|—||Margart Atwood, Oryx and Crake|
Episode 2, Season 2 (The Daria Hunter). This made me smile because the teacher on the right is the stereotype of a feminist (the series deals with gross stereotypes, and then slowly humanizes everyone), and she’s reading Susan Faludi’s Backlash—something I would have completely missed the first time I watched this as a teen.
I’m rewatching Daria, which I haven’t done since it originally aired. This was part of the end credits for Episode 1 (Arts ‘n’ Crass), Season 2, and reminded me of Ms. Maddow.
Ford Prefect in Douglas Adams’s Life, The Universe and Everything
I think I’ll start muttering this to myself when playing certain games.
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he’s dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
—Stevie Smith, Source
For my high school senior AP English class, we were each assigned a poet. The goal was for us to look over their body of work and explicate a certain number of poems, taking a different approach with each. This meant we studied their own lives, historical periods, the work of other contemporaries, the style and structure, etc. My assignment was Stevie Smith.This has stayed with me through the years, and I know that it ranks among my favorite poems I’ve ever read.
Sie war klein und ziemlich mager, sodass man beim besten Willen nicht erkennen konnte, ob sie erst acht oder schon zwölf Jahre alt war. Sie hatte einen wilden pechschwarzen Lockenkopf, der aussah, als ob er noch nie mit einem Kamm oder einer Schere in Berührung gekommen wäre. Sie hatte sehr große, wunderschöne und ebenfalls pechschwarze Augen und Füße von der gleichen Farbe, denn sie lief fast immer barfuß. Nur im Winter trug sie manchmal Schuhe, aber es waren zwei verschiedene, die nicht zusammenpassten und ihr außerdem viel zu groß waren. Das kam daher, dass Momo eben nichts besaß, als was sie irgendwo fand oder geschenkt bekam. Ihr Rock war aus allerlei bunten Flicken zusammengenäht und reichte ihr bis auf die Fußknöchel. Darüber trug sie eine alte, viel zu weite Männerjacke, deren Ärmel an den Handgelenken umgekrempelt waren. Abschneiden wollte Momo sie nicht, weil sie vorsorglich daran dachte, dass sie ja noch wachsen würde. Und wer konnte wissen, ob sie jemals wieder eine so schöne und praktische Jacke mit so vielen Taschen finden wurde.
Momo’s outward appearance was in this manner a bit odd and could probably shock people who place much value in cleanliness and order.
She was small and rather thin, so that even with the best of intentions, one couldn’t tell if she was eight or already twelve-years-old. She had a head of curly, pitch black hair that looked as if it had never come in contact with a comb or scissors. She had very big, wonderful, and likewise pitch black eyes, and feet of the same color because she went about barefoot all the time. Only in the winter did she sometimes wear shoes, but even then two different ones that didn’t match, and were furthermore too large for her. That was because Momo had nothing that she didn’t find or was gifted. Her dress was sewn together out of all manner of colorful patches and reached down to her ankles. Over that she wore an old, far-too-wide men’s jacket whose sleeves were crumbled at her wrists. Momo didn’t want to cut the sleeves, because she cautiously thought that she might still grow. And, who knew if she would again find such a beautiful and practical jacket with so many pockets.
|—||Great description of Momo in the first chapter of Michael Ende’s Momo|
|—||Jocelyn Elders in an interview with The Root.|