"February" is hard to spell.
Kind of having trouble remembering my own name at the moment(it's been a long week, preceded by a long week, preceded by a long week, preceded by...), but I have gotten most of the Mount McKinley-sized mountain of homework finished. Wrote a recap of a Supreme Court case, a poem for Creative Writing and a news-package script(all due Monday), now to get an essay written(due Thursday) and plan next week's news story and get ready for tests in Media Law and Interpersonal Communication.
Visited home for the weekend; the family was glad to have me back for a bit. Then church this morning and the DeSpains gave me a ride back to Claremore. So more homework this afternoon, and that's pretty much it... Cats are good to know. Rags and Licorice were both very glad to see me; and the rest didn't care much one way or the other.
The Gundersens' Sheltie Teddy died Tuesday, which was incredibly sad for everybody who knew him. (And Tuesday wasn't the greatest day ever for me to start with, so for that to be the first thing that pops up once I check Facebook....)
A Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man didn't get much better the second or third times I read it. But the next book is The Great Gatsby, so that's something to look forward to.
Sunday, February 8, 2015
Friday, January 30, 2015
January's Finished
October 21 is one month closer....(also, that's Courtney's birthday.)
Anyway, it might be a different school, but the stress is pretty much the same wherever you are as a student. Doesn't really matter if it's NSU, TCC or RSU. So much to get done, and it doesn't really stop...Also, I get really frustrated with online courses. More specifically, the discussion board segment of online classes. It's like, "C'MON PEOPLE, IS IT THAT HARD TO FOLLOW THE INSTRUCTIONS PROPERLY IN A REASONABLE AMOUNT OF TIME?" If I comment on your post to try to offer ideas for making your poem better, can't you do the same?
Harry texted me a picture of the front page of the Daily Press, not exactly sure what he and Louise were doing that was newsworthy, but hey, they were on the front page! Above the fold right under the masthead! (BEST spot on the front page, which is the top dog in the hierarchy.) He was really excited, which is awesome. And understandable. That made a welcome pause from homework, which at that moment was stumbling through the swamp that is James Joyce's writing. (RADICAL stream-of-consciousness style, for the most part forgoing the comma entirely and randomly inserting free-verse poetry in unusual places.) Definitely going to have to go over this Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man again to hopefully figure out what on earth is happening in time for an essay next week on the three novels studied so far. Kate Chopin's The Awakening was just as intolerable the second time as it was the first.
It's really kind of hard to draw a distinction between Joyce and my Media Law textbook sometimes. There's a test for that coming up sometime next week or two.
Carrie Underwood is playing on my Spotify, the current song as of this paragraph is "Temporary Home". Played guitar some a couple times this week, so that's nice, I guess. I'm singing along in my mind, playing air guitar since it's almost midnight. Still can't sleep very well, too much worrying and tension, I guess. I'm the kind of person who reads Strunk and White's "Elements of Style" when wide-awake up late. Also, I seem to require about twice as much clothing as most people in order to keep warm. There was a fire alarm the other night, which wasn't as bad as it could have been, at least it was fixed quickly, but those are NOT GOOD THINGS. And I got about four hours sleep last night for whatever reason, 2-6:30 a.m.
Texted Ash, she's about as stressed about school as I am right now. Also texted Jon, he's doing well. This year's SGYC will be from July 20-24, and Brother Larry and Tim are both highly likely to be there. Everyone else, it's way too early to know for sure. If I remember right, Ryan Butler will be the camp pastor again this year? That'd be good.
The DeSpains picked me up before church last Sunday, which was nice. The floor-replacement hit an expected snag, so it'll be concrete for probably a few more weeks at least.
Tuesday's episode of Agent Carter was the best yet, with tons of quotes. "Stark's either an ignoramus or a genius....we have no idea what this stuff is." - SSR scientist. "Probably both." - Peggy.
"Does anybody know what Krymenski's middle name was?" - Thompson. " Wasn't it Walter?" - Sousa. "Right. Walter. Agent Ray Walter Krymenski. And do any of you know what the most important part of Agent Ray Walter Krymenski's name was?" Someone Else: "....Walter?" "No. 'Agent.'"
"Are you acquainted with Id and the Ego, Miss Carter?" - Peggy's terrifying landlady Miriam Griffith. "Are they....children's characters?"
Poked my nose into the RSU BCM building on Monday night; it was different, but it might be all right. Forced myself to be outgoing and meet several people; which was incredibly draining (and scary. I'm seriously an introvert. I hate having to meet new people.) They seemed about the right level of polite friendliness, using TJ's scale. Also went over there Wednesday afternoon because there's like a free-meal type thing, sorta like NSU's Velocity. And I needed to interview a classmate for a news story I was filming for a different class. So it was a killing-two-birds-with-one-stone type of thing. But it's really hard getting to know people. Deb's cancer appears to be stopped, so that's very good.
It'll be an extremely homework-filled weekend, with (maybe?) time enough to spare to watch the Super Bowl, which is Patriots-Seahawks. I really don't care one way or the other, but because of Chris Pratt and Chris Evans's bet, Mom's pulling for New England. There won't be a blizzard this year; which is nice, I guess. That postponed our Muskogee SWAT show by about a month.
I have Nutella, protein bars and pepperjack cheese in the fridge, so that's better food than peanut butter and stale Cinnamon Toast Crunch, as far as Super Bowl snacks go. I'm predicting Budweiser wins Wesley's Best Commercial Award for the sixth(?) year in a row, and the Animal Planet Puppy Bowl to be more entertaining and adorable than the real game.
Missing Sunny. And Copper. And everybody else dog-and-cat-wise who're gone. And I need some Rags-cuddles.
Anyway, it might be a different school, but the stress is pretty much the same wherever you are as a student. Doesn't really matter if it's NSU, TCC or RSU. So much to get done, and it doesn't really stop...Also, I get really frustrated with online courses. More specifically, the discussion board segment of online classes. It's like, "C'MON PEOPLE, IS IT THAT HARD TO FOLLOW THE INSTRUCTIONS PROPERLY IN A REASONABLE AMOUNT OF TIME?" If I comment on your post to try to offer ideas for making your poem better, can't you do the same?
Harry texted me a picture of the front page of the Daily Press, not exactly sure what he and Louise were doing that was newsworthy, but hey, they were on the front page! Above the fold right under the masthead! (BEST spot on the front page, which is the top dog in the hierarchy.) He was really excited, which is awesome. And understandable. That made a welcome pause from homework, which at that moment was stumbling through the swamp that is James Joyce's writing. (RADICAL stream-of-consciousness style, for the most part forgoing the comma entirely and randomly inserting free-verse poetry in unusual places.) Definitely going to have to go over this Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man again to hopefully figure out what on earth is happening in time for an essay next week on the three novels studied so far. Kate Chopin's The Awakening was just as intolerable the second time as it was the first.
It's really kind of hard to draw a distinction between Joyce and my Media Law textbook sometimes. There's a test for that coming up sometime next week or two.
Carrie Underwood is playing on my Spotify, the current song as of this paragraph is "Temporary Home". Played guitar some a couple times this week, so that's nice, I guess. I'm singing along in my mind, playing air guitar since it's almost midnight. Still can't sleep very well, too much worrying and tension, I guess. I'm the kind of person who reads Strunk and White's "Elements of Style" when wide-awake up late. Also, I seem to require about twice as much clothing as most people in order to keep warm. There was a fire alarm the other night, which wasn't as bad as it could have been, at least it was fixed quickly, but those are NOT GOOD THINGS. And I got about four hours sleep last night for whatever reason, 2-6:30 a.m.
Texted Ash, she's about as stressed about school as I am right now. Also texted Jon, he's doing well. This year's SGYC will be from July 20-24, and Brother Larry and Tim are both highly likely to be there. Everyone else, it's way too early to know for sure. If I remember right, Ryan Butler will be the camp pastor again this year? That'd be good.
The DeSpains picked me up before church last Sunday, which was nice. The floor-replacement hit an expected snag, so it'll be concrete for probably a few more weeks at least.
Tuesday's episode of Agent Carter was the best yet, with tons of quotes. "Stark's either an ignoramus or a genius....we have no idea what this stuff is." - SSR scientist. "Probably both." - Peggy.
"Does anybody know what Krymenski's middle name was?" - Thompson. " Wasn't it Walter?" - Sousa. "Right. Walter. Agent Ray Walter Krymenski. And do any of you know what the most important part of Agent Ray Walter Krymenski's name was?" Someone Else: "....Walter?" "No. 'Agent.'"
"Are you acquainted with Id and the Ego, Miss Carter?" - Peggy's terrifying landlady Miriam Griffith. "Are they....children's characters?"
Poked my nose into the RSU BCM building on Monday night; it was different, but it might be all right. Forced myself to be outgoing and meet several people; which was incredibly draining (and scary. I'm seriously an introvert. I hate having to meet new people.) They seemed about the right level of polite friendliness, using TJ's scale. Also went over there Wednesday afternoon because there's like a free-meal type thing, sorta like NSU's Velocity. And I needed to interview a classmate for a news story I was filming for a different class. So it was a killing-two-birds-with-one-stone type of thing. But it's really hard getting to know people. Deb's cancer appears to be stopped, so that's very good.
It'll be an extremely homework-filled weekend, with (maybe?) time enough to spare to watch the Super Bowl, which is Patriots-Seahawks. I really don't care one way or the other, but because of Chris Pratt and Chris Evans's bet, Mom's pulling for New England. There won't be a blizzard this year; which is nice, I guess. That postponed our Muskogee SWAT show by about a month.
I have Nutella, protein bars and pepperjack cheese in the fridge, so that's better food than peanut butter and stale Cinnamon Toast Crunch, as far as Super Bowl snacks go. I'm predicting Budweiser wins Wesley's Best Commercial Award for the sixth(?) year in a row, and the Animal Planet Puppy Bowl to be more entertaining and adorable than the real game.
Missing Sunny. And Copper. And everybody else dog-and-cat-wise who're gone. And I need some Rags-cuddles.
Sunday, January 25, 2015
Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Quotes - Season One, Part I
Pretty straightforward - a listing of great quotes from season one of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Episode One - "Pilot".
(Ward is surprised while retrieving a Chitauri neural link.) "Your fireplace is broken."
(After Hill asks Ward what S.H.I.E.L.D. stands for, he replies, "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.") "And what does that mean to you?" "It means somebody really wanted our initials to spell out "SHIELD". We protect the world from the much weirder world out there, and when we can't do that, we keep them safe."
(Later on in that conversation, Hill's just told Ward that Coulson will tell him why his assignment had been changed.) "Uh...yeah. I'm clearance Level Six; I know that Coulson was killed in the Battle of New York." (Coulson emerges from the shadows.) "Welcome to Level Seven," (Ward looks stunned.) "Sorry, that corner was really dark and I couldn't help myself. I think there's a bulb out."
(Coulson is referencing Hill's report on Ward's qualifications.) "Combat: top grades. Espionage she gave you the highest marks since Romanoff. Under People Skills....I think she drew a...I think it's a little poop. With knives sticking out of it." (Later.) "It was a porcupine, it was not a little poop."
(Mike Peterson is sitting in a diner when Skye rushes into his booth.) "Just act natural." "What?" "Just...pretend that we're talking." He stares at her, at a loss. "We are." "Good. 'Cause you never know who's listening." "I don't even know who's talking."
(Later in same scene.) "With great power comes....a ton of weird crap that you are not prepared to deal with!" - Skye.
(Coulson goes to May's dark oppressive office.) "Agent May-" "No. I am not going back into the field." "Yeah, you got such a nice setup here....you ever thought about adding a moat?" (Trying to convince her to come along.) "....no red tape. This is where they make the red tape, isn't it? I've always wondered."
"So, are you excited to be coming along on our Journey into Mystery?" Simmons asks cheerfully. "It's like Christmas." Ward answers, unenthused.
"Don't touch Lola!" - Coulson. (Repeated line.)
"...How will you silence us this time? How can you? The truth is in the wind. It's everywhere. You cannot stop the Rising Tide. You will not find us, you will never see our faces, but we will rise against those who shield us from the truth, and nothing, nothing, nothing can stop us in the-" (Coulson and Ward throw open the van door.) "Heyyyy." Skye smiles uneasily. "What's up?"
"Is it the girl? She's getting under your skin?" asks Coulson. "Or is it the assignment? Are you so anxious to get out of here that you'd deliberately blow an interrogation?" "Give me a minute alone with her, you'll have your answers." Ward says confidently. "She's an asset." "She is such an - Wait, asset?"
(Coulson shoots Ward with a tranquiilizer gun filled with truth serum.) "I'm sorry. Did that hurt?" "No. Have you lost your mind?! You should never do that to a member of your team! And yes, it did hurt a little bit. I'm just trying to mask my pain in front of a beautiful woman because it makes me seem more masculine. This stuff works fast..."
(Debriefing.) "What are we seeing?" May wants to know. "Well, the man is angry at the other man." Fitz answers. "The data is very corrupt." Simmons tries to smooth things over. "Yeah, like Cold War Russia corrupt." Fitz adds.
"Don't EVER tell me there's no way! Get it done." - Coulson to FitzSimmons.
"Nobody's nobody, Ward." - Coulson.
"I know. I've seen giants. And that privilege cost me nearly everything. But they're not heroes because of what they have; they're heroes because of what they do with it." - Coulson to Mike.
"How about you? Thought about the offer?" Coulson asks. "Hitching a ride on the crazy plane? I'm not exactly a team player," Skye answers. "And we're not exactly a team. We're in a position to do some good, and you'd be a great help."
Episode Two, "0-8-4".
"She hacked us twice with a laptop. Imagine what she can do with our resources." says Coulson. "I am. That's exactly what I'm imagining during this frown." Ward answers.
(Coulson explaining to Skye what an 0-8-4 is.) "..The last one turned out to be pretty interesting." "And what was the last one?" "A hammer."
"Don't ever call me that." - May. (Repeated line.)
"That's classified." (Repeated line.)
"Do you need anything else before I go check on the device fueled by evil that's sitting in our cargo hold?" - Coulson.
(The team is squabbling loudly, Coulson walks into the lab.) "Do we have a problem in here?" Everyone hushes up. "No, sir. Just working on our communication." Ward replies. More squabbling, led by Skye and Ward. "Ward, you can speak six languages. Simmons, you have two PhD's in fields I can't pronounce, and Fitz - you ARE a rocket scientist. So work it out." (Coulson leaves lab.) "Um....I can do stuff, too!" - Skye.
"Really? REALLY? Six days? It took you SIX DAYS to ruin a completely renovated state-of-the-art piece of machinery and turn it into SCRAP?" - Fury scolding Coulson.
Episode Three - "The Asset".
"I'm tired from the morning's workout. I thought I was joining S.H.I.E.L.D., not 24-Hour Fitness," Skye grumbles after Ward gets on her case after missing a workout.
(Later in that same scene, Skye says she never wants to do another pull-up again.) "When you find yourself hanging off a building twenty stories up, you're gonna want to do at least one," - Ward.
(Still same scene.) "There will come a moment when you either commit to this, or bail. Every field agent has a defining moment. Ask Coulson. When you have to make the hard call, to either dedicate yourself to this, or to curl up in a ball and run." - Ward. "How can you run if you're curled up in a ball?" - Skye.
(On assignment tracking down some kidnappers. May drops a massive binder into Skye's arms.) "Do you want me to bench-press this?" - Skye. "Read it." - May.
(Coulson and Ward tracking one of the suspects, one of which asked who Coulson was.) "A concerned citizen. One that happens to be a member of a gigantic bureaucratic organization that's tracking your every move."
(May disapproves of Coulson's plan to go into field action.) "You forget, I've seen plenty of action with the Avengers." - Coulson. (He walks away.) "...And you died..." - May.
"Saying his name repeatedly does NOT increase his productivity!" - Simmons. "I'm in. Go." - Fitz. "Or maybe it does." - Simmons.
"Dr. Hall! Agent Coulson, we have an exit strategy." "S.H.I.E.L.D.?" "Yes, sir. Let's get you out of here." "Well, I'm sorry, Mr. Coulson, I'm right where I'm supposed to be." "I'll be honest. Our strategy did not take into consideration you saying that."
Episode Four, "Eye Spy".
"You ever rob a bank?" Coulson asks Skye. "No." "An armored car?" "Nope." "A casino?" "Should I be offended?" (He then proceeds to give her her first real assignment.)
"You broke protocol because you need a bathroom break." Ward says in disbelief. "It was a really, really long drive, and everybody's nervous!" Skye protests. (Simmons looks like she agrees, Fitz isn't sure what to think.They dig in ice chest, find water bottle, Simmons gives Skye quizzical look.) "Not the water bottle..." "That's the one!" "Did you never learn the part where girl parts and guy parts are different?!"
(They're still in the van.) "Russian TV is kind of boring," Skye complains. "That looks a bit like our van," Fitz says. (They realize they're being watched, try to escape. Skye can't reach Ward's pedals.) "Stupid tall person..."
"Meet me on the south side of the building. ASAP." Ward orders. "Gotcha," Skye answers her S.O. (To herself) "Now which way's south..?"
Episode Five, "The Girl in the Flower Dress".
"I'm not S.H.I.E.L.D. I come as a friend," Raina says creepily. "English isn't my first language, but that word means something different than what you think." Chan Ho Yin, a Chinese street magician, answers.
"If they ever let you go on leave or whatever, let me know, and I'll get us a fancy suite at....a fancy place that has suites," Skye's slimy sort-of-ex-boyfriend Miles.
"So, are you guys just going to destroy all my stuff?" Miles asks. "Yes." May responds.
"Aw, crap...they gave him a name." Coulson groans.
"His files say anything about him being homicidal?" May asks. "Not really. Just said he was kind of a tool."
"You can't save someone from themselves, sir." Ward says. "You can if you can get to 'em early enough," Coulson disagrees.
Episode Six, "F-Z-Z-T".
"Well, you can tell your physical therapist that you're fit as the proverbial fiddle! Especially for a man of your age," Simmons comments in her cheerful way. "'A man of my age'? That's something you say to an old person!" Coulson answers.
"Lose the ounce..." Fitz grumbles at Ward's exacting demands of the Night-Night pistol(which everyone insists "We are NOT calling it that!") (In growly Ward imitation) "I'm Agent Grant Ward, and I could shoot the legs off a flea at five hundred yards....as long as it's not windy.'" Skye cracks up. She and Fitz talk for a bit before Simmons comes into the lab. She starts in with her own Ward imitation. "'I'm Agent Grant Ward, and I could rupture your spleen with my left pinky...blindfolded.'" Ward then pops back into the lab. Everyone else snickers.
"The only thing I'm afraid of is putrid flesh disturbing my pristine workspace!" Fitz defends himself after Coulson and Simmons say he's afraid of messy internal organs, etc. "Oh, not that stupid cat again! And it's our lab, Fitz, not yours!" "Are you kidding? The last time you left his liver by my lunch!" "Guys! Can we -?" Coulson nods at the dead body waiting for autopsy.
(Simmons tests mouse to see if antiserum works. Mouse immediately dies.) "Well. Now that wasn't very cooperative of him, was it?" Fitz says, watching.
FitzSimmons talking. "It wasn't Ward beside me in the lab, working to find the antidote! He wasn't the one giving me hope when I had none. It was you, Fitz. You're the hero."
Episode Seven, "The Hub".
"I made your favorite sandwich, prosciutto and Buffalo mozzarella." - Simmons. "With your homemade pesto aioli?" - Fitz asks. "Just a hint."
"...if I'm right, give me a signal by...not saying anything." - Skye finishes her plea rather lamely. "Trust the system," is all Coulson says.
"No, no...I can't be a part of your bad-girl shenanigans! I like following the rules and doing what's expected of me. It makes me feel nice." - Simmons to Skye.
"Two million rubles. We really need to work on your negotiation skills." -Ward to Fitz. "I thought they were like pesos."
"What brings you to this...restricted hallway so late at night?" Simmons asks Sitwell nervously. " "I was going to ask you the same thing." "I....was just on my way to the loo. I could swear it was two rights and a left, but I wound up here." "That's a wall panel. Why are you accessing it?" Skye instructs Simmons to act casual. "You...certainly have a gorgeous....head." Skye cannot believe her ears. More horribly and ineptly awkward flirting, Sitwell grows suspicious, and Simmons panics and tases the guy. It's probably the funniest scene all season.
"Our team can go off-book because there is a book. A Hub. You claim that you want to be a part of that, a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Do you?" - Coulson. "Yes." - Skye. "Because someday, I may have to trust you with a secret, and I want you to keep it."
"This is gonna take a while..." - Fitz. "You have ten minutes." - Ward. "I thought you'd say five."
"Oh, the sandwich. How was it? Too much aioli?" - Simmons. "It was delicious." - Fitz.
FitzSimmons talking. "I pretty much saved him from a gang of Russian mobsters. And kicked a few guys' heads in. But enough mission talk already! Anything exciting happen while I was gone?" "I shot a superior officer in the chest."
"Some secrets are meant to stay secrets." - Coulson.
Episode One - "Pilot".
(Ward is surprised while retrieving a Chitauri neural link.) "Your fireplace is broken."
(After Hill asks Ward what S.H.I.E.L.D. stands for, he replies, "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.") "And what does that mean to you?" "It means somebody really wanted our initials to spell out "SHIELD". We protect the world from the much weirder world out there, and when we can't do that, we keep them safe."
(Later on in that conversation, Hill's just told Ward that Coulson will tell him why his assignment had been changed.) "Uh...yeah. I'm clearance Level Six; I know that Coulson was killed in the Battle of New York." (Coulson emerges from the shadows.) "Welcome to Level Seven," (Ward looks stunned.) "Sorry, that corner was really dark and I couldn't help myself. I think there's a bulb out."
(Coulson is referencing Hill's report on Ward's qualifications.) "Combat: top grades. Espionage she gave you the highest marks since Romanoff. Under People Skills....I think she drew a...I think it's a little poop. With knives sticking out of it." (Later.) "It was a porcupine, it was not a little poop."
(Mike Peterson is sitting in a diner when Skye rushes into his booth.) "Just act natural." "What?" "Just...pretend that we're talking." He stares at her, at a loss. "We are." "Good. 'Cause you never know who's listening." "I don't even know who's talking."
(Later in same scene.) "With great power comes....a ton of weird crap that you are not prepared to deal with!" - Skye.
(Coulson goes to May's dark oppressive office.) "Agent May-" "No. I am not going back into the field." "Yeah, you got such a nice setup here....you ever thought about adding a moat?" (Trying to convince her to come along.) "....no red tape. This is where they make the red tape, isn't it? I've always wondered."
"So, are you excited to be coming along on our Journey into Mystery?" Simmons asks cheerfully. "It's like Christmas." Ward answers, unenthused.
"Don't touch Lola!" - Coulson. (Repeated line.)
"...How will you silence us this time? How can you? The truth is in the wind. It's everywhere. You cannot stop the Rising Tide. You will not find us, you will never see our faces, but we will rise against those who shield us from the truth, and nothing, nothing, nothing can stop us in the-" (Coulson and Ward throw open the van door.) "Heyyyy." Skye smiles uneasily. "What's up?"
"Is it the girl? She's getting under your skin?" asks Coulson. "Or is it the assignment? Are you so anxious to get out of here that you'd deliberately blow an interrogation?" "Give me a minute alone with her, you'll have your answers." Ward says confidently. "She's an asset." "She is such an - Wait, asset?"
(Coulson shoots Ward with a tranquiilizer gun filled with truth serum.) "I'm sorry. Did that hurt?" "No. Have you lost your mind?! You should never do that to a member of your team! And yes, it did hurt a little bit. I'm just trying to mask my pain in front of a beautiful woman because it makes me seem more masculine. This stuff works fast..."
(Debriefing.) "What are we seeing?" May wants to know. "Well, the man is angry at the other man." Fitz answers. "The data is very corrupt." Simmons tries to smooth things over. "Yeah, like Cold War Russia corrupt." Fitz adds.
"Don't EVER tell me there's no way! Get it done." - Coulson to FitzSimmons.
"Nobody's nobody, Ward." - Coulson.
"I know. I've seen giants. And that privilege cost me nearly everything. But they're not heroes because of what they have; they're heroes because of what they do with it." - Coulson to Mike.
"How about you? Thought about the offer?" Coulson asks. "Hitching a ride on the crazy plane? I'm not exactly a team player," Skye answers. "And we're not exactly a team. We're in a position to do some good, and you'd be a great help."
Episode Two, "0-8-4".
"She hacked us twice with a laptop. Imagine what she can do with our resources." says Coulson. "I am. That's exactly what I'm imagining during this frown." Ward answers.
(Coulson explaining to Skye what an 0-8-4 is.) "..The last one turned out to be pretty interesting." "And what was the last one?" "A hammer."
"Don't ever call me that." - May. (Repeated line.)
"That's classified." (Repeated line.)
"Do you need anything else before I go check on the device fueled by evil that's sitting in our cargo hold?" - Coulson.
(The team is squabbling loudly, Coulson walks into the lab.) "Do we have a problem in here?" Everyone hushes up. "No, sir. Just working on our communication." Ward replies. More squabbling, led by Skye and Ward. "Ward, you can speak six languages. Simmons, you have two PhD's in fields I can't pronounce, and Fitz - you ARE a rocket scientist. So work it out." (Coulson leaves lab.) "Um....I can do stuff, too!" - Skye.
"Really? REALLY? Six days? It took you SIX DAYS to ruin a completely renovated state-of-the-art piece of machinery and turn it into SCRAP?" - Fury scolding Coulson.
Episode Three - "The Asset".
"I'm tired from the morning's workout. I thought I was joining S.H.I.E.L.D., not 24-Hour Fitness," Skye grumbles after Ward gets on her case after missing a workout.
(Later in that same scene, Skye says she never wants to do another pull-up again.) "When you find yourself hanging off a building twenty stories up, you're gonna want to do at least one," - Ward.
(Still same scene.) "There will come a moment when you either commit to this, or bail. Every field agent has a defining moment. Ask Coulson. When you have to make the hard call, to either dedicate yourself to this, or to curl up in a ball and run." - Ward. "How can you run if you're curled up in a ball?" - Skye.
(On assignment tracking down some kidnappers. May drops a massive binder into Skye's arms.) "Do you want me to bench-press this?" - Skye. "Read it." - May.
(Coulson and Ward tracking one of the suspects, one of which asked who Coulson was.) "A concerned citizen. One that happens to be a member of a gigantic bureaucratic organization that's tracking your every move."
(May disapproves of Coulson's plan to go into field action.) "You forget, I've seen plenty of action with the Avengers." - Coulson. (He walks away.) "...And you died..." - May.
"Saying his name repeatedly does NOT increase his productivity!" - Simmons. "I'm in. Go." - Fitz. "Or maybe it does." - Simmons.
"Dr. Hall! Agent Coulson, we have an exit strategy." "S.H.I.E.L.D.?" "Yes, sir. Let's get you out of here." "Well, I'm sorry, Mr. Coulson, I'm right where I'm supposed to be." "I'll be honest. Our strategy did not take into consideration you saying that."
Episode Four, "Eye Spy".
"You ever rob a bank?" Coulson asks Skye. "No." "An armored car?" "Nope." "A casino?" "Should I be offended?" (He then proceeds to give her her first real assignment.)
"You broke protocol because you need a bathroom break." Ward says in disbelief. "It was a really, really long drive, and everybody's nervous!" Skye protests. (Simmons looks like she agrees, Fitz isn't sure what to think.They dig in ice chest, find water bottle, Simmons gives Skye quizzical look.) "Not the water bottle..." "That's the one!" "Did you never learn the part where girl parts and guy parts are different?!"
(They're still in the van.) "Russian TV is kind of boring," Skye complains. "That looks a bit like our van," Fitz says. (They realize they're being watched, try to escape. Skye can't reach Ward's pedals.) "Stupid tall person..."
"Meet me on the south side of the building. ASAP." Ward orders. "Gotcha," Skye answers her S.O. (To herself) "Now which way's south..?"
Episode Five, "The Girl in the Flower Dress".
"I'm not S.H.I.E.L.D. I come as a friend," Raina says creepily. "English isn't my first language, but that word means something different than what you think." Chan Ho Yin, a Chinese street magician, answers.
"If they ever let you go on leave or whatever, let me know, and I'll get us a fancy suite at....a fancy place that has suites," Skye's slimy sort-of-ex-boyfriend Miles.
"So, are you guys just going to destroy all my stuff?" Miles asks. "Yes." May responds.
"Aw, crap...they gave him a name." Coulson groans.
"His files say anything about him being homicidal?" May asks. "Not really. Just said he was kind of a tool."
"You can't save someone from themselves, sir." Ward says. "You can if you can get to 'em early enough," Coulson disagrees.
Episode Six, "F-Z-Z-T".
"Well, you can tell your physical therapist that you're fit as the proverbial fiddle! Especially for a man of your age," Simmons comments in her cheerful way. "'A man of my age'? That's something you say to an old person!" Coulson answers.
"Lose the ounce..." Fitz grumbles at Ward's exacting demands of the Night-Night pistol(which everyone insists "We are NOT calling it that!") (In growly Ward imitation) "I'm Agent Grant Ward, and I could shoot the legs off a flea at five hundred yards....as long as it's not windy.'" Skye cracks up. She and Fitz talk for a bit before Simmons comes into the lab. She starts in with her own Ward imitation. "'I'm Agent Grant Ward, and I could rupture your spleen with my left pinky...blindfolded.'" Ward then pops back into the lab. Everyone else snickers.
"The only thing I'm afraid of is putrid flesh disturbing my pristine workspace!" Fitz defends himself after Coulson and Simmons say he's afraid of messy internal organs, etc. "Oh, not that stupid cat again! And it's our lab, Fitz, not yours!" "Are you kidding? The last time you left his liver by my lunch!" "Guys! Can we -?" Coulson nods at the dead body waiting for autopsy.
(Simmons tests mouse to see if antiserum works. Mouse immediately dies.) "Well. Now that wasn't very cooperative of him, was it?" Fitz says, watching.
FitzSimmons talking. "It wasn't Ward beside me in the lab, working to find the antidote! He wasn't the one giving me hope when I had none. It was you, Fitz. You're the hero."
Episode Seven, "The Hub".
"I made your favorite sandwich, prosciutto and Buffalo mozzarella." - Simmons. "With your homemade pesto aioli?" - Fitz asks. "Just a hint."
"...if I'm right, give me a signal by...not saying anything." - Skye finishes her plea rather lamely. "Trust the system," is all Coulson says.
"No, no...I can't be a part of your bad-girl shenanigans! I like following the rules and doing what's expected of me. It makes me feel nice." - Simmons to Skye.
"Two million rubles. We really need to work on your negotiation skills." -Ward to Fitz. "I thought they were like pesos."
"What brings you to this...restricted hallway so late at night?" Simmons asks Sitwell nervously. " "I was going to ask you the same thing." "I....was just on my way to the loo. I could swear it was two rights and a left, but I wound up here." "That's a wall panel. Why are you accessing it?" Skye instructs Simmons to act casual. "You...certainly have a gorgeous....head." Skye cannot believe her ears. More horribly and ineptly awkward flirting, Sitwell grows suspicious, and Simmons panics and tases the guy. It's probably the funniest scene all season.
"Our team can go off-book because there is a book. A Hub. You claim that you want to be a part of that, a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Do you?" - Coulson. "Yes." - Skye. "Because someday, I may have to trust you with a secret, and I want you to keep it."
"This is gonna take a while..." - Fitz. "You have ten minutes." - Ward. "I thought you'd say five."
"Oh, the sandwich. How was it? Too much aioli?" - Simmons. "It was delicious." - Fitz.
FitzSimmons talking. "I pretty much saved him from a gang of Russian mobsters. And kicked a few guys' heads in. But enough mission talk already! Anything exciting happen while I was gone?" "I shot a superior officer in the chest."
"Some secrets are meant to stay secrets." - Coulson.
Friday, January 23, 2015
Two Down, Fourteen Left
That title sounds like directions. And in that context, the directions would be something like two down, four rights and two lefts. Or maybe it's some combination of rights and lefts. Anyway, the title refers to weeks left in the second half of junior year. (My lack-of-internal-spatial-compass is well-documented here and here. And this seems like it should count, too...)
Swamped under with homework this weekend, three time-intensive projects all due Monday. So there's been a lot of playing Garth Brooks and Kenny Chesney CDs to work by. Keeping up with the Thunder as I can.
Went home for a bit last weekend; the best part was when I looked into the family room at the furniture rearrangement, Rags spotted me, meowed hello and ran up the stairs to greet me. With the water pipes busting during the cold spell a few weeks ago, the carpet in the GBC auditorium had to be replaced. So it was missing during Sunday's service; which felt familiar and welcoming. Though I never could decide whether it felt like meeting at the warehouse during the 2008 remodel, like the family room after a flood but before we stained the concrete, or like the SGYC tabernacle.
About six months until everybody heads that way again...I hope I can be there, but it's too early to know.
Haven't really had much of a chance to play guitar much, and what time I have had has sounded uncertain and nervous, which doesn't work that well as motivation. Maybe I should learn some new songs, or try writing some.
Something I've been trying to figure out: Is it worse to read a book that's been written at instead of to the reader, or is it worse reading a book by someone who can't write? Being written or spoken at feels very demeaning as a person. (Most textbooks are flagrantly written in this style.) I suffered through Kate Chopin's book The Awakening since it's the book we'll be discussing for one of my classes next week. She was a deeply unhappy, very angry and frustrated New Age feminist with a meager amount of talent, who occasionally wrote a nice phrase or sentence almost by accident, only to realize what she'd just done and erase it with two atrocious sentences to end the paragraph. (My opinion.) She was a single mother in the 1890's, though; and writing mostly short stories was about her only way to stay afloat. (That's a fact.) But her writing is just so....vulgar. And I mean that in the original Latin sense of commonness. There was nothing extraordinary about it, except maybe the incomprehensibility of the (frequent) abstract tangents she goes off on. And I really don't care much about a married woman having an affair and committing suicide when the man she wants won't run away with her. And it's set in Louisiana; and I don't know French. So that was another downside.
And a lot of this distaste is probably intensified by having just finished Jane Austen's Sense and Sensiblility for the third(?) time right before it. The books share some character types in common, which will probably be the topic of a future essay, but Austen was intelligent and snarky, with a moral compass, and while she didn't care much for all of society's conventions, she accepted that they were there for a reason. Chopin just wanted to smash everything that could be worthwhile because of her wretchedness, like Oscar Wilde and H.G. Wells. G.K. Chesterton speaks much of her kind of people in his Orthodoxy.
Managed to turn watching Space Jam into research for a homework project in Creative Writing, that was kinda neat. (I like exploiting those loopholes."Said in Calvin voice") And also some reruns of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and Agent Carter. Planning on trying to go through the Mighty Ducks trilogy soonish. And really need to watch Pixar movies for inspiration and admiration purposes. (Which I don't have on DVD, and they aren't on Netflix. But that's what you rent them on Amazon for.)
Swamped under with homework this weekend, three time-intensive projects all due Monday. So there's been a lot of playing Garth Brooks and Kenny Chesney CDs to work by. Keeping up with the Thunder as I can.
Went home for a bit last weekend; the best part was when I looked into the family room at the furniture rearrangement, Rags spotted me, meowed hello and ran up the stairs to greet me. With the water pipes busting during the cold spell a few weeks ago, the carpet in the GBC auditorium had to be replaced. So it was missing during Sunday's service; which felt familiar and welcoming. Though I never could decide whether it felt like meeting at the warehouse during the 2008 remodel, like the family room after a flood but before we stained the concrete, or like the SGYC tabernacle.
About six months until everybody heads that way again...I hope I can be there, but it's too early to know.
Haven't really had much of a chance to play guitar much, and what time I have had has sounded uncertain and nervous, which doesn't work that well as motivation. Maybe I should learn some new songs, or try writing some.
Something I've been trying to figure out: Is it worse to read a book that's been written at instead of to the reader, or is it worse reading a book by someone who can't write? Being written or spoken at feels very demeaning as a person. (Most textbooks are flagrantly written in this style.) I suffered through Kate Chopin's book The Awakening since it's the book we'll be discussing for one of my classes next week. She was a deeply unhappy, very angry and frustrated New Age feminist with a meager amount of talent, who occasionally wrote a nice phrase or sentence almost by accident, only to realize what she'd just done and erase it with two atrocious sentences to end the paragraph. (My opinion.) She was a single mother in the 1890's, though; and writing mostly short stories was about her only way to stay afloat. (That's a fact.) But her writing is just so....vulgar. And I mean that in the original Latin sense of commonness. There was nothing extraordinary about it, except maybe the incomprehensibility of the (frequent) abstract tangents she goes off on. And I really don't care much about a married woman having an affair and committing suicide when the man she wants won't run away with her. And it's set in Louisiana; and I don't know French. So that was another downside.
And a lot of this distaste is probably intensified by having just finished Jane Austen's Sense and Sensiblility for the third(?) time right before it. The books share some character types in common, which will probably be the topic of a future essay, but Austen was intelligent and snarky, with a moral compass, and while she didn't care much for all of society's conventions, she accepted that they were there for a reason. Chopin just wanted to smash everything that could be worthwhile because of her wretchedness, like Oscar Wilde and H.G. Wells. G.K. Chesterton speaks much of her kind of people in his Orthodoxy.
Managed to turn watching Space Jam into research for a homework project in Creative Writing, that was kinda neat. (I like exploiting those loopholes."Said in Calvin voice") And also some reruns of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and Agent Carter. Planning on trying to go through the Mighty Ducks trilogy soonish. And really need to watch Pixar movies for inspiration and admiration purposes. (Which I don't have on DVD, and they aren't on Netflix. But that's what you rent them on Amazon for.)
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
Rogers State Report
This has been an incredibly long week. Like, I woke up this morning and figured up what day it was, and I thought, "It's only WEDNESDAY?"
Some of that might be the headache I've had since yesterday morning. And probably a lot of it is panic from the onslaught of switching completely from one environment to another. It kind of reminds me of how the hoboes would leap onto the trains as they were moving out of the station during the Great Depression. That's about what classes have felt like so far, three days in. The level of knowledge and expertise on everything feels miles and miles ahead of wherever I am right now. And that's really scary, running to catch up to the train everybody else is on.
And, fittingly, I suppose, since I'm (I guess?) a Hillcat now, my nerves have been on a feline edge all the time. Especially at night. There's lots of unexpected intruding noises at random times, so my fur stays bristled and ears and whiskers are on high-alert swivel. And I've done that asleep-to-flying-toward-potential-threat-awake thing three to four times a night. Some of that is just not being used to the patterns of neighbors walking through the hallway and slamming doors, and some of it is an instinctual reaction to smells when the heater has been on too long. Oh, yeah, there's a thermostat in my apartment-dorm, which is nice. If I could just figure out how to work it properly...
It's MUCH better than Ross. (But then again, anything would be.) Except you can't complain about the horrible conditions to the other people in the building you know, and so the natural tight-knit community aspect isn't there, because there really isn't much wrong with the housing conditions. Really the only thing I can think of off the top of my head is that six reflective surfaces in three rooms is too many.
And there's the fact that the higher elevation there is, the more wind is likely to be blowing there. And that... in Tahlequah I got used to cold weather. (Which doesn't mean I exactly like it now, but I can live with it.) But wind is a different story. I'm a very small-sized person, and if it's strong enough, wind will actually move me from one place to another. (I know this from experience.) Besides, wind is bitingly cold, and that's worse, because it's harder to fight and there isn't really a good way to keep warm. (See Hans Christian Andersen's "Little Match Girl", for example.)
Folks seem polite, which is nice, I guess. And the dining hall is more cheerfully-designed and seems more professional than the NSU caf. Haven't met anybody yet, but I didn't expect to right off, that takes a long time.
I think I may have finally figured out why Timothy was prey to "stomach troubles and frequent illnesses", according to Paul in 1 Timothy 5:23. (I've always wondered what he suffered from, and why he was often sick, and why was this detail included in the Bible?) Timothy probably was daily overwhelmed and unbearably tense from the stresses that come from trying to do everything it took to run a church adequately. And from what little we know, he was an only child(no siblings are mentioned), and only children(even more than oldests) are very hard on themselves, striving for excellence in all they attempt. And so he probably would have interpreted "adequately" as "perfectly", which is probably impossible. And then the fact that it's an act of service for the Lord, that probably added to the intensity and strife, so.... This could be way off-base, but it seems like a reasonable conclusion that comes while dealing with a lot of terrifying homework, a massive headache, upset stomach and slight nausea. And being an oldest.
Anyway, that's about it.... the NSU BCM gang is pulling everything together for spring, and while I had the TV on the first half of the College Football Playoff title game(to catch the new Age of Ultron preview), I missed the preview, didn't really care about the game itself, and then Ohio State beat Oregon. Brad Paisley and DC Talk make for a good soundtrack to study by.
Some of that might be the headache I've had since yesterday morning. And probably a lot of it is panic from the onslaught of switching completely from one environment to another. It kind of reminds me of how the hoboes would leap onto the trains as they were moving out of the station during the Great Depression. That's about what classes have felt like so far, three days in. The level of knowledge and expertise on everything feels miles and miles ahead of wherever I am right now. And that's really scary, running to catch up to the train everybody else is on.
And, fittingly, I suppose, since I'm (I guess?) a Hillcat now, my nerves have been on a feline edge all the time. Especially at night. There's lots of unexpected intruding noises at random times, so my fur stays bristled and ears and whiskers are on high-alert swivel. And I've done that asleep-to-flying-toward-potential-threat-awake thing three to four times a night. Some of that is just not being used to the patterns of neighbors walking through the hallway and slamming doors, and some of it is an instinctual reaction to smells when the heater has been on too long. Oh, yeah, there's a thermostat in my apartment-dorm, which is nice. If I could just figure out how to work it properly...
It's MUCH better than Ross. (But then again, anything would be.) Except you can't complain about the horrible conditions to the other people in the building you know, and so the natural tight-knit community aspect isn't there, because there really isn't much wrong with the housing conditions. Really the only thing I can think of off the top of my head is that six reflective surfaces in three rooms is too many.
And there's the fact that the higher elevation there is, the more wind is likely to be blowing there. And that... in Tahlequah I got used to cold weather. (Which doesn't mean I exactly like it now, but I can live with it.) But wind is a different story. I'm a very small-sized person, and if it's strong enough, wind will actually move me from one place to another. (I know this from experience.) Besides, wind is bitingly cold, and that's worse, because it's harder to fight and there isn't really a good way to keep warm. (See Hans Christian Andersen's "Little Match Girl", for example.)
Folks seem polite, which is nice, I guess. And the dining hall is more cheerfully-designed and seems more professional than the NSU caf. Haven't met anybody yet, but I didn't expect to right off, that takes a long time.
I think I may have finally figured out why Timothy was prey to "stomach troubles and frequent illnesses", according to Paul in 1 Timothy 5:23. (I've always wondered what he suffered from, and why he was often sick, and why was this detail included in the Bible?) Timothy probably was daily overwhelmed and unbearably tense from the stresses that come from trying to do everything it took to run a church adequately. And from what little we know, he was an only child(no siblings are mentioned), and only children(even more than oldests) are very hard on themselves, striving for excellence in all they attempt. And so he probably would have interpreted "adequately" as "perfectly", which is probably impossible. And then the fact that it's an act of service for the Lord, that probably added to the intensity and strife, so.... This could be way off-base, but it seems like a reasonable conclusion that comes while dealing with a lot of terrifying homework, a massive headache, upset stomach and slight nausea. And being an oldest.
Anyway, that's about it.... the NSU BCM gang is pulling everything together for spring, and while I had the TV on the first half of the College Football Playoff title game(to catch the new Age of Ultron preview), I missed the preview, didn't really care about the game itself, and then Ohio State beat Oregon. Brad Paisley and DC Talk make for a good soundtrack to study by.
Friday, January 9, 2015
Meowsings
"Here I am in my new apartment/In a big city, they just dropped me off..."
Okay, so Claremore isn't that big a place. But the "Never Grow Up" quote fit nicely.
So here's my class schedule for this semester: Advanced Broadcasting, Interpersonal Communication, Media Law, The Novel and Creative Writing, 15 hours, nine towards my major(Communications - Radio/TV) and six towards my minor(Liberal Arts - English). It added up to something like seventeen for-school books to get. Amazon is very useful for things like that.
I'll try to take some pictures around here soon. For now studying(what else is there to do?) with a Taylor Swift and Owl City soundtrack so far.
Okay, so Claremore isn't that big a place. But the "Never Grow Up" quote fit nicely.
So here's my class schedule for this semester: Advanced Broadcasting, Interpersonal Communication, Media Law, The Novel and Creative Writing, 15 hours, nine towards my major(Communications - Radio/TV) and six towards my minor(Liberal Arts - English). It added up to something like seventeen for-school books to get. Amazon is very useful for things like that.
I'll try to take some pictures around here soon. For now studying(what else is there to do?) with a Taylor Swift and Owl City soundtrack so far.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Welcome Back To The Future
Welp, the first week of 2015 passed without my writing anything. So....yeah. Anyway....
Welcome to the future, y'all. Wait a minute...
It's THE FUTURE. Like, seriously. Great Scott, that's heavy. The Cubs will win the World Series this year! And we'll have self-lacing shoes. And flying cars like Lola will be totally commonplace.(But you still can't touch her.) And there's hoverboards. (OK, maybe not hoverboards.)
Okay, so I couldn't resist tossing an Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. reference in there. It's on a break at a wonderful cliffhanger, so we get to hop into our DeLoreans and go back to 1946 to witness some of Agent Carter's adventures. The TV was pretty dark, so I couldn't see what was happening very well, but the first two episodes were enjoyable. Not as great as S.H.I.E.L.D. or the movies, but fits the era well as a light-hearted adventure tale for the serial before the movie starts.
Rags isn't too happy with this "back to college" plan. Neither are the other cats. Or Trevor.
We went over to Tahlequah last Saturday to haul wood for Grandpa, it was good to see them. Harry and Louise dropped by, so it was nice to visit with them, too.
Monday, December 22, 2014
Retired - Cynthia Rylant
I was restacking the bookshelves yesterday and came across a collection of Cynthia Rylant short stories. So of course I read them, since she's such a great writer, and there were two that I especially liked. (This came from "Every Living Thing", Aladdin Paperbacks, New York, 1985 for future reference.)
Retired
Her name was Miss Phala Cutcheon and she used to be a schoolteacher. Miss Cutcheon had gotten old and had retired from teaching the fourth grade, so she simply sat on her porch and considered things. She considered moving to Florida. She considered joining a club for old people and learning how to play cards. She considered dying.
Finally, she just got a dog.
The dog, too, was old. And she, too, was retired. A retired collie. She had belonged to a family who lived around the corner from Miss Cutcheon. The dog had helped raise three children, and she had been loved. But the family was moving to France and could not take their beloved pet. They gave her to Miss Cutcheon.
When she lived with the family, the dog's name had been Princess. Miss Cutcheon, however, thought the name much too delicate for a dog as old and bony as Miss Cutcheon herself, and she changed it to Velma. It took Princess several days to find out who Miss Cutcheon meant when she called out for someone named Velma.
In time, though, Velma got used to her new name. She got used to Miss Cutcheon's slow pace - so unlike the romping of three children - and she got used to Miss Cutcheon's dry dog food. She learned not to mind the smell of burning asthmadora, which helped Miss Cutcheon breathe better, and not to mind the sound of the old lady's wheezing and snoring in the middle of the night. Velma missed her children, but she was all right.
Miss Cutcheon was a very early riser(a habit that could not be shaken after forty-three years of meeting schoolchildren at the schoolhouse door), and she enjoyed big breakfasts. Each day Miss Cutcheon would creak out of her bed like a mummy rising from its tomb, then shuffle slowly into the kitchen, straight for the coffee pot. Velma, who slept on the floor at the foot of Miss Cutcheon's bed, would soon creak off the floor herself and head into the kitchen. Velma's family had eaten cold cereal breakfasts all those years, and only when she came to live with Miss Cutcheon did Velma realize what perking coffee, sizzling bacon and hot biscuits smell like. She still only got dry dog food, but the aromas around her nose made the chunks taste ten times better.
Miss Cutcheon sat at her dinette table, eating her bacon and eggs and biscuits, while Velma lay under the table at her feet. Miss Cutcheon spent mot of her breakfast time thinking about the children she had taught. Velma thought about hers.
During the day Miss Cutcheon took Velma on walks up and down the block. The two of them became a familiar sight. On warm, sunny days they took many walks, moving on at an almost brisk pace up and back. But on damp, cold days they eased themselves along the sidewalk as if they'd both just gotten out of bed, and they usually went only a half-block, morning and afternoon.
Miss Cutcheon and Velma spent several months together like this: Eating breakfast together, walking the block, sitting on the front porch, going to bed early. Velma's memory of her three children grew fuzzy, and only when she saw a boy or girl passing on the street did her ears prick up as if she should have known something about children. But what it was she had forgotten.
Miss Cutcheon's memory, on the other hand, grew better every day, and she seemed not to know anything except the past. She could recite the names of children in her mind - which seats they had sat in, what subjects they were best at, what they'd brought to school for lunch. She could remember their funny ways, and sometimes she would be sitting quietly at her dinette in the morning, quietly eating, when she would burst out with a laugh that filled the room and made Velma jump.
Why Miss Cutcheon decided to walk Velma a few blocks farther, and to the west, is a puzzle. But one warm morning in September, they did walk that way, and when they reached the third block, a sound like a million tiny buzz saws floated into the air. Velma's ears stood straight up, and Miss Cutcheon stopped and considered. Then they went a block farther, and the sound changed to something like a hundred bells pealing. Velma's tail began to wag ever so slightly. Finally, on the fifth block, they saw the school playground.
Children, small and large, ran wildly about, screaming, laughing, falling down, climbing up, jumping, dancing. Velma started barking, again and again and again. She couldn't contain herself. She barked and wagged and forgot all about Miss Cutcheon standing there with her. She saw only the children and it made her happy.
Miss Cutcheon stood very stiff for a while, staring. She didn't smile. She simply looked at the playground, the red brick school, the chain-link fence that protected it all, keeping intruders outside, keeping children inside. Miss Cutcheon just stared while Velma barked. Then they walked home.
But the next day they returned. They moved further along the fence, nearer to where the children were. Velma barked and wagged until two boys, who had been seesawing, ran over to the fence to try to pet the dog. Miss Cutcheon pulled back on the leash, but too late, for Velma had already leaped up against the wire. She poked her snout through a hole and the boys scratched it, laughing as she licked their fingers. More children came to the fence, and while some rubbed Velma's nose, others questioned Miss Cutcheon: "What's your dog's name?" "Will it bite?" "Do you like cats?" Miss Cutcheon, who had not answered the questions of children in what seemed a very long time, replied as a teacher would.
Every day, in good weather, Velma and Miss Cutcheon visited the playground fence. The children learned their names, and Miss Cutcheon soon knew the children who stroked Velma the same way she had known her own fourth-graders years ago. In bad weather, Miss Cutcheon and Velma stayed inside, breathing the asthmadora, feeling warm and comfortable, thinking about the children at the playground. But on a nice day, they were out again.
In Mid-October Miss Cutcheon put a pumpkin on her front porch, something she hadn't done in years. And on Halloween night, she turned on the porch light, and she and Velma waited at the door. Miss Cutcheon passed out fifty-six chocolate bars before the evening was done.
Then on Christmas Eve of that same year, a large group of young carolers came to sing in front of Miss Cutcheon's house; and they were bearing gifts of dog biscuits and sweet fruit.
Retired
Her name was Miss Phala Cutcheon and she used to be a schoolteacher. Miss Cutcheon had gotten old and had retired from teaching the fourth grade, so she simply sat on her porch and considered things. She considered moving to Florida. She considered joining a club for old people and learning how to play cards. She considered dying.
Finally, she just got a dog.
The dog, too, was old. And she, too, was retired. A retired collie. She had belonged to a family who lived around the corner from Miss Cutcheon. The dog had helped raise three children, and she had been loved. But the family was moving to France and could not take their beloved pet. They gave her to Miss Cutcheon.
When she lived with the family, the dog's name had been Princess. Miss Cutcheon, however, thought the name much too delicate for a dog as old and bony as Miss Cutcheon herself, and she changed it to Velma. It took Princess several days to find out who Miss Cutcheon meant when she called out for someone named Velma.
In time, though, Velma got used to her new name. She got used to Miss Cutcheon's slow pace - so unlike the romping of three children - and she got used to Miss Cutcheon's dry dog food. She learned not to mind the smell of burning asthmadora, which helped Miss Cutcheon breathe better, and not to mind the sound of the old lady's wheezing and snoring in the middle of the night. Velma missed her children, but she was all right.
Miss Cutcheon was a very early riser(a habit that could not be shaken after forty-three years of meeting schoolchildren at the schoolhouse door), and she enjoyed big breakfasts. Each day Miss Cutcheon would creak out of her bed like a mummy rising from its tomb, then shuffle slowly into the kitchen, straight for the coffee pot. Velma, who slept on the floor at the foot of Miss Cutcheon's bed, would soon creak off the floor herself and head into the kitchen. Velma's family had eaten cold cereal breakfasts all those years, and only when she came to live with Miss Cutcheon did Velma realize what perking coffee, sizzling bacon and hot biscuits smell like. She still only got dry dog food, but the aromas around her nose made the chunks taste ten times better.
Miss Cutcheon sat at her dinette table, eating her bacon and eggs and biscuits, while Velma lay under the table at her feet. Miss Cutcheon spent mot of her breakfast time thinking about the children she had taught. Velma thought about hers.
During the day Miss Cutcheon took Velma on walks up and down the block. The two of them became a familiar sight. On warm, sunny days they took many walks, moving on at an almost brisk pace up and back. But on damp, cold days they eased themselves along the sidewalk as if they'd both just gotten out of bed, and they usually went only a half-block, morning and afternoon.
Miss Cutcheon and Velma spent several months together like this: Eating breakfast together, walking the block, sitting on the front porch, going to bed early. Velma's memory of her three children grew fuzzy, and only when she saw a boy or girl passing on the street did her ears prick up as if she should have known something about children. But what it was she had forgotten.
Miss Cutcheon's memory, on the other hand, grew better every day, and she seemed not to know anything except the past. She could recite the names of children in her mind - which seats they had sat in, what subjects they were best at, what they'd brought to school for lunch. She could remember their funny ways, and sometimes she would be sitting quietly at her dinette in the morning, quietly eating, when she would burst out with a laugh that filled the room and made Velma jump.
Why Miss Cutcheon decided to walk Velma a few blocks farther, and to the west, is a puzzle. But one warm morning in September, they did walk that way, and when they reached the third block, a sound like a million tiny buzz saws floated into the air. Velma's ears stood straight up, and Miss Cutcheon stopped and considered. Then they went a block farther, and the sound changed to something like a hundred bells pealing. Velma's tail began to wag ever so slightly. Finally, on the fifth block, they saw the school playground.
Children, small and large, ran wildly about, screaming, laughing, falling down, climbing up, jumping, dancing. Velma started barking, again and again and again. She couldn't contain herself. She barked and wagged and forgot all about Miss Cutcheon standing there with her. She saw only the children and it made her happy.
Miss Cutcheon stood very stiff for a while, staring. She didn't smile. She simply looked at the playground, the red brick school, the chain-link fence that protected it all, keeping intruders outside, keeping children inside. Miss Cutcheon just stared while Velma barked. Then they walked home.
But the next day they returned. They moved further along the fence, nearer to where the children were. Velma barked and wagged until two boys, who had been seesawing, ran over to the fence to try to pet the dog. Miss Cutcheon pulled back on the leash, but too late, for Velma had already leaped up against the wire. She poked her snout through a hole and the boys scratched it, laughing as she licked their fingers. More children came to the fence, and while some rubbed Velma's nose, others questioned Miss Cutcheon: "What's your dog's name?" "Will it bite?" "Do you like cats?" Miss Cutcheon, who had not answered the questions of children in what seemed a very long time, replied as a teacher would.
Every day, in good weather, Velma and Miss Cutcheon visited the playground fence. The children learned their names, and Miss Cutcheon soon knew the children who stroked Velma the same way she had known her own fourth-graders years ago. In bad weather, Miss Cutcheon and Velma stayed inside, breathing the asthmadora, feeling warm and comfortable, thinking about the children at the playground. But on a nice day, they were out again.
In Mid-October Miss Cutcheon put a pumpkin on her front porch, something she hadn't done in years. And on Halloween night, she turned on the porch light, and she and Velma waited at the door. Miss Cutcheon passed out fifty-six chocolate bars before the evening was done.
Then on Christmas Eve of that same year, a large group of young carolers came to sing in front of Miss Cutcheon's house; and they were bearing gifts of dog biscuits and sweet fruit.
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Mid-December
Another Christmas is sneaking its way closer and closer, I guess...
Just about everybody around here's not doing so great, between Caleb's broken foot, Trevor's burned foot, pneumonia and the flu. There's been a lot of TV-watching for obvious reasons. I haven't caught anything yet (so far).
Dad started a new job the other day, so that's good.
Reread through Neil Postman's Amusing Ourselves to Death and Laura Hillenbrand's Unbroken in the last couple days, also William Goldman's Adventures in the Screen Trade and Stephen King's how-to book On Writing. And finished Larry King's collection of WWII love stories, a history of Midwest-wartime-morale-building called Once Upon a Town, and the Newberry Award-winning book A Wrinkle in Time(I hated that one. It was horribly written).
Need to start Christmas shopping when I get a chance...also, I need to get my textbooks for spring semester...
Just about everybody around here's not doing so great, between Caleb's broken foot, Trevor's burned foot, pneumonia and the flu. There's been a lot of TV-watching for obvious reasons. I haven't caught anything yet (so far).
Dad started a new job the other day, so that's good.
Reread through Neil Postman's Amusing Ourselves to Death and Laura Hillenbrand's Unbroken in the last couple days, also William Goldman's Adventures in the Screen Trade and Stephen King's how-to book On Writing. And finished Larry King's collection of WWII love stories, a history of Midwest-wartime-morale-building called Once Upon a Town, and the Newberry Award-winning book A Wrinkle in Time(I hated that one. It was horribly written).
Need to start Christmas shopping when I get a chance...also, I need to get my textbooks for spring semester...
Friday, December 12, 2014
Remembering the Fire
It's been six years ago today.
A lot of things can change in six years. And some stay the same. You grow up a lot between 15 and 21.
On Thursday, December 11, 2008, John McCain was on David Letterman, and Mom was watching it while feeding Amy. There was this smoky smell; and the woodstove wasn't being used just then. She frantically called Dad, and I couldn't sleep, so I came to see what was happening. The inside of the fridge was on fire. Nobody who saw or heard about it had ever heard of that happening before, but the fridge was about seventeen years old, so maybe that's why. Or maybe there was a power surge in the electric lines. Or both. Courtney and I took Amy to the van, where we sat worriedly observing with the radio on K95, two of the songs they played were Tim McGraw's "Back When" and Kenny Chesney's "Don't Blink", back-to-back. Probably Taylor Swift's "Love Story", too, it was all over the radio at that time. I'm not as sure on that. Caleb and Trevor were still asleep. Anyway, the fire department came and wrestled the fridge out into the driveway, they poked around and proclaimed the area safe, shaking their heads at a refrigerator, of all things...after a lot of trying to calm our nerves once everything settled down, Dad began looking at insurance stuff and pricing new refrigerators, and the four of us played Uno in Courtney's room for about an hour before going to sleep around 4 a.m. We played a lot of Uno all that year, kept a running tally from New Year's Eve to the end of December.
I woke up about 7 and got on the computer for a while, enjoying the quiet of a sleeping household. (Webkinz was also a very big deal then.) Everyone else gradually got up, Mom told Caleb and Trevor what happened, they were disappointed they missed out. She flipped on the light switch in the laundry room while getting the box of oatmeal out of the pantry and started cooking it. About fifteen minutes later Caleb walked into the family room. "Mom, why is there smoke in the family room?" "Oh, no, there's not. That was last night. It's all gone now." But she went to check anyway. "THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE! GET OUT NOW!"
I hadn't put my shoes on yet; and only had my phone in my pocket. Gravel is kind of tough on bare feet unused to traveling over the pebbly surface. But that really didn't matter. Somehow everybody else got out, too. Someone opened the backyard gate to let the dogs out, and Liesel the cat was found later safely hiding under my bed(on the other end of the house).
We spent most of the morning sitting in the van, wondering when the firefighters were going to come and what was going to happen next. Black, acrid thick smoke pouring out of the roof... I'd called Maddie almost immediately after racing out of the house for some reason I'm still not sure of, I think her mom activated the GBC prayer chain. Mrs. Pickard had some Red Cross contacts that came by, NewsChannel 8 ran a story that night and other people heard from that. We drove into Okmulgee and ate without tasting some food from Burger King, and then checked into a room for a couple days at the Best Western with money from the Red Cross people while trying to figure out what to do next. The manager heard about what happened and let us stay in his apartment for just what we had already paid, thus more room and kind of a hideaway to regroup. It was one of the first of many wonderful, amazing things that we'll never forget or understand, ways that God took care of us throughout the whole experience.
Our clothes reeked of smoke after cautiously checking what was still usable inside the house, so we bought some sweaters and sweatpants at Wal-Mart and that's what we ended up wearing to church on Sunday. Tracy Lawrence's song "Find Out Who Your Friends Are" running without ceasing for the next several days. The Hollises brought over a gift basket full of useful everyday stuff with a note that said "If you need anything, call us." That's another thing that especially stands out. The phone was ringing pretty often, folks were worried about us.
I told this story earlier in my recap of SGYC circa 2009, so I hope y'all don't mind me re-telling it now. And fictionalized the event somewhat in this short story.
Well, we moved into Grandpa's old trailer north of Tahlequah, and that was home for the next ten months. (Because "home" is where your cat is.) Daily commuting along the hour-and-fifteen-minute stretch of 62 and 16 was the rule, and at one point Caleb asked Trevor completely seriously where he'd wake up if he took a nap in the van. Sorting through what to keep or throw out in the unheated husk of house in January, memorizing the layout of every Lowe's store in the area, watching Amy in the camper that Dad lived in during the week, exploring Tahlequah with Harry and Louise. With Damon, Trish and others, we had a very active American Idol email discussion group going, predicting that week's results and delivering our opinions on last night's shows. (Basic summary of that season, according to us: Adam Lambert was highly controversial, Anoop Desai was funny, and Megan Joy Corkrey was the worst dancer the world had ever seen.)
I covered Beggs tennis that spring for the ONW based solely off of phone calls, and then in June started writing for the Free Lance once Valerie became editor, covering Henryetta sports and the occasional bit for Dewar.
Returning to SGYC was a wonderful experience. It was so great to be back and see everybody I'd met my first year; the music was amazing(I learned "In Christ Alone" then), Isaiah 43:1-3 was that much-needed-to-hear verse(s) that just....made things better. Got to know Daniel, Madelyn, Ash and Matt better, and I met Jed, Jon, Jessica and Amanda. It was really special. It is really special.
Sunny kept Dad company at the worksite and an eye on the folks coming in and out working on stuff, Sport did, too. Liesel came to Tquah with us, and Georgie the red heeler and Little Ann and Old Dan(ielle) the Labs were the strays that adopted us.
There were so many people from GBC who helped out with everything, from taking down old sheetrock to staining new stairs to wiring the house to keeping me updated on what was happening in church news. From the homeschool group, too - everything in that previous sentence applies to them, too. So, thanks, you guys. Appreciate it so much.
Joined the rest of the world on Facebook in June. It's a wonderful tool. And a large time-waster. But, you know, nothing's perfect.
We finished the rebuilding in early October and moved back, Sport never did understand that the floorplan had changed.
Since then, I went on Youth Tour and survived the SAT, senior year of high school with its endless applications and forms, and freshman year of college. Met the folks at the BCM who brightened up sophomore year. I led worship for the youth group and spent good times with friends during murder mysteries and service projects. I learned to play guitar, and Courtney and I both learned mandolin. At some point we all got sucked into the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and it's hard to know exactly when that happened. There's been a lot of changes.
One of the things I find most strange about post-fire life is that we have an entirely different cast of animals around the place than at that time. New cats, new dogs, new goats, new chickens, new assorted scary predators lurking in the woods. That generation passed with Sunny's death.
There's still the caring of being part of GBC, though. And the Lankfords.
So, yeah, it's not the happiest anniversary to remember, but for us it's one of the most monumental. You really lose track of time when writing up a post like this, more so than usual.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Closing Out Another Year
Everybody else is finishing up their semesters, staggering through finals. I've been sitting here writing up reviews of An Affair to Remember(which I hated) and Sleepless in Seattle(which I liked). And also rewatching Space Jam(which is still awesome), It's a Wonderful Life(which is wonderful) and Iron Man(which is great).
Trevor hurt his foot on Thanksgiving climbing up a bluff, so he's been hopping around on crutches since then. And then Sunday Caleb was building the bucks a shelter and stepped into a hole, breaking his foot and slipping a ligament out of place. So he's got a huge hard cast on his foot now, and isn't supposed to put any weight on it. They've been playing a lot of video games to keep busy.
The finals week pancake feed went well Sunday night, there were lots of posting saying, "I'm exhausted, and I smell like pancake batter, but it's so worth it." (It's a NSU tradition the Sunday before finals week, there's a huge line stretching from the BCM basement over to the business building across the street.)
I guess I've graduated from TCC now. Word was awful, government boring and saddening but easy, and biology was biology. Very complicated and confounding, but with some interesting concepts. Photoshop was really interesting. We had to create a mock website for our final project, so I invented a fictitious animal shelter and went all-out. (Paws-N-Play Animal Shelter and Dairy, and it's located close to Joplin.) It was difficult, the creative part, but fun. And the instructor really liked it, saying I had a strong grasp of both the creative side and the design/functionality side. No idea what, exactly, Enterprise Development is, but it's something business-related. And that was the degree that my NSU hours fit most efficiently into. So, anyway, I have an Associate's degree now, which isn't much, but it's something.
Somebody committed suicide on the RSU campus last week. Which was really sad. KOTV did a good job covering the story appropriately, balancing the awfulness of the tragedy with concern for informing and calming the public. .
Reading a couple of books about World War II right now; a collection of wartime love stories blandly collected by Larry King and about a small Nebraska city's effort to raise their boys' spirits one train at a time through a kind word, smile and a sandwich.
Pearl Harbor Day was Sunday, which was interestingly fitting. And Friday will be six years since the fire, which is also fitting, as it was on a Friday.
Christmas shopping is coming along. The tree is up and decorated; it's pretty.
Trevor hurt his foot on Thanksgiving climbing up a bluff, so he's been hopping around on crutches since then. And then Sunday Caleb was building the bucks a shelter and stepped into a hole, breaking his foot and slipping a ligament out of place. So he's got a huge hard cast on his foot now, and isn't supposed to put any weight on it. They've been playing a lot of video games to keep busy.
The finals week pancake feed went well Sunday night, there were lots of posting saying, "I'm exhausted, and I smell like pancake batter, but it's so worth it." (It's a NSU tradition the Sunday before finals week, there's a huge line stretching from the BCM basement over to the business building across the street.)
I guess I've graduated from TCC now. Word was awful, government boring and saddening but easy, and biology was biology. Very complicated and confounding, but with some interesting concepts. Photoshop was really interesting. We had to create a mock website for our final project, so I invented a fictitious animal shelter and went all-out. (Paws-N-Play Animal Shelter and Dairy, and it's located close to Joplin.) It was difficult, the creative part, but fun. And the instructor really liked it, saying I had a strong grasp of both the creative side and the design/functionality side. No idea what, exactly, Enterprise Development is, but it's something business-related. And that was the degree that my NSU hours fit most efficiently into. So, anyway, I have an Associate's degree now, which isn't much, but it's something.
Somebody committed suicide on the RSU campus last week. Which was really sad. KOTV did a good job covering the story appropriately, balancing the awfulness of the tragedy with concern for informing and calming the public. .
Reading a couple of books about World War II right now; a collection of wartime love stories blandly collected by Larry King and about a small Nebraska city's effort to raise their boys' spirits one train at a time through a kind word, smile and a sandwich.
Pearl Harbor Day was Sunday, which was interestingly fitting. And Friday will be six years since the fire, which is also fitting, as it was on a Friday.
Christmas shopping is coming along. The tree is up and decorated; it's pretty.
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Social Media and Honesty
One of those things that's been rattling around in my head for the last couple weeks, but only crystallized enough to shape into words over the last few days, is the lack of actual created content in Facebook posts nowadays in general, but among high school/college-aged-to-late-twenties folks in particular. I mean, a couple years ago everyone regularly wrote posts on whatever might have happened that day, or what they were thinking about or whatever. And that sometimes led into mega-long comment chains like the kind I'd get into with Jon, Jed, Amanda and Samara that soon veered from pointless-but-grounded to zany-and-capable-of-going-anywhere(especially space and alternate realities). Which kind of hurts looking back at some of them now, but in a good way; remembrances of good times.
Sure, I know it's easier just to react to things by reposting a BuzzFeed article or linking to that certain song on YouTube that says what needs to be said instead of straining to come up with descriptions that, while original, aren't as well-formed, but...that's not as compelling. Especially not if you're reposting your favorite blogger's response to whatever the Current HOT BUTTON ISSUE Of The Moment Which Will Initiate KNEE-JERK REACTIONS. (Blimey Cow reference....cough. (Look them up on YouTube...) See? That kind of proves my point.) And goodness knows, if you say your murky somewhere-in-the-middle-both-sides-have-good-points-and-are-wrong-on-others own opinion, surely somebody would be offended, right? (Gasps at the possibilities of political incorrectness if this policy was followed....) Actually, I think it kind of started with the rise of BuzzFeed from "Oh, yeah, I've heard of that site" to "Well....yeah, duh. It's BuzzFeed.", which happened rather suddenly about two years ago, more or less.
Sure, I know most of our lives aren't that exciting, and most people don't deal with tasks of earth-shaking importance on a regular basis. We're not Captain America. If anybody, we're George Bailey. But isn't just an ordinary life full of enough interesting puzzle pieces to be a good story? It works for Miss Marple and Father Tim.
We always hear about those horror stories about people who posted X(whatever inappropriate/super-stupid ill-spelled status you want to think of) and then they were fired or something even worse happened to them(what, I'm not quite sure...it's too scary and dark to consider. Like the endings of evildoers in Grimm's fairy tales). But most of that is just common sense; most of that stuff doesn't need to be shared publicly.
What I'm saying is, that fear, of indistinct though truly awful punishment for being honest, has made us as society hyper-aware and self-conscious of what we do post. Which means we over-analyze every single little thing that we put on there and then usually delete it immediately for fear it'll be taken the wrong way or something. (Especially if you're already prone to over-analyzing every little detail on a regular basis..."Raises hand")
It's really pretty sad.
Facebook and other social media is about the only method our 21st century American culture has to get to know people. In earlier generations, before air-conditioning was invented, neighbors used to talk over the fence or congregate on front porches to discuss the day's events or exchange gossip. (For example, in To Kill A Mockingbird, or The Andy Griffith Show.) I wrote some about this in an essay a couple years ago. Social media is the modern equivalent/approximation of such a system, and if we don't talk about the simple small trials, pleasures or knowledge encountered throughout the day, what's the point of such a system existing? Why are on that site, then, if you want to contribute? (For an example of the mundane yet fascinating things I mean, did you know that the cast of Recess included the kids who played Jonah Baldwin in Sleepless in Seattle, Uh-huh from The Little Rascals and the girl who grew up to play the waitress from The Avengers? That would be TJ, Gus and Gretchen.)
Societal-sized problems like this follow Darwin's natural selection; if they aren't used, they will eventually go extinct. If we continue down this road, there's all kinds of questions that pop up. How will we make the connections with other people so vital to staying in one piece as we each travel our own pathways throughout life?
This post is an expansion of a Facebook post from this morning, and it got a decent amount of agreement in the form of likes and several people commenting for reasons this phenomenon might be happening. One of the reasons stated was that once all the older people jumped on FB, then it suddenly wasn't cool enough; which sounds good on the surface. But that's really more like a nice cover story for the real reason: We're too scared of being judged for honestly providing records of our opinions and/or actions about how we feel about things. Because, the thing is - honesty is really dangerous. That's why we appreciate it so much in good writing or wherever else we may come across it, because we usually don't see it, at least not completely. Because we're in a fallen world, we mess up constantly. And as part of this nearly-ever-present sin, humans prefer darkness to light and are more comfortable with deception than truth. And so societies throughout history are built, kept alive and eventually crumble due to half-truths and partial lies and avoiding total honesty whenever possible. Besides, "only the winners write history", and it's a lot easier to make your people's empire sound good if you don't detail every instance of cruelty that your side did, and it's more convenient to make the other side look villianous if you gloss over their good points and highlight their not-so-great deeds.
America's pretty much always operated under this principle of necessary lies being used every day to keep our civilization and society intact; on a large level, the work of spies in the CIA, on the micro level, replying "I'm all right" to a passer-by asking how we're doing, when in reality things might just suck and you want to hide under a blanket that day. Mark Twain pointed this out in his essay "On the Decay of the Art of Lying". And our tall tales and folktales, the closest we have to Greek and Roman(and Norse) mythology, are based on this principle as well. Rip Van Winkle, Paul Bunyan, Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, the Emperor With No Clothes(not American, but still)....
So, when we're completely, brutally honest about something, that's pointing out the flaws of whatever is being criticized, and so pulling out some of the brickwork, weakening ever-so-slightly the structural integrity(in a construction sense, not abstract moral quality) of society. And people don't like that.
Instagram is, I would guess, by far the least-honest form of social media, as pictures can be manipulated in untold countless ways to provide that certain look you want to project. Pinterest builds castles in the air of what could be instead of showcasing what is. YouTube is kind of a gray area. On the one hand, it's video, so if it's done well, then the finished product has no relation to the true conditions/realities of creating that content. But then you have all those cover videos of folks in dorm rooms who can't sing, and that's accurately depicting what was happening when that video was shot. Facebook, there's too much worry about political correctness to usually post anything, which was the whole reason for working on this post. Twitter is probably the most truthful, but the severe limit of message size in tweets works against it somewhat.
I don't really have any good answers to these questions; they have to be chewed on individually, there's no handy one-size-fits-all solution. It's a big subject, with a lot to explore, from many different angles. Hopefully this post made you consider the subject and ponder it a moment.
I'm not even going to try to dig into the role of fiction in its various forms and where that all fits into this discussion just now....my brain hurts from trying to argue my point in this post clearly. :-) But that's a topic/question I've always thought was a really interesting subject that I've wrestled with over the years.
Sure, I know it's easier just to react to things by reposting a BuzzFeed article or linking to that certain song on YouTube that says what needs to be said instead of straining to come up with descriptions that, while original, aren't as well-formed, but...that's not as compelling. Especially not if you're reposting your favorite blogger's response to whatever the Current HOT BUTTON ISSUE Of The Moment Which Will Initiate KNEE-JERK REACTIONS. (Blimey Cow reference....cough. (Look them up on YouTube...) See? That kind of proves my point.) And goodness knows, if you say your murky somewhere-in-the-middle-both-sides-have-good-points-and-are-wrong-on-others own opinion, surely somebody would be offended, right? (Gasps at the possibilities of political incorrectness if this policy was followed....) Actually, I think it kind of started with the rise of BuzzFeed from "Oh, yeah, I've heard of that site" to "Well....yeah, duh. It's BuzzFeed.", which happened rather suddenly about two years ago, more or less.
Sure, I know most of our lives aren't that exciting, and most people don't deal with tasks of earth-shaking importance on a regular basis. We're not Captain America. If anybody, we're George Bailey. But isn't just an ordinary life full of enough interesting puzzle pieces to be a good story? It works for Miss Marple and Father Tim.
We always hear about those horror stories about people who posted X(whatever inappropriate/super-stupid ill-spelled status you want to think of) and then they were fired or something even worse happened to them(what, I'm not quite sure...it's too scary and dark to consider. Like the endings of evildoers in Grimm's fairy tales). But most of that is just common sense; most of that stuff doesn't need to be shared publicly.
What I'm saying is, that fear, of indistinct though truly awful punishment for being honest, has made us as society hyper-aware and self-conscious of what we do post. Which means we over-analyze every single little thing that we put on there and then usually delete it immediately for fear it'll be taken the wrong way or something. (Especially if you're already prone to over-analyzing every little detail on a regular basis..."Raises hand")
It's really pretty sad.
Facebook and other social media is about the only method our 21st century American culture has to get to know people. In earlier generations, before air-conditioning was invented, neighbors used to talk over the fence or congregate on front porches to discuss the day's events or exchange gossip. (For example, in To Kill A Mockingbird, or The Andy Griffith Show.) I wrote some about this in an essay a couple years ago. Social media is the modern equivalent/approximation of such a system, and if we don't talk about the simple small trials, pleasures or knowledge encountered throughout the day, what's the point of such a system existing? Why are on that site, then, if you want to contribute? (For an example of the mundane yet fascinating things I mean, did you know that the cast of Recess included the kids who played Jonah Baldwin in Sleepless in Seattle, Uh-huh from The Little Rascals and the girl who grew up to play the waitress from The Avengers? That would be TJ, Gus and Gretchen.)
Societal-sized problems like this follow Darwin's natural selection; if they aren't used, they will eventually go extinct. If we continue down this road, there's all kinds of questions that pop up. How will we make the connections with other people so vital to staying in one piece as we each travel our own pathways throughout life?
This post is an expansion of a Facebook post from this morning, and it got a decent amount of agreement in the form of likes and several people commenting for reasons this phenomenon might be happening. One of the reasons stated was that once all the older people jumped on FB, then it suddenly wasn't cool enough; which sounds good on the surface. But that's really more like a nice cover story for the real reason: We're too scared of being judged for honestly providing records of our opinions and/or actions about how we feel about things. Because, the thing is - honesty is really dangerous. That's why we appreciate it so much in good writing or wherever else we may come across it, because we usually don't see it, at least not completely. Because we're in a fallen world, we mess up constantly. And as part of this nearly-ever-present sin, humans prefer darkness to light and are more comfortable with deception than truth. And so societies throughout history are built, kept alive and eventually crumble due to half-truths and partial lies and avoiding total honesty whenever possible. Besides, "only the winners write history", and it's a lot easier to make your people's empire sound good if you don't detail every instance of cruelty that your side did, and it's more convenient to make the other side look villianous if you gloss over their good points and highlight their not-so-great deeds.
America's pretty much always operated under this principle of necessary lies being used every day to keep our civilization and society intact; on a large level, the work of spies in the CIA, on the micro level, replying "I'm all right" to a passer-by asking how we're doing, when in reality things might just suck and you want to hide under a blanket that day. Mark Twain pointed this out in his essay "On the Decay of the Art of Lying". And our tall tales and folktales, the closest we have to Greek and Roman(and Norse) mythology, are based on this principle as well. Rip Van Winkle, Paul Bunyan, Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, the Emperor With No Clothes(not American, but still)....
So, when we're completely, brutally honest about something, that's pointing out the flaws of whatever is being criticized, and so pulling out some of the brickwork, weakening ever-so-slightly the structural integrity(in a construction sense, not abstract moral quality) of society. And people don't like that.
Instagram is, I would guess, by far the least-honest form of social media, as pictures can be manipulated in untold countless ways to provide that certain look you want to project. Pinterest builds castles in the air of what could be instead of showcasing what is. YouTube is kind of a gray area. On the one hand, it's video, so if it's done well, then the finished product has no relation to the true conditions/realities of creating that content. But then you have all those cover videos of folks in dorm rooms who can't sing, and that's accurately depicting what was happening when that video was shot. Facebook, there's too much worry about political correctness to usually post anything, which was the whole reason for working on this post. Twitter is probably the most truthful, but the severe limit of message size in tweets works against it somewhat.
I don't really have any good answers to these questions; they have to be chewed on individually, there's no handy one-size-fits-all solution. It's a big subject, with a lot to explore, from many different angles. Hopefully this post made you consider the subject and ponder it a moment.
I'm not even going to try to dig into the role of fiction in its various forms and where that all fits into this discussion just now....my brain hurts from trying to argue my point in this post clearly. :-) But that's a topic/question I've always thought was a really interesting subject that I've wrestled with over the years.
The Best of 2014
So I had these "Best-of" lists for 2012 and 2013; in reality highlights, lowlights and ordinary lights of different things that happened over the previous twelve months.
Favorite Movie Seen in Theaters - Unlike either of the last two years, this is actually kind of hard to choose this year. There were a lot of really good to great movies seen. Guardians of the Galaxy was hilarious. The Winter Soldier was amazing. The Amazing Spider-Man 2 wasn't so much, but it was interesting(and rather maddening at points, too.) The LEGO Movie was strange; but it was a good strange.
Unusual Movies Seen that were Surprisingly Good - The LEGO Movie, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, The Quick and the Dead.
Movies I Was Not Impressed With - Days of Thunder, The Amazing Spider-Man 2, Thor: The Dark World, Romancing the Stone, Serenity.
Favorite Nonfiction Book I Read This Year - Unbroken, by Laura Hillenbrand. Or Amusing Ourselves to Death, by Neil Postman.
Favorite Play Seen as Audience Member - Usually this would't even be a category, but there's three nominees this year. I guess the winner would probably be Fiddler on the Roof, followed by The Voice of the Prairie, followed by The Curious Savage. Fiddler is...very Jewish, but interesting. Prairie was the best concept as far as story, though the lack of props was odd. The Curious Savage had some interesting points about human nature. I knew several actors in each production, but that isn't going to be ranked.
Favorite YouTube Channel - It's gotta be Blimey Cow(Messy Mondays). But Studio C is pretty great, too. Also good are Bored Shorts TV(Kid Snippets) and Doof's Daily Dirt.
Favorite Country Song of the Year - Miranda Lambert's "Automatic". But the biggest STORY by far of the year would be Garth Brooks' return to radio.
Favorite New Non-Country Song of the Year - Could it be anything else? Taylor Swift is a really great writer. And so her lyrics have this irritating way of taking up residence inside your mental radio station all the time. Good thing about that is, she has a lot of songs. Bad news is, well, she has a lot of songs. It's one of those things where you try to just "Shake It Off".
Best Semi-Expected Happening of the Year - Getting my braces off in February.
Most Unexpected Happening of the Year - Leaving NSU and moving back home as I finished up gen eds online through TCC.
Important Verses of the Year - Joshua 1:6-9, 1 Timothy 5:1-2, 1 Corinthians 10:31-32, 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, Philippians 4:6-7, Philippians 3:12-14 and about the entire book of 2 Corinthians.
Best Amy-Quote of the Year - Looking puzzledly at me) "Where you tummick go?" (Where did your stomach go?)
Best SWAT-related Quote of the Year - Just read this whole post, I can't decide. Miss my teammates, but thankful for the time spent with them.
Best Quote of the Year - "Let's be honest: We may all be adults now, but we still treat each other like rotten little playground kids." - Jon
Favorite Movie Seen in Theaters - Unlike either of the last two years, this is actually kind of hard to choose this year. There were a lot of really good to great movies seen. Guardians of the Galaxy was hilarious. The Winter Soldier was amazing. The Amazing Spider-Man 2 wasn't so much, but it was interesting(and rather maddening at points, too.) The LEGO Movie was strange; but it was a good strange.
Unusual Movies Seen that were Surprisingly Good - The LEGO Movie, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, The Quick and the Dead.
Movies I Was Not Impressed With - Days of Thunder, The Amazing Spider-Man 2, Thor: The Dark World, Romancing the Stone, Serenity.
Favorite Nonfiction Book I Read This Year - Unbroken, by Laura Hillenbrand. Or Amusing Ourselves to Death, by Neil Postman.
Favorite Play Seen as Audience Member - Usually this would't even be a category, but there's three nominees this year. I guess the winner would probably be Fiddler on the Roof, followed by The Voice of the Prairie, followed by The Curious Savage. Fiddler is...very Jewish, but interesting. Prairie was the best concept as far as story, though the lack of props was odd. The Curious Savage had some interesting points about human nature. I knew several actors in each production, but that isn't going to be ranked.
Favorite YouTube Channel - It's gotta be Blimey Cow(Messy Mondays). But Studio C is pretty great, too. Also good are Bored Shorts TV(Kid Snippets) and Doof's Daily Dirt.
Favorite Country Song of the Year - Miranda Lambert's "Automatic". But the biggest STORY by far of the year would be Garth Brooks' return to radio.
Favorite New Non-Country Song of the Year - Could it be anything else? Taylor Swift is a really great writer. And so her lyrics have this irritating way of taking up residence inside your mental radio station all the time. Good thing about that is, she has a lot of songs. Bad news is, well, she has a lot of songs. It's one of those things where you try to just "Shake It Off".
Best Semi-Expected Happening of the Year - Getting my braces off in February.
Most Unexpected Happening of the Year - Leaving NSU and moving back home as I finished up gen eds online through TCC.
Important Verses of the Year - Joshua 1:6-9, 1 Timothy 5:1-2, 1 Corinthians 10:31-32, 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, Philippians 4:6-7, Philippians 3:12-14 and about the entire book of 2 Corinthians.
Best Amy-Quote of the Year - Looking puzzledly at me) "Where you tummick go?" (Where did your stomach go?)
Best SWAT-related Quote of the Year - Just read this whole post, I can't decide. Miss my teammates, but thankful for the time spent with them.
Best Quote of the Year - "Let's be honest: We may all be adults now, but we still treat each other like rotten little playground kids." - Jon
2014 in Review
Well, let's see.
This year I turned 21, started working out regularly, skated across parking lots, watched the Winter Olympics, got my braces off, jumped back into covering high school football, watched two of the world's most famous scientists debate the world's origins, caught the true flu, wrote an elaborate critique against the stupidity of Valentine's Day, attended a wedding, took part in a basketball tournament, petted my cat, learned Final Cut and Photoshop, strangled many pillows during Thunder watch parties, ignored the Fourth of July, watched every episode of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and Firefly, read Much Ado About Nothing for fun, ignored the Super Bowl, ran to McDonald's for late-night coffee runs, played many games of "Ticket to Ride" and ping pong, went on road trips with a sitcom-cast of drama-ministry teammates, dealt with a broken laptop keyboard, and wrote a story set in a Brazilian cave.
Followed the NASCAR season closely, changed schools twice, served again as a camp counselor, knocked a wasp out of a friend's hair, watched four movies in the theater, saw many more on Netflix or while channel-surfing, moved back home, endured an unbelievably bad start to the Thunder's 2014-15 season, often fell asleep after many long hours of staring at the ceiling, taught my siblings how to play volleyball, hiked around Tahlequah, attended Nano's funeral, sat and pondered the many complexities of life in general, played my guitar and mandolin, cried, laughed, been angry, been sad, been interviewed for a magazine article on college survival and watched three plays(Fiddler on the Roof, The Voice of the Prairie and The Curious Savage).
In January, something about the year to come just...felt different, full of changes. Some of these changes have been detailed above. In the middle of the events, I can't tell exactly how I've grown as a person, emotionally or spiritually, by the year's happenings, but I have somehow. It's been an eventful twelve months.
This year I turned 21, started working out regularly, skated across parking lots, watched the Winter Olympics, got my braces off, jumped back into covering high school football, watched two of the world's most famous scientists debate the world's origins, caught the true flu, wrote an elaborate critique against the stupidity of Valentine's Day, attended a wedding, took part in a basketball tournament, petted my cat, learned Final Cut and Photoshop, strangled many pillows during Thunder watch parties, ignored the Fourth of July, watched every episode of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and Firefly, read Much Ado About Nothing for fun, ignored the Super Bowl, ran to McDonald's for late-night coffee runs, played many games of "Ticket to Ride" and ping pong, went on road trips with a sitcom-cast of drama-ministry teammates, dealt with a broken laptop keyboard, and wrote a story set in a Brazilian cave.
Followed the NASCAR season closely, changed schools twice, served again as a camp counselor, knocked a wasp out of a friend's hair, watched four movies in the theater, saw many more on Netflix or while channel-surfing, moved back home, endured an unbelievably bad start to the Thunder's 2014-15 season, often fell asleep after many long hours of staring at the ceiling, taught my siblings how to play volleyball, hiked around Tahlequah, attended Nano's funeral, sat and pondered the many complexities of life in general, played my guitar and mandolin, cried, laughed, been angry, been sad, been interviewed for a magazine article on college survival and watched three plays(Fiddler on the Roof, The Voice of the Prairie and The Curious Savage).
In January, something about the year to come just...felt different, full of changes. Some of these changes have been detailed above. In the middle of the events, I can't tell exactly how I've grown as a person, emotionally or spiritually, by the year's happenings, but I have somehow. It's been an eventful twelve months.
Monday, December 1, 2014
An Affair to Remember
An Affair to Remember is a strange movie made in 1957 that stars Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr, full of very long scenes and a bitter outlook on people in general. And I know I said I wouldn't probably post reviews on this blog, but I started this one before creating that one, so...
Nickie Ferrante, aptly described in a Variety review of the film as a "fairly notorious playboy", has just become engaged to a wealthy oil and gravel heiress named Lois Clark, who will soon inherit the staggering fortune of $600 million. (That's roughly over $500 billion in 2014 dollars when you factor in inflation.) He is returning to the U.S. from a trip to Europe on an ocean liner, where he is hounded by curious ordinary people. He meets a lady named Terry McKay, who is engaged to a high-level New York oil businessman named Kenneth Bradley. They talk often, and most of their fellow passengers and the crew think that they're a couple. (This leads to many awkward situations.)
Terry was trying to become a singer in Boston before she met Kenneth and moved to New York to practice becoming a perfect housewife. And as for Nickie....well, as a little boy says, "Everybody on the ship's talkin' about ya!" When he asks what they're saying, the little boy answers, "I don't know. Every time they start talkin' about ya, they make me leave the room." He's irritatingly good at everything he tries, makes it really difficult to care about the character.
During a stop on the Italian coast, Nickie visits his grandmother and Terry tags along. This is by far the best sequence(though lengthy - it takes 21 of the 114 minutes) in the film, there's a garden and a collie named Fidel('faithful"). "It's so peaceful here...it's like another world." "Well, it is another world. It's my grandmother's world." "I think I could stay here forever." "Oh, no, no, no!" Grandma admonishes. "It's a good place to sit and remember, but...you have still to create your memories." His grandma mentions that he used to be a painter before quitting due to being scared of failure. Grandma - Janou - is quite meddlesome and overall a nice old lady. As proof of her meddlesomeness, Janou hints often that Nickie and Terry ought to get married. As they leave to go back to the boat, Terry admires Janou's shawl and, being the nice old lady she is, Janou says she'll send it to her.
After this visit, Nickie and Terry sort of realize that they might love each other, and even more awkwardly avoid each other over the next few days. The last night of the cruise they agree to return to their respective fiance(e)s in New York, and make plans to meet at 5 p.m. on the 102nd floor of the Empire State Building on July 1, six months away. At this point, the movie is only half over? Even considering that films moved a lot slower then, this is a dreadfully plodding movie. "What makes life so difficult?" "People."
Nickie breaks up his engagement on live TV during an interview, and soon after watching the painfully uncomfortable scene on her television Terry breaks up with Kenneth, who takes it ridiculously well. Interviewer: "I'm sure you had some wonderful experiences in Europe." "Yes." "...Would you care to elaborate on that statement?" "No." It goes downhill from there. I'm pretty sure Terry's maid is played by the woman who was Mrs. Ziffel in Green Acres.
Terry goes back to Boston and begins a semi-successful singing career again in nightclubs, and Nickie starts painting in earnest, not doing too well. This takes too long to be slammed down our throats.
On July 1, Terry gets hit by a taxi and is paralyzed from the waist down. Kenneth is disgustingly amicable about paying for Terry's hospital bills and taking care of her, and Nickie thinks she stood him up, waiting until midnight and she never shows.
A distraught Nickie mopes around for the next six months, Janou has died by this time. A Catholic priest has in pity found Terry a job as a elementary-school music teacher, and we have a jarringly cheerful (and entirely unnecessary) concert about obeying your conscience by her students. She's too prideful to let him know about her accident, and they awkwardly and unhappily run into each other one night in public. Then there's another performance by Terry's students, and by now it's Christmas.
The neighbor lady is just leaving Terry's apartment when Nickie walks in. He found an address in the phone book that might have been hers, so he followed in just to see, and, well, there he is. He lies about keeping their appointment, saying he missed it, and so he presumably came to apologize. (Cary Grant also opens this scene by saying, "Hi Debbie," HOW did that not get fixed?!) He tricks her into admitting that she never was there, they verbally dance around the subject, he walking through the living room, she staying put on the couch. (But of course, she's paralyzed; but he doesn't know that.) They get madder and madder at each other; he remembers that Janou had left a package for Terry before she died. A very perturbed Nickie suddenly remembers that some poor crippled woman had liked seeing one of his paintings in the studio, and as it was too sentimental to sell, he told his friend the manager of the studio to give it to the lady. He opens the bedroom door, and in a brilliant bit of photography, we see his face on the left of the screen and the painting's reflection in a mirror on the right. He knows, now. She starts sobbing, "If you can paint, I can walk!" He nods, wiping the tears away with his handkerchief. The End. NO, YOU CAN'T. YOU'RE PARALYZED. And he's leaving New York that night, and why should he stick with her, anyway? It's not like he has the greatest track record with that in the first place...it's a horrible ending to a film that was a complete waste of two hours. Why should the situation change? And if it did, there sure wouldn't be any happy endings. And yet this is supposed to be some kind of joyful reunion where everything ends happily ever after. IT ISN'T. It isn't even an ending, really - if they would have cut it off just after they ran into each other, that would have been an ending.
Not sure how I stayed awake through watching it once; but then I started writing this review, and left it barely-started for two months and needed to finish it. Really not very impressed and completely mystified why people love it so much.
Nickie Ferrante, aptly described in a Variety review of the film as a "fairly notorious playboy", has just become engaged to a wealthy oil and gravel heiress named Lois Clark, who will soon inherit the staggering fortune of $600 million. (That's roughly over $500 billion in 2014 dollars when you factor in inflation.) He is returning to the U.S. from a trip to Europe on an ocean liner, where he is hounded by curious ordinary people. He meets a lady named Terry McKay, who is engaged to a high-level New York oil businessman named Kenneth Bradley. They talk often, and most of their fellow passengers and the crew think that they're a couple. (This leads to many awkward situations.)
Terry was trying to become a singer in Boston before she met Kenneth and moved to New York to practice becoming a perfect housewife. And as for Nickie....well, as a little boy says, "Everybody on the ship's talkin' about ya!" When he asks what they're saying, the little boy answers, "I don't know. Every time they start talkin' about ya, they make me leave the room." He's irritatingly good at everything he tries, makes it really difficult to care about the character.
During a stop on the Italian coast, Nickie visits his grandmother and Terry tags along. This is by far the best sequence(though lengthy - it takes 21 of the 114 minutes) in the film, there's a garden and a collie named Fidel('faithful"). "It's so peaceful here...it's like another world." "Well, it is another world. It's my grandmother's world." "I think I could stay here forever." "Oh, no, no, no!" Grandma admonishes. "It's a good place to sit and remember, but...you have still to create your memories." His grandma mentions that he used to be a painter before quitting due to being scared of failure. Grandma - Janou - is quite meddlesome and overall a nice old lady. As proof of her meddlesomeness, Janou hints often that Nickie and Terry ought to get married. As they leave to go back to the boat, Terry admires Janou's shawl and, being the nice old lady she is, Janou says she'll send it to her.
After this visit, Nickie and Terry sort of realize that they might love each other, and even more awkwardly avoid each other over the next few days. The last night of the cruise they agree to return to their respective fiance(e)s in New York, and make plans to meet at 5 p.m. on the 102nd floor of the Empire State Building on July 1, six months away. At this point, the movie is only half over? Even considering that films moved a lot slower then, this is a dreadfully plodding movie. "What makes life so difficult?" "People."
Nickie breaks up his engagement on live TV during an interview, and soon after watching the painfully uncomfortable scene on her television Terry breaks up with Kenneth, who takes it ridiculously well. Interviewer: "I'm sure you had some wonderful experiences in Europe." "Yes." "...Would you care to elaborate on that statement?" "No." It goes downhill from there. I'm pretty sure Terry's maid is played by the woman who was Mrs. Ziffel in Green Acres.
Terry goes back to Boston and begins a semi-successful singing career again in nightclubs, and Nickie starts painting in earnest, not doing too well. This takes too long to be slammed down our throats.
On July 1, Terry gets hit by a taxi and is paralyzed from the waist down. Kenneth is disgustingly amicable about paying for Terry's hospital bills and taking care of her, and Nickie thinks she stood him up, waiting until midnight and she never shows.
A distraught Nickie mopes around for the next six months, Janou has died by this time. A Catholic priest has in pity found Terry a job as a elementary-school music teacher, and we have a jarringly cheerful (and entirely unnecessary) concert about obeying your conscience by her students. She's too prideful to let him know about her accident, and they awkwardly and unhappily run into each other one night in public. Then there's another performance by Terry's students, and by now it's Christmas.
The neighbor lady is just leaving Terry's apartment when Nickie walks in. He found an address in the phone book that might have been hers, so he followed in just to see, and, well, there he is. He lies about keeping their appointment, saying he missed it, and so he presumably came to apologize. (Cary Grant also opens this scene by saying, "Hi Debbie," HOW did that not get fixed?!) He tricks her into admitting that she never was there, they verbally dance around the subject, he walking through the living room, she staying put on the couch. (But of course, she's paralyzed; but he doesn't know that.) They get madder and madder at each other; he remembers that Janou had left a package for Terry before she died. A very perturbed Nickie suddenly remembers that some poor crippled woman had liked seeing one of his paintings in the studio, and as it was too sentimental to sell, he told his friend the manager of the studio to give it to the lady. He opens the bedroom door, and in a brilliant bit of photography, we see his face on the left of the screen and the painting's reflection in a mirror on the right. He knows, now. She starts sobbing, "If you can paint, I can walk!" He nods, wiping the tears away with his handkerchief. The End. NO, YOU CAN'T. YOU'RE PARALYZED. And he's leaving New York that night, and why should he stick with her, anyway? It's not like he has the greatest track record with that in the first place...it's a horrible ending to a film that was a complete waste of two hours. Why should the situation change? And if it did, there sure wouldn't be any happy endings. And yet this is supposed to be some kind of joyful reunion where everything ends happily ever after. IT ISN'T. It isn't even an ending, really - if they would have cut it off just after they ran into each other, that would have been an ending.
Not sure how I stayed awake through watching it once; but then I started writing this review, and left it barely-started for two months and needed to finish it. Really not very impressed and completely mystified why people love it so much.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)