This past semester, my English teacher announced that today, we were going to read a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins.
The girl next to me groaned. “Ugh,” she said. “Not Hopkins.”
Now, this girl happens to be a lovely person and a good friend of mine, but in that moment, it was as if the devil himself sat in that chair. I spun around. “Hopkins is the best poet in the English language.”
“That’s subjective,” she said. “He’s boring.”
Um, hell no. The quality of poetry is not, and can never be, subjective. It is not dependent on one’s personal enjoyment of the poem.
I’m terrible at watching movies. When I was little, I’d watch the same Zoboomafoo episodes on VHS over and over instead of normal childhood movies like The Little Mermaid. The result is that it’s only in the last few years that I’ve finally seen Star Wars, Finding Nemo, and The Princess Bride.
Jurassic Park is another one of those movies that everyone’s seen except for me. One of my good friends is a huge fan of it, and when I was at her house recently, she pressed a battered copy of the novel into my hands, assuring my sister and I that we’d love it. When she asked me if I did a few days ago, I had to be very diplomatic with my answer. But more on that later.