Francis Michael O'Keeffe
Professor //Global Mod
[M:1000]
don't come knocking at my door; love don't live here anymore
Posts: 79
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Post by Francis Michael O'Keeffe on Apr 6, 2007 3:29:08 GMT 7
Francis stood up from his desk picking up a book and walking from behind his desk. He really needed to get it to the library or else it would be late. If he would have just brought the book then he could have place it on his shelf but it made no sense to buy them if he already own them. All his favorite books where at his childhood home in Ireland. He really miss being there so reading the book kind of reminded him of home. The author was from Dublin Ireland just like him so it made him think of the times when he was there. Even though his family didn’t have much money it was one of his favorite places to think about.
Shaking his head he pulled his free hand through his hand and walked out the door of his office and down the hallway to the library. He was wearing a regular white dress shirt with no tie and a pair of blue jeans. Yes it wasn’t regular teacher attire but he didn’t think of himself as a regular teacher. In fact he didn’t think of himself as a teacher at all. He didn’t act like but English was all he really knew so he decided to make it a career. Sometimes he thought to himself why did he get himself into this but it was making him money so he didn’t care much.
Walking into the library he walked to front desk and handed the librarian the book and quickly walked away. He had this sick feeling she was trying to flirt with him and even though he like flirting. She was old and had this mole on her upper lip that was unattractive. Turning around too quick he bump into someone. A student, now he was surely going to get it “sorry” he said trying to help the girl up.
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Post by Christiane Christiansen on Apr 6, 2007 12:23:06 GMT 7
[/i] by Rutherford's students, she could not help but feel elated, even slightly, that those books somewhat belonged to her, and to her alone. She was vain when it came to books, and was never too shameless to boast about her knowledge, as well as her not quite confirmed knowledge, in front of others; especially in front of sharp others, who seemed to know just as much as she did. Quietly reading the books' titles once more, she searched in silence for a book that she had not read before, and as many as those were, she could not set her mind on one: Toward a New Philosophy of Biology: Observations of an Evolutionist by Ernst Mayr was the first one that caught her eye, as it included the words philosophy and biology in the same sentence. She did not quite know what to expect from this book, be it a painful read, or perhaps even mere enjoyment; but Christiane always loved a good challenge when it came to books, especially ones that she had not heard of before. Gingerly taking it out of the bookshelf, she coughed slightly as tiny dust particles seemed to fill the air, then adjusted her glasses as she took one more glance at the book. Yup. It certainly was going to fill her sleepless nights with more entertainment. Walking with now more steady steps towards the front desk, Christiane difficultly tightened her casual but tidy ponytail, waiting for her the guy slash young man slash possible student to finish what he was doing. As she waited, she diagonally read the introduction, not paying much attention to it, saving the best for when she would be less lazy, more sleepless, and quite hopefully, sitting on the couch with a good cup of coffee in her hands: nothing could be better, for Christiane, than reading and drinking coffee, especially when the two were combined. "In order to qualify for my Ph.D. at the university of Berlin I had to take an examination in philosophy- ," she read silently, as she suddenly felt someone bump into her, causing her to fall on the floor. "Sorry," she heard him say. It seemed to be the same guy that was standing in front of her. "Uhhh, never mind, it's okay, I'm okay," she said, as slight annoyance could be detected in her voice. Reluctantly grasping his hand, she helped herself up, adjusting her glasses once more. Glancing carelessly at the book that he had placed on the front desk, as he meant to return it no doubt, Christiane could not help but notice that it was by Oscar Wilde, The importance of being Earnest, the wittiest of all comedies: she had read twice before, as she had read all of Oscar Wilde's works. She personally did not like it as much as she liked his other works, such as Salome, for instance, the infamous tragedy in one act. Raising an eyebrow, she smiled dimly at the young man, checking out the book once more. "That's really not one of his best," she said. "But it's still good."[/ul]
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Francis Michael O'Keeffe
Professor //Global Mod
[M:1000]
don't come knocking at my door; love don't live here anymore
Posts: 79
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Post by Francis Michael O'Keeffe on Apr 6, 2007 23:43:30 GMT 7
[sorry it is blah]
Today had to be one of Francis most worst day at the school. First he had two students walk in the middle of his lecture interrupting him. That was one of his pet peeves but the students seem to not realize that when he was happy he was nicer. They must like seeing him all mad at them. That is why he always second guess becoming a teacher. Too bad he couldn’t change his mind and go back to school and pick another profession. But then again he would have to go to school and do the work and Francis was a lazy man. Even at a young age he was so that was not a decision he was willing to make. So you can say that Francis was stuck in a world that he love but with people he rather not associate with.
Looking at the girl he look to see if she was going to totally flip out on him but contrary to his belief and his vast knowledge of woman she didn’t. In fact she was rather clam about the situation. A first he thought to himself but then her voice broke the awkward situation. “Oh good because I wouldn’t have to take you to the nurse or something. I don’t have time for that” Francis said not in a mean tone but it was nice either.
Feeling her hand in his he looked at her but of course she was helping herself up. If Francis had any manners he would have offer to help her up but he didn’t. Francis was a mean and rude person but it was the fact that he grew up in a tough home. He didn’t do it on purpose it was just something that was nature to him. Hearing her voice again he wondered what else she had to say but then he notice her talk about the book that he just placed on the table. What did she know about Oscar Wilde's works? She couldn’t know more than he did being that he was one of Francis reasons to become an English major. “Oh really Ms. I didn’t catch your name” he said raising his eyebrow at her. “And if that isn’t the best he wrote than intrigue me on your thoughts of his best work” he said in a witty tone. Oh how he love for people to challenge him and something he spend his entire life studying, the English literature.
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Post by Christiane Christiansen on Apr 7, 2007 0:46:24 GMT 7
Don't make me slap you, woman. It is not blah.
[/b] he said, raising an eyebrow. Christiane smiled slyly to herself as she heard him say those words, with a thick, but very attractive accent that she was unfamiliar with: she loved a good debate, she loved a good challenge, even if this one seemed that it could be, too easily perhaps, won. She loved Oscar Wilde, she knew so much about him: not everything, she had to admit, but enough to win a good debate with a senior. Although, quite frankly, she started having second thoughts on whether or not he could have been a teacher since he called her Miss: it was usually older people, be it professors, or mere employees that talked to students so reverently, so respectfully. But still, she had a good feeling about this particular debate, which was yet not quite declared. After all, she was vain, and she loved to show off her numerous knowledges in front of others, and this young man was no exception. "Christiane Christiansen," she said, nodding. As skeptical and disbelieving as she was towards strangers, Christiane did not feel the need, curiously, to lie about her name, this time: it was both the young man's noticeable older age, as well as the simple fact that he did not seem to be the kind of student to mingle with Sophomores, that made her feel that she could be honest about her identity. It did not matter much at that point, however; what was done, was done. Adjusting her glasses once more, she regained her poised posture, trying to convince herself that she was ready for whatever it was that that stranger had been preparing for her: a darn good debate, as she was hoping. "Well, I would have to say that De Profundis is a very enjoyable read, especially if you're interested in Wilde himself. As well as The Ballad of Reading Gaol. Both of which he wrote when he was in prison. Wouldn't you agree, Mr...?," she said, showing off her Wilde knowledge, and hoping to get the young man's name.[/ul]
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Francis Michael O'Keeffe
Professor //Global Mod
[M:1000]
don't come knocking at my door; love don't live here anymore
Posts: 79
|
Post by Francis Michael O'Keeffe on Apr 7, 2007 4:11:04 GMT 7
“Well isn’t it lovely to have meet you Ms. Christiansen” Francis said in a dark tone. He never met her before so it obvious she was not of student of his, maybe one of his other English colleagues student. Heating her answer his question he wanted to know if she really knew what she was talking about. Hearing tittles he could picture the day that he read those selection written by his idol. The Ballard of course spoke to his heart and each word seep into his brain as if it was a sponge. Even though he was young when he read it, it was like he could rememorize each word within it. But no that had not been on of Francis favorites of Oscar Wildes. Nor was De Profundis, although it was greatly written like all the rest of Wilde work, it wasn’t as interesting as his novel.
Francis remember the day he found it in the library on the top shelf. Back then he wasn’t tall enough to reach the top. But he has grown over the years. In fact in his study he hold a vast selection of Oscar Wildes work. Unfortunately that office was in Ireland, a place that he like to go stay during his summers. So he had to come here and borrow the library’s edition to the novel. Francis was surprise that they ever have it. When he found it in the back covered in dust as if no one had touch it for ages. It was sickening to his heart how much literature didn’t matter in today society. When he was young growing up Dublin it was all he had. He couldn’t afford toys, and many people didn’t want to play with him because of the clothes that he wore so the closest thing he had were his books.
Now he is older and still very much in love with books. In fact Francis plans on writing his own novel when he stops being lazy. Or maybe he will start it this summer. Biting on his bottom lip he looked at the girl in front of him. His greenish blue eyes search for an answer for her. First he introduced himself. He hate talking to strangers so he assumed that she didn‘t like that as well. “Francis O’ Keefe but you can call me Francis for now” he said to her then he continue to answer her question “Of course Wildes work is always superb. He was of course and still is one of the most famous writers in Ireland to this date, but I will have to say that my favorite piece from him is his novel The Picture of Dorian Gray” he said raising his eyebrow at her. “one of his last works of gothic horror. It deals with an issue that I find intriguing , many author would tackle on writing about homosexuality. Of course we both now Oscar stance on that issue.” Francis say with a wink of his eye. “after all it is refereed as one of the modern classics of Western Literature.” Francis said sounding almost like he knew what he was talking about. Which he did because of course he study English and had a Ph.D in it as well.
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Post by Christiane Christiansen on Apr 7, 2007 15:53:54 GMT 7
Absolutely amazing, beautiful post. I love it. =) Btw I'm sorry my posts are getting kinda long, but they're only long when the posts of the person I'm RPing with are darn good. =D
[/i] not merely Christiane, in such a strict, formal way - to her, he was a still a slothful senior, one that had to be treated with respect, and a great deal of alertness: his looks were too deceiving; he did indeed know so much more that she had thought he did. For once, however, she felt truly challenged, losing this debate would be almost as rewarding as winning it. For if she had to lose it, she would at least have learned something from someone who seemed - she would never admit it - to know much more than she did about one of the things that she was passionate about in life: Oscar Wilde. She had to admit, however, there still was a good side to all of this, in spite of her dim feeling that she would soon be about to be, well, let's say fairly beaten at a darn good, heated Wilde debate: at least she was now talking to someone who knew who Oscar Wilde was; not merely knew, but so much more that knew. She could tell from the passion and easygoingness with which he was talking about Wilde that he was not the idle senior that she thought she was - as reassuring as that was, it made her feel somewhat more self conscious about all the Wilde things that she did not know much about. Nonetheless, apart from Banner, with whom she would, sometimes, spend a great deal of time talking to about Wilde, there was virtually no one, none that knew of at least, that loved that Irish author. So, it was a nice change. A really nice change. Had it been her mere luck that made Francis talk about The Picture of Dorian Gray, she did not know, but she was still somewhat thankful for it. The Picture of Dorian Gray was one of the very first Wilde works that she had ever read: the first time she read it, she barely understood a word of it - it was the second time that she read it that made her fall in love with Wilde. So far, good luck was on her side; she had better take good advantage of it - next time, she may not be lucky enough to be on such familiar territory. Her jade and azure eyes meeting his green blue ones, Christiane momentarily pondered on a good comeback to his witty, sharp answer. She had to be more careful with her choice of words, now, more cautious and alert. She surely knew of Wilde's homosexuality, as well as his scandalous, but inspiring affairs with young Bosie: was it such a good idea to bring it up at this point? No. But she would hopefully get to use it later: she was passionate about everything about Wilde. "... and, of course, he portrayed himself as Basil Hallward in the story, who was completely infatuated with Dorian. Though, if you ask me, Basil did seem feeble to me, but he really was a lot like Wilde: the object of his affection was both an inspiration and a torment to him. Bosie was just the same to Wilde," she said, unwillingly mentioning Lord Alfred Douglas in her reply. "I find Lord Henry Wotton really interesting," she said, trying not to stray from the subject. "His words had a great effect on Dorian, and as vile as he may have been, Dorian wouldn't have evolved at all in the story if it weren't for him."Well, aren't you a smart ass? Every word I'm saying is true. But you're still a smart ass. I don't know what you're talking about.[/ul]
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