Even though I did have an artsy, craftsy evening with my nephews on Friday, it didn't really feel like I'd fulfilled my April obligation. As I sat on my couch, vegging out after the evening of babysitting, I noticed the castoff fingers I cut off the glove to make Georgia's head. (If that sounds bizarre, and I can see how it would, read my last post.) I always love coordinating toys and the idea of toys for toys, so I made a finger puppet that looks like Georgia. It tickles me.
Yesterday I made another little glove doll, but this time I had the right kind of gloves. It looks much more like an actual animal, but it isn't nearly as cute or endearing to me. To make up for it's institutional look, today's craft was a pink fleece scarf embellished with buttons. I haven't named it yet, but I'm leaning towards Irma (we watched "Irma la Douce" last night while I made it), but it sort of looks like a boy. By the way, Jack Lemmon is hilarious in "Irma la Douce".
John was gone basically all weekend for guys-only, somebody's-getting-married partying. And at first I thought, "Okay, cool, it's been a long time since I had an evening to my self. It might be nice to have a night without watching any part of Future Weapons or anything with exploding heads, zombies, giant monsters, or robots." Well, it started out well. My Friday craft was placemats made from Christmas cards I've been saving for the past few years for just that purpose. I hung out at my parents' house and made brownies and watched "White Christmas" (it was a theme) and my mom helped me with the placemats. The idea for the placemats came from ones my grandmothers both made. They cut circles out of the card fronts though, rather than squares, and the end product was sort of oval-shaped. That was fun, but then I went home to my creaky, empty house in the deep, dark woods. Alone. Yeah. So what did I do to take my mind off my troubles? Cross stitch and Designing Women! I pulled through.
After I finished John's tie on Saturday, I spent my evening watching the new movie Lifetime has been pushing for months (I usually hate Lifetime movies, but this one was based on a book I've been sort of wanting to read) and working on the cross stitch thing. The movie, "The Memory Keeper's Daughter," was flat and boring and further confirmed that I should only watch Lifetime for the recycled sit-coms. The cross stitch was a kit from the big craft box from when I was in high school. I think there are two more in the box with different designs. This one took a while, so I'm not sure if I want to tackle another one this month.
John being gone for two nights totally sucked. I was lonely and bored. Whatever happened to enjoying an evening alone? Ah, well. He came back on Sunday anyway.
I finished up the cross stitch kit last night:
We watched "Atonement" last night, too, and I really hated it. I think this little stitched flower has bad movie joojoo.
I'm feeling very much in the crafting mood, but I still feel disjointed as far as supplies and organization are concerned. I've done some knitting and a teensy bit of cross stitch, but my patience just isn't with that sort of thing right now. I want results, pronto! I have a couple of ideas that center around pre-existing images, specifically vintage storybook illustrations. I spent a couple of hours at my parents' house today, rounding up some of my favorite childhood bedtime books. I also found a couple of books that I don't remember at all, but with illustrations so beautiful I want to frame each of them, text and all. Here are some of my favorite images:
Also, I can't believe I didn't mention yesterday that I ran out and got my copy of Enchanted. We watched it last night and it was just as awesome the second time. I am a super girly girl and, I think this is how I described this movie to Anna, I feel like someone in Hollywood decided to make a movie just for me to love.
Admittedly, I've seen very few Hitchcock movies. That said, and without any pretense of my knowing anything about Hitchcock whatsoever, I really like Vertigo. James Stewart is one of my favorite actors. And I'm oddly fascinated by Kim Novak, even though I've only seen her in three movies. The bookstore I used to work in sold art, too, and we once had a painting of one of the California missions and I thought I'd been told that it was the one in San Luis Obispo and that it was the one in "Vertigo." Well, this was totally wrong and, after visiting San Luis Obispo earlier this year, it was pretty obvious. The mission in San Luis Obispo didn't resemble the painting or the movie. I'd already seen the one in Santa Barbara and didn't think much about it. But, for some reason, after seeing the mission that I thought was in the painting look so dissimilar, I decided I wanted to see the right one before leaving California.
Our departure from the Golden State is getting closer and closer, which means we're cramming more and more California landmarks into our remaining time. We spent this past week on a wonderful trip in San Francisco. We drove up the coast, which was gorgeous! There was an area just before Monterey when Highway 1 was hugging the sides of seaside cliffs. Sort of scary, but very beautiful. We got to San Francisco on Monday evening and left Friday morning. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday were packed with beautiful sights, cable car rides, and very sore feet.
Like an idiot, I'd forgotten to check online before I left home for which mission is the one with the scene. So, I called my mom and she looked it up and said it was the one in San Juan Bautista, which was just a little side trip off of the 101.
It's a perfectly lovely place, but ummm...as you can see...no tower. And the bells are exposed. (If you haven't seen "Vertigo," you should know that a big part of the movie revolves around Kim Novak and Jimmy Stewart being at the top of a tall, enclosed bell tower.) Okay, no big deal. Mom had also said that Mission Delores was in the movie. The problem with that is that, well, they go on a long drive to get to the bell tower and Mission Delores is actually in San Francisco.
In the meantime, I completely fell in love with San Francisco. We saw everything we intended to see and made some cool discoveries. One thing I didn't expect to like very much was Alcatraz, but it was actually extremely interesting. The island has a long history, outside of Al Capone.
It was in the Alcatraz gift shop that I started thumbing through a copy of Footsteps in the Fog: Alfred Hitchcock's San Francisco. The awful truth: There is no bell tower! They filmed exterior shots at San Juan Bautista, but the tower was added in later. I guess that was probably a wise thing to do, to keep wackos like me from bugging the poor nuns at what I'm sure would end up being called Hitchcock's mission. We went to Mission Delores the next day, which I did remember from the movie, but it wasn't quite the same.
The most annoying part of it all is that I still don't know what mission was in that painting. I guess now I'll never know.
After a very full weekend, I'm trying to make use of my first day of not working. So far, I've taken John to work and uploaded photos. I'm picking John up later so we can go to a party tonight close to the studio. Why? Because tonight's episode of Slacker Cats was one of the two animated by the studio where John works and they're having a party, that's why! Technically, John's work has been on TV before, but not animation, so this is pretty cool.
As I said before, our weekend was pretty packed. It started off with seeing Pink Martini at the Hollywood Bowl on Friday night. They were fantastic! It was the first fireworks show John and I have been to, as well. I'd been to a fireworks show as a kid, but I didn't really remember it. We saw a falling star during one of the first few songs, while we sat there eating our picnic-style dinner. Just the kind of evening LA is really good at.
Saturday we went on a 3-hour whale watching trip out of Long Beach (Rainbow Harbor, right next to the aqaurium, to be exact). We saw at least six blue whales and a couple of them surfaced twice. Here are some of my pictures. The whales are actually gray, but when you see them just under the surface they're this beautiful aqua color. We also saw several sea lions and pelicans and a swordfish.
To wrap up, because I need to get busy and run some errands:
Yesterday we stayed home and watched the Titans come very close to beating the Colts. I finished reading Away, which was pretty good. And we saw 3:10 to Yuma, which was pretty awesome.
I've just gotten home from seeing Transformers. It was no where near as bad as I expected. It was a long, silly live-action cartoon of pretty ladies and big robots. Not exactly my cup of tea, but you have to understand that in the 1980's, as now, I was a girl. Until about five minutes before the previews started tonight, I thought Optimus Prime was a bad guy. Needless to say, I didn't watch the Transformers cartoon, and this is a little embarassing.
Changing the subject for a moment, Mr. Lee, do you remember that you ate at the Baja Fresh at Sunset and Vine during the opening weekend of Episode III? Well, I was there, too. My husband and I were there with our friends (Chris, Jennifer, and Greg), having a quick bite to eat before mingling with the Boba Fett and Chewy in the lobby of Arclight. You were there in your trendy clothes and weird Earl facial hair. And I was so excited to see you. Do you remember? Of course, I know you don't remember me, but do you at least remember owning a cool plaid shirt?
Mr. Lee, I first saw you in Dogma, because I didn't see Kevin Smith's movies in order. In college, I came to know you as Banky and Brodie, both of whom I found (and try to still find) adorable. I must tell you now, with love, that Brodie would be ashamed of you now.
Now, I'm not saying this to be hateful, I'm saying this as a sort of warning. You see, next month, a live-action movie of Underdog will be coming to theaters. And you are the voice of Underdog. Mr. Lee, surely you see that this was in bad form. I'm willing to cut you some slack, because you're much older than me and, in fact, new episodes of the original cartoon were still being made when you were a child. I'm sure you grew up on it. I'm sure it could've even been exciting for you to be his voice, in whatever dumb format Disney felt compelled (by what ridiculous force, only you and your ridiculous movie folk know) to create. But, I'm afraid I can only give you so much slack.
Before going into the theater this evening, my husband and I saw a huge, cardboard version of the movie poster for Alvin and the Chipmunks. Have you lost your mind?! How much money did they give you? Your face was over 3 feet tall, towering over the ugliest CG rodents I could've ever imagined!
I swear to you, if I find out that you are somehow involved in a live-action My Little Pony movie, I'll track you down and beat you with a Rainbow Brite doll.
Sitting in our 'fridge right now is a bowl and a half of banana pudding. This is actually less than I was expecting to have left over. I made three big bowls of it to take to a church function tonight, not really knowing how many people would come. John and I are on the Mission Team and this year the team has chosen to support the Red Bird Mission in Beverly, KY. Our program tonight was called "A Night in Appalachia," because we were informing some of the people of the congregation about the mission and the region it's a part of. My banana pudding was a "regional" treat. Only I didn't make it the fancy way. I used instant Jell-o pudding and Cool Whip.
On Friday, the store where I work is having a Harry Potter midnight release party for book 7. That's in two days. We don't have the books. And we won't get them until Friday. Because Scholastic is freaking out that people will read it early and destroy all the fancy-pants secrets of who lives and dies or who ends up with whom. So because a bunch of meanies want to ruin the fun for everyone, I'm on pins and needles planning a party for a book I've yet to see.
Add to that the fact that our children's section is being / has been rebuilt this week. In fact, our carpenter is probably in the store right now installing some shelves.
On Monday, the book buyer and general manager of the store, who has been living in another state for two years, had her first day back in the store. So, I finally met the person I've been talking to on the phone nearly every day for over a year. It was sort of like meeting Charlie from Charlie's Angels. (At least, I guess that's what it was like, since I never really watched that show.)
Also on Monday, my old boss showed up at the store.
What a crazy week! I'm really looking forward to Saturday. We're probably not going to do much this weekend, so maybe I'll actually read. Or sew.
Our church and both of our jobs know that we're moving back to TN this fall, so I'm starting to feel the pressure of needing to prepare for that. John and I went to Lowe's this weekend and picked out stuff for the house we'll be moving into. (My parents own a little house in the woods that no one is using anymore. My sister lived there for a few years after she got married.) The house needs a little work, like new ceiling fans and paint.
We saw the new Harry Potter movie on Saturday, after going to Lowe's. I really liked it a lot, but the third one is still my favorite.
That night, I think I dreamed about Harry Potter flying around my new bathroom. But the details are a little fuzzy, so I'm not sure.
John wasn't feeling so hot this morning, so instead of going to church I spent my morning finishing Somewhere in Time. It's the first book I've ever read that wasn't better than it's movie adaptation. The movie is actually quite a bit better. Not that the book is bad, exactly, but the writing is a little too sappy, a little too contrived. Plus, the movie has such fantastic music.
There are a few differences between the book and the movie that don't really effect the plot. For example, the book takes place at the Hotel del Coronado in San Diego (the hotel from Some Like It Hot--another movie everyone should see, even if they don't like it) and the movie centers around the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island. When I got done reading, I googled "Somewhere in Time" because it's been a while since I've seen the movie and I was curious about what other differences there might be. I found the website for INSITE, the International Network of Somewhere In Time Enthusiasts. These people mean business!
Yesterday John and I were listening to a popcast of Spy Vs. Pie, a show done by some guys John knows, and they were talking about the idea of owning a portrait or piece of artwork from a movie. (John would pick Vigo from Ghostbusters II, which I think is super creepy.) I couldn't really think of anything. I couldn't think of any portrait or art from a movie at all, much less one that I'd actually want. And then today I found this: the portrait of Elise. Seriously? Is there anything creepier than that? I mean, if someone hadn't seen the movie and didn't recognize Jane Seymour, it'd just look like an old picture of a relative. Which makes it creepier, right?
One thing I don't think is creepy (partly because I've owned a Phantom of the Opera monkey music box for years) is the Grand Hotel music box. In fact, it would make the perfect birthday present for my sister...except that it's $500.
My favorite thing about the INSITE website? The "back" button is a penny.
when the cat's away, the mouse will watch chick flicks.
So. John is in New Orleans, knocking/ripping out muddy mildewed rotten sheetrock and carpet from houses ransacked by Katrina. It's hot and steamy humid. There was a shrimping boat in the middle of the road.
Meanwhile, I've just watched my Meg Ryan movie of the night. Tonight's choice: When Harry Met Sally (Preceded by: Monday, Hanging Up; Tuesday, You've Got Mail; yesterday, I.Q. Followed by: Friday, my favorite, Sleepless in Seattle). Admittedly, Meg Ryan is a guilty pleasure, of sorts. What better time for guilty pleasures than when you're sitting (literally sitting) at home alone while your husband is out doing manual labor in the hot sun in, like, 80% humidity to help those in need? There is no better time! I've also watched 3 Diane Keaton movies, including Annie Hall, which I'd never seen before.
On the plus side, while John's gone, I get to drive the car we park in the garage. And, when not at work...I've been in pajamas all week. There's really no need to be dressed to the nines for Meg Ryan.
In the car: the Flaming Lips on repeat on the CD player I gave John for his birthday a few years ago. I thought today, "If I were thin, I'd be a hipster like Anna." I don't even use the word "hipster."
Firstly, I should totally be asleep right now. And I am sort of tired.
I've got HGTV playing in the background. It does little to inspire. It really just makes me think about how little money I have. How little money I make, more like.
I'm in one of those moods. Don't really want to sleep. One of my moods. Jeez. How pretentious is that?
And just then, when I think I sound pretentious and hoity-toity stupid, I hear Kenneth Brown say he wants to paint a room Spanish Moss, he says, the great color, he says, from Louisiana, he says. I am not hoity-toity stupid, after all. Using the phrase "Spanish Moss" to describe a color is way worse than anything I could ever do.
Who is Kenneth Brown, anyway?
So, we watched Broken Flowers tonight. It's a very smart film. (Notice, I did not call it a "movie." Not sure if that distinction was instinctive or premeditated.) In fact, I want to watch it again. Right now. I'm not going to though.
Because, as I've said, I should be asleep right now.
It went public today (which is now yesterday) that the store where I work is going under/out. My boss keeps using the phrase "selling out." He means it literally: he's selling out stock. I wonder how many people think he has somehow sacrificed his principles in this process.
You know, besides me.
Interior designers have their own language. And most of them seem to have the same ambiguous accent.
John and I went to see Chicken Little in 3D tonight at the El Capitan Theater. And it was cute. We got to keep our 3D glasses, which are green and look like Chicken Little's. Neat stuff. I actually cried a little during the movie. Because Zach Braff is one adorable and sad little chicken.
I'm taking a lot of these quizzes lately. I think that means I have no life. But I don't care, 'cause I'm Katharine Hepburn! Sweet!
Katharine Hepburn You scored 11% grit, 28% wit, 42% flair, and 28% class!
You are the fabulously quirky and independent woman of character. You go your own way, follow your own drummer, take your own lead. You stand head and shoulders next to your partner, but you are perfectly willing and able to stand alone. Others might be more classically beautiful or conventionally woman-like, but you possess a more fundamental common sense and off-kilter charm, making interesting men fall at your feet. You can pick them up or leave them there as you see fit. You share the screen with the likes of Spencer Tracy and Cary Grant, thinking men who like strong women.
I just watched Dirty Dancing. I think that's only the second time I've ever seen it all the way through.
The first time was on a bus during my junior year of high school on the way to the Cincinnati Zoo. I remember being really upset that we couldn't find the only sleeping bag my family ever owned on the one occasion I actually needed it...because my biology class was spending the night. In the zoo. I took a garbage bag full of blankets and what my dad, trying to make it sound like a good idea, called "carpet remnants" (you know, instead of "hunks of carpet I found in the basement that never made it to being part of the living room floor"). My biggest worry was that I would look ridiculous showing up with my garbage bag and reject carpet. To my surprise (and utter joy), basically no one in Houston County, least of all high school girls, owns sleeping bags. It was very out of character for me to be so embarrassed. Even now, I can't work out what it was that I was so worried about.
And then, when I was there...I ended up finding out that my best friend had recently lost her virginity. In the back of a pick-up truck. And I was worried about some carpet scraps.
What a weird and horrible experience that turned out to be. The zoo was really nice though.
In 1984 or '85, I think, my sister took baton lessons. I was amazingly jealous. It's possible I haven't been that jealous since then. Of course, I was about four years old at the time and I could really only feel one emotion at a time (like Tinker Bell) so I guess they all felt stronger then. At any rate, Amy learned to do these amazing things....well...it seemed that way. Really all she learned how to do was twirl a stick in one hand. But it was a really cool stick!
When I was a little older, I got cheap batons at toy stores, but they never had enough weight at the ends to work right. I'd just end up hitting myself. Usually on the side of my head.
Another part of this class resulted in her learning how to dance with a streamer. Or is it called a ribbon? It was gold on one side and silver on the other, which I always associated with the friends song I'd heard my sister's Girl Scout troop sing, "Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other's gold." I'm not sure how, probably pity, but I ended up with a streamer, too. Only mine was red and silver and was taped directly to a wooden stick, whereas my sisters was fastened to a plastic stick with a little chain so that it could move around easier. I was so proud of that thing.
Then, in 1987, when Dirty Dancing came out, my sister bought the soundtrack. That was the year I started kindergarten. She was in sixth grade...and seemed, to me, oddly fascinated with mix tapes. In reality, I doubt she even made two. I was just amazed at this, another Cool Thing my sister could do.
Me? I was dancing with my red streamer to Mickey and Sylvia singing "Love Is Strange." "Baybayy Ohoh Baayybbayy...Myy Sweeet Baybay...You're the one." Strange, tortured guitar chords and pluckings ensue. It's amazing to me how much that one tape plays as the background to my entire childhood.
I remember my sister saying that her friend Heather liked "She's Like the Wind." I just found out Patrick Swayze sang that song. He sings?!
Feel her breath on my face Her body close to me Can't look in her eyes She's out of my league Just a fool to believe I have anything she needs She's like the wind.
I watched the movie tonight and it was very strange for me. When I saw it last, I was about the same age Jennifer Grey is in the movie. When Baby finds out what sordid things are going on behind her perfect world, I was sitting next to the friend that had told almost everyone else about her "experience." Except me. She was afraid I would judge her, our families not so different from those who would've gone to Kellerman in the summer of '63. And yet, she wanted everyone else to know that the self-proclaimed wallflower she used to be had died and they could now accept her. Only they didn't.
The music still strikes me as being at some moments magical and at others mysterious. It will be impossible for me to outgrow Patrick Swayze. Impossible. And yet, the setting doesn't fit the music. The early 60's to the soundtrack of twenty years later? And for that music to win an Oscar? Really?
That's not to say that the movie isn't good. It is. And I feel strangely disobedient watching it. One of Amy's friends had a sleepover and that's where Amy saw it. The friend's mom talked to my mom. This was a big deal. I was wildly curious. What could possibly happen to the girl in the pink dress on the cover of the tape I listened to on repeat? What was it? What had she seen that I hadn't?
That night at the zoo, cuddled up in carpet and picnic blankets, the same questions floated through my head.
Pulp Fiction is on. Again. And I just remembered this customer that came in the store a couple of days ago that sort of reminded me of Ving Rhames (no, it wasn't him) in a black tracksuit with a yellow headband and yellow sneakers with flames who wanted a bible. He then proceeded to tell this girl I work with all about how the antichrist is coming with the next pope. He took about a half an hour debating between two big bibles flipping through pages of Revelations and saying "this is deep, man, deep" over and over, the kind with space for the owners' geneological information at the front, then picked...and realized he'd "left his wallet" at home. Or on the bus. Or something. And he left.
I'm still awake because John and I are cramming for the written test we hope to take tomorrow at the DMV. Because the time has come for us to finally become legal in the state of California. It's frightening from almost every angle...not the least of which being that we'll probably have to pay a small fortune for said legalization.
If you're in the mood for browsing products with hypercolor and gratituitous flowers, you might be interested to know that there are new items in the store.
I spent my night typing old love letters my boss got in the 60's from a girl he didn't end up marrying...and watching The Muppets Take Manhattan. I just noticed, while looking for the best site to link, it was nominated for an Oscar for best original score in 1984. I had no idea. I felt sort of sad...what with this being a movie from my childhood and all...and there being a lot in it about friends splitting up and writing to each other and plotting out plans that might never happen.
The letters I was typing were pretty rough. Not poorly written or anything, just, well...I think I probably wrote letters sort of like that to guys I didn't marry either...and I can't imagine someone, someday, forty years from now getting paid to retype them.
The 80's weren't good for Miss Piggy. Huge teased hair just doesn't work for pigs. Have you seen her in that shampoo commercial? Disney has fully owned the muppets for, what? A couple of months? And they've already done ads for Pizza Hut and some shampoo.
And the quote of the day: "Because you share a love so big, I now pronounce you frog and pig."
that's a lot of hymns, even if i hadn't been wearing heels.
So, yesterday Neil Patrick Harris was at the store where I work. That's right, Doogie Howser, M.D.
I'm watching Sister Act. Just watched the first scene with the choir, before Whoopi works her magic, and they still sound horrible.
Which reminds me... This morning John and I tried out another church. And this one had nine, yes, nine, hymns during the service today. During the part of the service where everyone is supposed to go around and talk to each other, this old guy wearing jeans pulled up to his armpits by navy blue suspenders and a raggedy t-shirt that said "Thank God I'm a Methodist" came up to John (who was wearing an orange polo shirt with a single, thick, blue stripe across the chest) and said, "I hope you didn't wear that shirt on Saint Patrick's Day. The Irish Republican Army would've shot you."
After the service, this friendly guy who'd talked to us before everything started, told us the minister was leaving in July and the organist was a backup. Was he trying to convince us to come back? Not that the organist did a bad job, really, but she's one of those people that lets her mouth hang open when she's confused. She looked like she might start drooling, so long was her mouth open.
Trying new churches is a really strange experience. It's both comforting and terrifying. It's like seeing a family member you haven't seen since you were a child, only now they're taller and have their own opinions--opinions that aren't quite the same as yours. We're talking about differences like: "Oh, you like Jewel?" "Yeah, didn't you just love 'Spirit'?" "Umm, yeah, kinda. But I thought 'Pieces of You' was better." "Oh." "Yeah."
I just watched Garden State for the first time since I saw it in the theater back in October, I think. We rented it last night, along with Ray, which was way sadder than I ever would have imagined. Anyway, it was strange watching Garden State again now...after so much is different in my life now.
We first saw it in Alhambra, which felt like the middle of nowhere...because it sort of is. And we got there really early, ended up eating at the Denny's down the street before hand. John and I were arguing about jobs and not having them. And about whether or not we were even suppose to be in California. And then we saw this movie that defines family as "a group of people that all miss the imaginary place," that imaginary place being the elusive definition of "home."
Things not being so desolate now, I watched it again, right after a rather disappointing work week. Disappointing because I'm a snob and feel self-conscious when I hand ex-employees, who've just been accepted to impressive East Coast schools, their change.
When I read this article in the Times on Sunday, the two things seemed related. I don't really know why exactly. The article really annoyed me though. Mainly because I got the feeling that Charlotte Allen is not only not in the position to judge, but that she doesn't realize how much she contradicts herself.
For example:
Allen mentions Deborah Tannen and that she writes about "how the sexes are socialized to communicate differently" in an article that basically says women, of late, are only good at being privately intellectual.
"Returning to Rebecca and Stuart, we saw that when they are home alone, Rebecca's thoughts find their way into words effortlessly, whereas Stuart finds he can't come up with anything to say. The reverse happens when they are in other situations. For example, at a meeting of the neighborhood council or the parents' association at their children's school, it is Stuart who stands up and speaks. In that situation, it is Rebecca who is silent, her tongue tied by an acute awareness of all the negative reactions people could have to what she might say, all the mistakes she might make in trying to express her ideas." (page 87) In other words, women are chatty at home, men are confident in public.
Now, is it just me, or is there something missing in Charlotte Allen's assessment of female intellectuals? Or should she simply not have made reference to Tannen, whose book holds such a persuasive argument Allen herself has chosen to ignore?
And then I think about myself. And in what direction, if there is one, that I'm heading. And I wonder, when does the need for progression slow to a halt?
The truth isn't that I'm some lost child, searching for the way back. I'm just looking for the way out.
For anyone who has checked out my archives or comments, you may have noticed that most of the pictures from my blog have vanished. Why? Oh. Well, you see, when I moved to this domain name, I left a folder of images traveling on the back of John's website so that I wouldn't have to change all the code for every single picture. Apparently I didn't tell John. And he deleted that file.
So tonight John hooked up my old desktop to his monitor and I burned off a few pictures. There are still several pics missing, but I at least fixed half of them. And changed the picture in the comment window.
Speaking of John, he has a personal blog on amoeba. And he mentions me in almost every post. Which I don't particularly like. Mainly because I disagree with what he says about me. Like the other day when he said he thought I liked King Arthur.
Today at work it came up that I have a website. What for? Umm...I just have a blog. Do you talk about Bush, then? Well, yeah, sometimes.... Why? Isn't that what all blogs are about? No.
Well, that's not entirely true. We took my sister-in-law to the airport this morning. We did not, however, do anything else I planned on doing. In fact, I've been pretty much wiped out since Christmas.
I need some rejuvenation. I guess that's an appropriate statement for New Year's Day.
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I've started reading Toast, the book John gave me for Christmas. So far, I really like it.
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There's been a commercial on TV lately for Resident Evil: Apocalypse, a movie (that I've never seen and don't want to) about zombies, that is using the tagline, "Go ask Alice." My question to you is: Huh?
Isn't that a young adult novel about an adolescent girl addicted to LSD? Does that association make you want to see a zombie movie starring Milla Jovovich? Or any movie at all, for that matter, that isn't based on the book?
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So, hopefully, any creative impulse I ever had will return again at some future date and I won't write like the "news blurbs" section of a high school newspaper forever. In the meantime, Happy New Year.
Last night John and I went into Hollywood and saw Blue in Green, a movie that one of the girls I work with acted in and helped edit. It got great (well-deserved) reviews. Overall, a really good time.
I have a lot going through my head right now, but I don't feel quite coherent enough to write it all out. I'm feeling anxious, expectant. Tired. Quite tired.
Tuesday night John and I went out with some friends (Jim and Helen) to see Hellboy. (It's a comic book movie. So of course we went to see it.) It was a lot better than I imagined. When John explained to me that the story was about a half-man/half-demon who was brought to earth as a baby by Nazis and (a surprisingly alive) Rasputin, I was pretty sure it would be hokey at best and disturbing at worst. And I have to say, I was wrong. Somehow, through a lot of rain in the sequence with the Nazis and a minimal amount of back story, it actually came across being no more hokey than any other comic book movie--a genre that, let's be honest, highly depends on people who love illogical characters in fierce action sequences. At any rate, I enjoyed it. Even if his horns didn't look any different after we got to see him file them down.
The best part about going to see it? Getting to see the Van Helsing preview for the umpteenth time. And every time. It gets better. Not because I necessarily think it will be a good movie (or that I think it will be bad, either, for that matter), but because Kate Beckinsale is completely hilarious. I think she's supposed to be Romanian, but she does this crazy accent, like she's trying to sound ridiculous. She sounds like the voiceover for a cereal commercial. Vee mawst cahpture Cahount Chahcula und eet 'is bahts! I want to see that movie. Just for her.
Last night we rented X-Men and X2. I had only seen the first one once, shortly after it came out, and had never seen the second one. Watching them back-to-back really added a lot, I think.
The thing I find shocking about all these comicbook movies though is how easily they've sucked me in. There was a time when I felt guilty for having watched Little Women dozens of times without ever finishing the book, but now I feel like I can't really say I like Wolverine, for example, because I haven't read the comics.
So then John asks me last night, "Now that you've seen the second X-Men movie, which comic book movie is your favorite?"
Some element of my reaction to that question hearkened back to the way I felt whenever I was called on in philosophy class: I didn't want to lie and say I thought something I didn't, but I didn't want my professor (who, now that I'm thinking about it, would make a great wizard in the Harry Potter movies) to think I was wrong or stupid. But with John, there was the added pressure that I might insult him. Not that it mattered. I didn't pick one.
Of course, my first response was "Josie and the Pussycats." Tara Reid reached a level of ditziness in that movie that borderlined on being spiritual.
Last night we saw Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Best movie I've seen in so long. I wanted to be Kate Winslet. I don't think she's ever looked so amazingly beautiful. I even thought Jim Carrey was hot in this movie, which was a completely new feeling for me.
And, of course, "we" means "John and I." So at the end of the movie he turns to me and says, "It's nice to see a movie that makes me appreciate what we have." At which point, I just kinda hugged his head, since we were still in the stiff theater seats. I got a bit emotional and he said, "I said something good, huh?"
