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|Atman (profile) wrote, |
on 11-1-2007 at 2:33pm
|Current mood: annoyed
Subject: Tale of Predictability
|So, I finally dropped out of trig. Since I couldn't maintain a 60% in that class, I figured it was a good idea, especially considering how the plastics degree works. Time for a job, though I have virtually no faith in actually finding one, as I haven't been able to get employed since Cutco came to me.
I'm reading Tale of Two Cities, and I really don't get why everyone praises this garbage. It has the same predictability any other author from the past has, where you can just expect the worst to happen and be right 90% of the time. It is especially awesome how authors stick their noses up in the air and say, "Television is so predictable with their happy endings and perfect conclusions, writing will never be that way." Yeah, you guys show us. Make your books predictable with their sad endings and 'thought provoking' conclusions. No, I'm sure nobody will be able to pick up on your subtle hints of the main character being a modern day jesus christ. *ROLL EYES HERE, LOL*
I'm just tired of reading this rubbish, and I'm thankful this is the last time I'll have to read anything like this. Dickens pretty much told you the ending in the very beginning, or gave you enough hints to come preeeeeetty damn close to figuring it out for yourself. So now I read all the parts in between with 'character development' and 'suspense'. Really, just kill off Sydney Carton who is actually pretending to be Darney. I don't give a flying fuck about anyone else, just stop trying to pretend like you are going to do otherwise.
There is a short chapter where it convinces someone who hasn't read a book from the past like everything will be ok, because Dickens just wanted to fuck with people, and build development. Just...bleh.
Manic McGee...does anyone remember that? That book is the very last I remember reading that was required to be read that I enjoyed. Characters died, lessons were learned, and good times were had too. Not this MARTYR MARTYR MARTYR shit that I have to read years upon years in a row. A life is a fragile thing, our innocense died, good and bad, I get it, I get it. I just don't CARE. That one story...1944 maybe? Chris would remember it. That was pretty good too, though Chris's constant reminders and assertions that I was the crazy athletic guy and he was the kid who PUSHED said athletic kid off a tree trunk was kind of unnerving. Thats why I never let him in my treehouse.
Fuck, I think I wall of text'd again. Anyway, later kiddies.