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PLEASE NOTE: The Reality TV World Message Boards are filled with desperate
attention-seekers pretending to be one big happy PG/PG13-rated family. Don't
be fooled. Trying to get everyone to agree with you is like herding cats,
but intolerance for other viewpoints is NOT welcome and respect for other
posters IS required at all times. Jump in and play, and you'll soon find out
how easy it is to fit in, but save your drama for your mama. All members are
encouraged to read the
complete guidelines.
As entertainment critic Roger
Ebert once said, "If you disagree with something I write, tell me so, argue
with me, correct me--but don't tell me to shut up. That's not the American way."
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"Has the Game Already Begun???????????"
MeatLoaf 7 desperate attention whore postings
DAW Level: "American Cancer Society Spokesperson"
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08-18-02, 12:19 PM (EST)
 
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"Has the Game Already Begun???????????" |
Have they already given the first clue.....The Population of Push Nevada is 10623 and the elevation is 1023.
HHMMMMMM...........
Meatloaf
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AyaK 10083 desperate attention whore postings
DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold"
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08-21-02, 06:28 PM (EST)
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5. "Interesting name" |
When I posted the clip from the press release on the summary thread, I realized for the first time that the name of the investigator was "Jim Prufrock." Now, maybe I'm just weird, but my mind immediately leaped to the famous T.S. Eliot poem, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" -- although I have to admit that I'll be danged to see a connection between this poem and the plot of PN:http://www.bartleby.com/198/1.html S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.
LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
<They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”>
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
<They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”>
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
<But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!>
It is perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head <grown slightly bald> brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
. . . . .
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
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AyaK 10083 desperate attention whore postings
DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold"
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08-21-02, 06:44 PM (EST)
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6. "The Italian verse" |
The Italian verse at the beginning, by the way, is from the Divine Comedy by Dante, but I'm not sure what it means....
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YumYumsAngel007 126 desperate attention whore postings
DAW Level: "Blistex Spokesperson"
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08-21-02, 08:32 PM (EST)
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7. "Thnak god for evil Italian teachers!" |
LAST EDITED ON 08-21-02 AT 08:34 PM (EST)John Ciardi's translation of Dante is as follows: If I belived that my reply were made
to one who could ever climb to the world again,
this flame would shake no more. But since no shade ever returned-if what I am told is true-
from this blind world into the living light,
without fear of dishonor I answer you. (But MAJOR props go to me and my mad Italian skills for finding the right canto)   Koko was on the porch, trying to catch mosquitos on the screen, the problem being that they were all on the outside. "And you're supposed to be a smart cat," Qwilleran said.
(edited for really bad and rushed spelling on my part!)
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trigirl 2844 desperate attention whore postings
DAW Level: "Howard Stern Show Guest"
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08-24-02, 11:33 AM (EST)
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11. "More Interpretations" |
Here is another good essay regarding the poem. This one discusses Prufrock's relationship to women and communication.This one is very cool because it gives hyperlinks to all the literary references throughout the poem. Okay, I'm lame, sitting here reviewing old textbooks, but this one is interesting. From T.S. Eliot's essay "Tradition and the Individual Talent", he states: the past should be altered by the present as much as the present is directed by the past. There is lots of interesting stuff in this essay regarding audience-response theory and 'the whole culture locating iteslf in the present by its acquired sense of past' but I know that I am boring you. Okay so after all of this reading, I think I should have just listened to Ayak when he said "or ... people read Eliot's poetry in English classes to pick out all of the allusions and references to other works or to popular culture. Perhaps that's the way that LivePlanet has envisioned this show -- clues scattered all over the place." 
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Red Lady 2010 desperate attention whore postings
DAW Level: "Roller Coaster Inaugurator"
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08-24-02, 01:28 PM (EST)
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12. "RE: Interesting name" |
Goodness...I slept through poetry! I hope the show will offer some other references for the "less informed". Better take out my Cliff Notes!
Regards,
Red Lady
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missmellie 5 desperate attention whore postings
DAW Level: "American Cancer Society Spokesperson"
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09-21-02, 04:16 AM (EST)
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20. "RE: Nameplate on Jim's Desk" |
and we know from the credits that there is an Al Prufrock coming up, coincidence?
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lizard 324 desperate attention whore postings
DAW Level: "Cooking Show Host"
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08-27-02, 11:43 AM (EST)
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14. "RE: Has the Game Already Begun???????????" |
Part of a map location?
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bondt007 3358 desperate attention whore postings
DAW Level: "Car Show Celebrity"
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09-18-02, 02:15 PM (EST)
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18. "RE: Elevation discrepancy" |
Yes, but I thought it is suppose to be 30 miles from Death Valley.
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Fester