i sometimes wonder how many of the mothers who named their daughters jennifer in the 70s (when the name was at its height of its popularity) knew the history behind the name. hell, i wonder if my mom did. i kind of doubt it. in fact, i'd be surprised to find out she even properly knew who arthur was. i wonder if any of the mothers would feel odd, having named their baby girls after one of the most prominent sluts in european history. (i guess i should clarify here that i don't have a problem with guinevere's romantic choices; in fact, i wish i had her exact same name, instead of this silly derivative.) in the end of the affair, bendrix hires a private detective who, i think, names his son lancelot after 'the man who found the holy grail'. bendrix corrects him, saying that galahad had found the grail, as lancelot wasn't able to touch the grail because he was an adulterer. after hear this, a look comes over the detective's face 'as though he had betrayed his son.' would any of the other jennifers' mothers care as much as this detective? would mine? i kind of doubt it.
regardless, this is my blog, and that's where all of the 'white wave' business comes from. the 'confessions of a... widowed' is from lolita; i feel like i shouldn't have to explain that connexion. i'm not sure what i'll have to write about (and i think that problem is precisely why i'm starting this) because i doubt i'll care enough in three years to read about my god-awful haircut or how much glee i've been watching, but i do want to write something. writing used to be my 'thing'. the president of my high school would always compliment my newspaper articles, and i do have an almost-finished dystopian novel hiding somewhere in the crevices of my macbook. i ought to get back in practice-- short stories, poems, everything. we'll see what happens.
i'll leave you with a picture of guinevere and lancelot. oddly enough, a few pictures of otters showed up in the search; i love otters.
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