources, to use the criticism to further their own arguments rather than letting the criticism use them. I can see that they're trying, but how do I grade these things? I'm concerned that they'll be expecting A's and getting B's or C's.... but maybe that's a good lesson.

Last night, P. took me to see the new Merchant of Venice film. I have mixed feelings about it. While I think they handled the anti-Semitism of the play sensibly and sensitively, they also made the play a bit too PC for my liking in their treatment of Portia, whose racist comments concerning the Prince of Morocco's devil-complexion are entirely cut out. She does come across as a bit cruel in the trial scene, though--which I think is entirely to Pacino's credit. Pacino's a rather fine Shylock, methinks. Even my husband, who oft calls Al Pacino "Mal (bad) Pacino" found him compelling here. Jeremy Irons was also wonderful here, too, though I was less impressed with Fiennes. I must give the film credit for exploring the darkness of the play and or not tying up everything in a neat bow. I'm still a little haunted by it.

This post is a mish-mash of weekend. But if I can just get myself to keep writing, eventually something good will come of it. At least I think so.

I kept hand-written journals (6 of them!) all through my college years. When I look back on them, I actually like what's written there. My mind was so open then. There was so much I was thinking about and through, trying to absorb. My mind has become so cluttered now that it's hard to focus on anything for very long. But it won't stay that way if I can do something about it. Breathe, z. Just breathe.

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