'The Hobbit', as seen through the eyes of a 10-year-old
Mood:  lazy
Today, we bring you...

make_it_stop's Fifth Grade Book Report On 'The Hobbit'

I was going through some old school papers recently, and found a book report on "The Hobbit", written when I was 10. For the assignment, we were required to choose a fantasy book and describe the plot and one of the characters. Before we begin, it should be noted that I ran out of paper halfway through writing the report.


The Cover

A Ralph Bakshi drawing, clipped from TV Guide (by a happy coincidence, the movie aired the day before the book report was due), hastily colored, and pounded down onto a sheet of lined notebook paper with the sort of white paste that kids used to dare one another to eat. Bilbo, looking remarkably like a guinea pig, is posing with Sting held aloft. Above, in girly blue bubble-lettering: "THE HOBBIT By J.R.R. Tolkien".

And now, the report:

Preface

The title of my book is "The Hobbit". "The Hobbit" was written by J.R.R. Tolkien, but there was no illustrator. This particular edition was published in 1965 by Houghton Mifflin. "The Hobbit" was copyright 1937, 1938, and 1966 by J.R.R. Tolkien. This copy has two hundred and seventy pages.

Editor's Note: Gripping prose. I think there was a minimum word limit that I was stretching to meet here.

Why This Book Is A Fantasy

This book is classified as fantasy because it is not possible to have hobbits and dwarves and elves and trolls, since these exist only in fairy tales. There also is no such place as Middle Earth because scientists know that inside the earth, it is made of rock. Middle Earth is not on Earth, since we would know about such a big place as Middle Earth. Because the universe is the only place left where Middle Earth could be, and it is unlikely that there is another place that has a mild climate, oxygen, and gravity, there could be no place for Middle Earth to be, therefore this book is a made-up tale and is classified as fantasy.

Why I Chose This Book

The reasons I chose this book is because:

1. My brother recommended it very highly, and he told me some of the things that happened, and it sounded so interesting I wanted to read it.

2. My mother made me read it, because my brother liked it.

3. It was the first book that came to my mind when "fantasy" was mentioned.

4. It was a thick book, and I'd much rather read a thick book than a thin one that lasts about an hour.


Character Description

The character that I'm about to describe is Bilbo, who is a hobbit. He is three feet high, has brown hair & sharp eyes and ears. He is rather fat, and wears bright colors but seldom wears shoes. He likes to laugh, eat, drink, give and receive (sic) presents, and they like parties, peace, quiet, and good tilled earth. His hobbit-hole is situated in The Shire, a place between the River Brandywine and the Far Downs.

Plot Summary

"The Hobbit" by J.R.R. Tolkien is about a quest to find Smaug, the dragon, kill him, and divvy up his stolen gold.

Gandalf, the wizard, and all the dwarves gather for a tea party in Bilbo's hobbit-hole. They want Bilbo to be their burgalar (sic). They also want him to make their number fourteen instead of thirteen.

All of he dwarves and the wizard and the hobbit make merry and drink and eat until they can hold no more. Then they retire for the night, filling up all of poor Bilbo's guest beds.

In the morning, they are off on their journey. They ride on horses laden with food and water. They travel until night, when they spot a reddish glow in the woods. Bilbo is sent to find out what it is, as part of his job as burgalar.

When Bilbo gets there, he finds trolls by the names of Bert, William, and Tom. He is captured, and one goes out, suspecting more, and captures all the dwarves. Gandalf comes to the rescue, by disguising his voice like one of the trolls and saying things that started them arguing and fighting. While they are fighting, Gandalf quickly unties the dwarves, and they escape.

They travel for a few more days and nights, and then one evening, it starts to rain, and they seek shelter in a cave. This is where they find some goblin plunder, and Thorin finds some swords. He takes Orcrist, Goblin-cleaver, Gandalf takes Glamdring, Foe-hammer, and Bilbo takes a tiny dagger. While they are asleep, goblins come and capture them. The dwarves try to run away, and Thorin takes Bilbo on his back. But Bilbo is dropped, and when he wakes up, he is surrounded by darkness. He gropes around in the dark for a while, and finds a ring. This ring, though Bilbo doesn't know it, makes the wearer invisible.

This is my last sheet of paper, so briefly I'll mention his riddle game with Gollum, a huge frog-like monster who talks in a hissing manner, and also talks like this: "Let it give us a chance, my preciousssssssssss".

If you want to find out what happens then read the book by all means because a book report on this story would take up more paper than I'd care for.

Teacher's comment: Very fine beginning but does not conclude well.

make_it_stop~
Yep, PFaz, you're the other regular reader besides me!

I'm intrigued by this new movie, "The Proposition", and specifically by reports that David is playing an uber-nasty, land-owning villain. He's done nasty before, for example Pure and the Boys, yet such is his acting talent that he always makes you empathize with the baddy. He could play Attila the Hun, and yet I'd still want to give him a hug and make him tea.

And now...if you'll indulge me for a moment, I badly need to get something off my chest:

THE BOSTON RED SOX WON THE WORLD SERIES LAST NIGHT!!!

I never, ever thought I'd be able to write that sentence in my lifetime. 86 long years of horrible pain and suffering ended last night, when the baseball team I've loved since I was eight years old swept the Cardinals in 4 games. No longer will cruel sportscasters be able to make New Englanders cry by uttering the words "Bill Buckner", "1918", "perennial losers", or "The Curse of the Bambino". After decades of utter misery, the Red Sox are champions at last. All, all is forgiven.


Pigs are flying.

Satan skated to work today.

Miracles do happen.

PFazzzzz
Mood:  lyrical
Now Playing: Koala Brothers...
Wow! Does that mean I'm one of the two regular readers??? I've been busy too but just wanted to pop on and muse over the new pics of David with a beard, supposedly for his new movie The Proposition? It's like a cross between the Father Damien full beard and the Diver Dan shorter beard that is blonder but the longer hair from ...something else...Whatever it is, it's lucious and it works...

make+it+stop
It's been awhile since I last posted here...free time is pretty scarce these days, thanks to the recent tripling of my workload, as well as family, athletic, and volunteer commitments. Many apologies to both of our regular readers. I do have a lot of things to talk about: the upcoming ROTK extended edition and Van Helsing releases, the town of Wenham, Cyrano de Bergerac, why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings.

In the meantime, here's a mystery to ponder. The washing instructions on my bathing suit firmly say "DO NOT BLEACH". Yet presumably, it's OK for it to spend hours immersed in a chlorine swimming pool.

Discuss.

PrincessFAz
Mood:  happy
Now Playing: scream of the fazguls...
I justhad to say that the new EE stuff has got me squeeing like a fangirl...even though I'm old and have lots of kids...so what!!! It's exciting!!! Furthur proof:



This poor baby needs some tender loving care....

Lord of the Rings Exhibit
Now Playing: Tubular Bells

PrincessFaz and I recently visited the Lord of the Rings Exhibit at Boston's Museum of Science (where, believe it or not, we met in person for the first time). Several other TORC posters were there: shieldmatron, Raksha, athelas63 (princessFaz's sister), and IthilienRangerette.

The exhibit was really fantastic, despite the lack of Faramir/Gondor stuff. Gondor was represented by a couple of beat-up banners, two sets of armor (one from the Prologue, one from TTT/ROTK), a royal saddle (very uncomfortable looking), some scrolls from the Minas Tirith archives, and Dead Boromir In A Boat. The rest of the exhibit was very heavy on the "exotic" races: orcs, elves, evil invisible wraiths, hobbits. No coronation outfits, no Ranger outfit, no shiny sword, absolutely nothing to indicate Faramir's contribution to the story. The OUTRAGE. "Fellowship" this, "Ring" that. Blah blah blah. Sheesh.

In spite of the dissing of the Stewards, it was really cool to see the props and costumes from the movies close up. Everybody raves about the amount of care and detail that went into creating Middle Earth, and rightly so. Things that were in the background for maybe two seconds were every bit as lovingly carved and crafted as things that got a lot of closeups and screen time. I was really taken with a long elf-sword that looked ideally suited for slicing watermelon. There were some handpainted Orc contact lenses (yellow and red) and a big case of discarded prosthetics. The major Fellowship costumes were there, from Legolas' velour '80s stirrup pants to Gimli's bristling-with-axes getup. There were some interactive exhibits too. We had our photos taken inside a scale cart designed to make people on the left-hand side look enormous, and people on the right-hand side look tiny.

Dead Boromir was eerily realistic, right down to the chin stubble, the mud and grass clumps on the soles of his boots, and the cut across one knuckle. Certain members of the party had to be bodily restrained from clambering over the barrier *koff*

The exhibit is well worth seeing, if you get a chance. It's heading to Sydney next, then coming to the State Museum in Indiana in fall 2005.

make/it/stop
Mood:  spacey
I read this interview recently where David said he used to hang out with a group of people who were into astrology/clairvoyance, and it got me thinking.

I go to a funky hairstylist who also does sculpture, aromatherapy, and astrology on the side. She always gives me a lengthy discourse on whatever my chart happens to be doing that day. Not that I really think our lives are determined by the positions of a group of big icy rocks in outer space, but it is always interesting to hear how closely she's able to draw parallels between what the planets are doing and what's going on in my life.

For example, I recently got one of those fake promotions where your workload and responsibilities triple, but your title and paycheck don't change. Instead of doing work, I now talk about people who do work to the people who talk to other people about the people who talk about people who do work. My new boss is very documentation-oriented (a diplomatic way of saying "anal") and has been breathing fire down my neck non-stop ever since the transition. Status reports, org charts, project plans, spreadsheets, conference calls with people 12 time zones away. Suddenly, I'm drowning in paperwork.

At our most recent session, my hairdresser said that Saturn is now passing through my sun sign (as it has been for the past two and a half years). Saturn exerts a long-term, baleful influence on whichever zodiac sign it happens to be in. At the moment, it is approaching 24 degrees of Cancer, which supposedly matches the angle of the sun on my birth chart. As Saturn passes through one's birth angle thingamajig, feelings of tension and depression and leadenness increase. The bad patch starts 1-2 degrees before, and lasts till 1-2 degrees after. This happens once every 29 years or so, to all of us. (Leo people, you're next!)

To make matters worse, Saturn is planning to go retrograde in Cancer. Its apparent motion in the sky will back up and then go forward again, making a total of 3 times that I can expect this joyous birth angle event to happen over the next six months. It's akin to being run over by a car, then having the car back up over you, then being run over again. Or having somebody go all apple-pie on you with a rolling pin.

Saturn is the planet of authority and repression and gloom, according to my hairdresser, and I will be feeling the oppressive jackboot of authority on my neck for quite some time. She suggested honoring Saturn's leaden influence by lifting free weights and embracing the mound of paperwork on my desk. I'm thinking of honoring Saturn's leaden influence by looking for another job. Something creative.

On a completely unrelated topic: Why, whenever there is a set of 12 double doors, are 11 of them always locked? And why don't I ever choose the one that is unlocked? I always end up whapping into the unyielding door like a sparrow. My moon sign is Total Idiocy.

PrincessFaz
Mood:  sad
Now Playing: flashlight tag
Feeling very Faramish tonight...why does everything stink so much? What's it all about, alfie? Is life really beautiful? I think not. At least the Gondorians had someting to fight for. We got nothing. I feel like Faramir in Osgiliath, starting to freak out and lose it. If only Mithrandir would show up so I can pour my heart out to him...

Love your Bahston accent, MIS...very Kennedyish.

Carry on...

make....it....st o p
Today's forecast: partly hurricaney. With more on the way.

I watched the Two Towers again for the first time in a long while, and was struck by the crisp elegance of Faramir's Gondorian accent. I read somewhere that the Gondor accent was based loosely on the Yorkshire accent, with long o's and e's ("mehyn" instead of "men", "Bohrohmir", etc.). The effect is very plummy and smooth. You know you're in the presence of a literate culture, a civilization of scholars and poets.

Now, if the filmmakers had defied logic, common sense, and tradition, and gone the American route - who knows? Maybe they would have given the Gondorians a Boston accent, as follows:

"A chance foah Fahrameah, captin of Gondoahh, to show his quality. Wicked pissah!"

"Battahlions of ohcs are crahssing the rivahh..."

Or perhaps an upper Midwest accent:

"Yer bodygaird, eh?"

OK, I just realized I have no point here.

Talk amongst yourselves.

make!it!stop!
Mood:  on fire
Now Playing: Peruvian nose fiddle


Behold. A Faramir Topps card.

Stare at it. Feel the urge to collect, surging through the veins of your forehead.

You want it. You need it. You will do anything to possess it.

The last time I felt the urge to collect anything, I was 10 years old and trying to amass a complete set of "Star Wars" cards. Every kid in the school was ga-ga for them. Recess was a huge trading bazaar; instead of playing kickball and foursquare like normal kids, we huddled under the jungle gym exchanging duplicates and bartering for missing cards. Exchange rates fluctuated wildly: three R2D2s might get you a Han Solo at lunchtime, but only a pair of Tusken Raiders by the time the bell rang.

Every last cent I could scrape together went towards buying Star Wars cards. Each new pack was eagerly opened and thumbed through, looking for certain cards, chewing the revolting cardboard gum, and lowering the eventual resale value of my parents' house by plastering Jawa stickers all over my bedroom door.

After weeks and weeks of dedicated collecting, I had acquired every single card, except for #63. (The card number is still burned into my brain. I can see it with my waking eyes.) #63, a picture of Luke Skywalker, was particuarly coveted by the girls in our class, and thus hard to come by.

With the end in sight, my buying frenzy increased. Feverishly I raked leaves, babysat, walked dogs, washed windows, sold pitchers of lemonade along the river to thirsty canoers, scanned the sidewalks for dropped pennies and nickels. Pack after pack of Star Wars cards was purchased, ripped open, and thrown down in disgust, refusing to yield up the coveted #63.

One day, my older sister and I stopped into the local candy store on the way home from school. On a whim, she bought a pack. You guessed it: #63 was the first card in the pack.

I made the classic mistake of falling to my knees and begging for the card. Had I kept my cool and feigned disinterest, she probably would have given it to me outright. As it was, the asking price immediately shot up well into two figures. I had to mortgage sleeping rights to the dog, TV channel selection privileges, dish duties for a month, and all my future Halloween candy, as well as sing the "My Older Sister Is The Greatest" song right there in front of the store.

After two solid hours of torment, she relented, and let me have the card. It was only a small square of cardboard, but oh, the satisfaction. The sense of completion. The blisters, the aching back, the complete loss of dignity: all worth it. I had set a goal, and accomplished it. I spread all the cards out on my bedroom floor and just looked at them. Nothing missing. A whole entire set, assembled with my own sweat and toil and tears.

Two weeks later, Topps announced that they were coming out with Series Two Star Wars cards.

There is probably a deep moral lesson in all of this, but it eludes me.