Michael Sheen, what were you thinking? You are an excellent actor. You were going to be set playing any and every English person of note that you even vaguely look like. You were even in all three Underworld movies and still managed to hang on to your good will.
But frankly, sir, your career deserves what it gets.
And I see you in the back, there, Grindelwald. You're young, and you're pretty, but don't think you have an excuse.
PS ... lol.
Showing posts with label art and craft. Show all posts
Showing posts with label art and craft. Show all posts
Thursday
Wednesday
Congratulations, Chamber of Secrets!
You are no longer the most boring Harry Potter movie!
[Begin Spoiler for HBP Review, in which I say "UGH" a lot. ... Metaphorically. — Highlight to view]
If you haven't seen it yet, maybe you shouldn't read this. I mean, I don't know. I don't want to ruin things for you. I've seen a lot of very positive reviews, and much internet chatter saying that this was "ZOMG Best One Ever!!!" and, frankly, you may agree. I don't want to take the possibility that you may agree away from you. But me, I'm profoundly disappointed right now.
The profundity of my disappointment is due, in main, to the fact that this is the first time it's happened. This is the first time I've sat in a theater, watched a Potter film, and as the credits began to roll thought: "I didn't like it. It wasn't good. I am disappointed." And in fact, it started before that. At some point I started to fretfully realize that the film wasn't going well. I had the horrible suspicion that it wasn't good, and I wasn't going to walk away liking it. I tried to shove that feeling down, but it would not be denied.
And just so we're clear - I'm not talking about things cut or things changed. I do not care. Frankly, I think they could have cut more than they did. If I've said it once, I've said it (and you've read it) a thousand times: I am not a book adaptation purist. In fact, and this may be the linguist in me, I sort of love seeing the changes and the omissions - the translation of the story from book to screen. Book and screen are two languages I'm fluent in, so this is a thrill I can't as yet receive from actual languages. As a stand-alone entity, the movie is mediocre. As a translated retelling of the book, it's mediocre.
That's the thing - it's not flat out bad. And, of course, being Potter, there were parts of it that I liked and enjoyed seeing brought to life, and I'll probably talk about those further on if this doesn't get tediously long before then. But the whole of it did not hang. Altogether, it was dull and lackluster and boring. Even the explosions felt muted and clinical; how the fuck do you make SHIT BLOWS UP into something boring? I'm not sure, but this film managed it.
The problem is, I suspect, two-fold: lazy screenwriting and ineffective directing. Let's start with the first. HBP is rather plot-lite. I mean, in terms of the overall fight of good vs. evil. The book makes up for with a lot of (sometimes awkward) color. I think this is why I can't decide where HBP falls in my book rankings. I love it, but it's ultimately filler. The script takes two plotlines: the learn-about-Voldemort plot and the teen-romance plot, and half-asses both of them. The memory scenes felt like filler, but then so did all the other scenes. Which one is the A-plot?
Then, there's the criminal misuse of Alan Rickman. At the end, where he reveals himself to be the Half-Blood Prince, my eyes rolled of their own accord, and I had to suppress a WHO CARES. Because, honestly, who gives a shit at that point? The whole thing is a side-note, there's no suspense regarding the Prince's identity, and it adds nothing to the story. If it weren't the title of the goddamn movie (which should have been a hint), they would have been better off cutting it entirely. Finally, it was a stupid coda to a scene that was already robbed of most of its emotional resonance.
I'm going to slip in here that the best performance of the film was given by Tom Felton, hands down. I don't think that he, personally, could have done anything more to make his part awesome. But his part, too, was ineptly pared down. From what I can tell onscreen, things seem to be going pretty well and then after a small setback suddenly Draco's sobbing in a bathroom. It makes his emotional turmoil at the end feel shallow and not fully convincing. If not for the aforementioned skill of Mr. Felton, I probably wouldn't have cared at all.
And here's the thing: WHO CARES? Well, I do. Or did, anyway. I cared walking into the theater. I've been caring for over a year waiting for this movie to come out. Hell, I've been caring for half my life at this point. If they couldn't keep my sympathies, they did something wrong.
Now I'm going to talk about directing. And I'm going to talk about directing with the authority that I've actually directed stuff, and because this is my blog and you love me you'll refrain from pointing out that I've never directed anything on film and therefore sound like a jerk. Good deal? Alright. So, I've decided that I don't think David Yates is a good director. This makes me sad because I would really like it to be otherwise. And ... I don't know. I'm not saying he's Chris Columbus by any means. He's not bad like that. But I feel he may be out of his league trying to direct something on this large a scale. I was hoping that all he needed was a chance to find his footing, but this film took all the things that didn't work in Order of the Phoenix and magnified them, which means all that's happening is he's just getting more confident with his mistakes.
If you watch any interviews with David Yates, you'll find that he's very unassuming and soft-spoken. I feel like he projects that personality onto his work. There were literally times when I was struggling to hear the dialogue. And his big thing seems to be reining the actors in - pushing for more subtlety. And I'm all for that! I enjoy subtlety in acting! But when subdued acting is your raw material, you need to do more to bring the audience into it. The transitions here are dead. The pacing is terrible. The beats are stilted and awkward. Like with OOTP, I found that I liked scenes individually, but it was a pain and a half getting "into" them. And GOOD GOD save me from David Yates and his wide shots. I'm serious. I get what he's going for, I think. Putting the audience at a distance from the characters makes the characters seem more intimate with each other. But it doesn't make the audience intimate with the characters. Sometimes we need to get right up in their business to remember why we like them. And always, techniques in moderation, please.
Also, for all the "humor" supposedly in this film - no one laughed. Like, ever. At one point I remember finding something funny and wanting to laugh, but feeling stifled by the fact that no one else was laughing. Frankly, Daniel Radcliffe does comedy really well. Harry on Felix Felicis was hilarious. And yet, awkward. Again, the beats. Jokes were over and gone before people realized they'd been made. David Yates may know how to get good performances out of actors, and I'll admit I think he does, but he has no idea how to craft a scene.
The cinematography, on the other hand, was gorgeous. This is probably one of the prettiest films I've seen in some time. But it wasn't put to good use either. It was like a mirror: shiny, cold, flat, and with no life other than what you project onto it.
Also, just throwing this out there: the score didn't match up with the action. I don't know whose fault that was.
I will have to admit, though, that the Inferi scene was bad-ass. I jumped, even though I saw it coming. I was nearly on the edge of my seat, but at that point, I was already suffering from numb disappointment, so it was hard to really live in the moment.
Dumbledore's death scene was well done, but felt somewhat inorganic and emotionally manipulative after the flatness of everything that preceded it. Oh, hands raised in solidarity! Lights in the sky! Haunting music! Again: WHO CARES.
And what in the Christing Christ was that line about Harry having never noticed how beautiful Hogwarts was? Aside from perhaps the Burrow, Hogwarts is the only beautiful place Harry has ever seen. FAIL, Kloves.
[End Spoiler]
I guess I'm done for now. I feel rather incredibly down. So, I'm going to go make what may be the best cookies known to man. If you read all this, and especially if you reply, please let me know if you would like me to send you one.
[Begin Spoiler for HBP Review, in which I say "UGH" a lot. ... Metaphorically. — Highlight to view]
If you haven't seen it yet, maybe you shouldn't read this. I mean, I don't know. I don't want to ruin things for you. I've seen a lot of very positive reviews, and much internet chatter saying that this was "ZOMG Best One Ever!!!" and, frankly, you may agree. I don't want to take the possibility that you may agree away from you. But me, I'm profoundly disappointed right now.
The profundity of my disappointment is due, in main, to the fact that this is the first time it's happened. This is the first time I've sat in a theater, watched a Potter film, and as the credits began to roll thought: "I didn't like it. It wasn't good. I am disappointed." And in fact, it started before that. At some point I started to fretfully realize that the film wasn't going well. I had the horrible suspicion that it wasn't good, and I wasn't going to walk away liking it. I tried to shove that feeling down, but it would not be denied.
And just so we're clear - I'm not talking about things cut or things changed. I do not care. Frankly, I think they could have cut more than they did. If I've said it once, I've said it (and you've read it) a thousand times: I am not a book adaptation purist. In fact, and this may be the linguist in me, I sort of love seeing the changes and the omissions - the translation of the story from book to screen. Book and screen are two languages I'm fluent in, so this is a thrill I can't as yet receive from actual languages. As a stand-alone entity, the movie is mediocre. As a translated retelling of the book, it's mediocre.
That's the thing - it's not flat out bad. And, of course, being Potter, there were parts of it that I liked and enjoyed seeing brought to life, and I'll probably talk about those further on if this doesn't get tediously long before then. But the whole of it did not hang. Altogether, it was dull and lackluster and boring. Even the explosions felt muted and clinical; how the fuck do you make SHIT BLOWS UP into something boring? I'm not sure, but this film managed it.
The problem is, I suspect, two-fold: lazy screenwriting and ineffective directing. Let's start with the first. HBP is rather plot-lite. I mean, in terms of the overall fight of good vs. evil. The book makes up for with a lot of (sometimes awkward) color. I think this is why I can't decide where HBP falls in my book rankings. I love it, but it's ultimately filler. The script takes two plotlines: the learn-about-Voldemort plot and the teen-romance plot, and half-asses both of them. The memory scenes felt like filler, but then so did all the other scenes. Which one is the A-plot?
Then, there's the criminal misuse of Alan Rickman. At the end, where he reveals himself to be the Half-Blood Prince, my eyes rolled of their own accord, and I had to suppress a WHO CARES. Because, honestly, who gives a shit at that point? The whole thing is a side-note, there's no suspense regarding the Prince's identity, and it adds nothing to the story. If it weren't the title of the goddamn movie (which should have been a hint), they would have been better off cutting it entirely. Finally, it was a stupid coda to a scene that was already robbed of most of its emotional resonance.
I'm going to slip in here that the best performance of the film was given by Tom Felton, hands down. I don't think that he, personally, could have done anything more to make his part awesome. But his part, too, was ineptly pared down. From what I can tell onscreen, things seem to be going pretty well and then after a small setback suddenly Draco's sobbing in a bathroom. It makes his emotional turmoil at the end feel shallow and not fully convincing. If not for the aforementioned skill of Mr. Felton, I probably wouldn't have cared at all.
And here's the thing: WHO CARES? Well, I do. Or did, anyway. I cared walking into the theater. I've been caring for over a year waiting for this movie to come out. Hell, I've been caring for half my life at this point. If they couldn't keep my sympathies, they did something wrong.
Now I'm going to talk about directing. And I'm going to talk about directing with the authority that I've actually directed stuff, and because this is my blog and you love me you'll refrain from pointing out that I've never directed anything on film and therefore sound like a jerk. Good deal? Alright. So, I've decided that I don't think David Yates is a good director. This makes me sad because I would really like it to be otherwise. And ... I don't know. I'm not saying he's Chris Columbus by any means. He's not bad like that. But I feel he may be out of his league trying to direct something on this large a scale. I was hoping that all he needed was a chance to find his footing, but this film took all the things that didn't work in Order of the Phoenix and magnified them, which means all that's happening is he's just getting more confident with his mistakes.
If you watch any interviews with David Yates, you'll find that he's very unassuming and soft-spoken. I feel like he projects that personality onto his work. There were literally times when I was struggling to hear the dialogue. And his big thing seems to be reining the actors in - pushing for more subtlety. And I'm all for that! I enjoy subtlety in acting! But when subdued acting is your raw material, you need to do more to bring the audience into it. The transitions here are dead. The pacing is terrible. The beats are stilted and awkward. Like with OOTP, I found that I liked scenes individually, but it was a pain and a half getting "into" them. And GOOD GOD save me from David Yates and his wide shots. I'm serious. I get what he's going for, I think. Putting the audience at a distance from the characters makes the characters seem more intimate with each other. But it doesn't make the audience intimate with the characters. Sometimes we need to get right up in their business to remember why we like them. And always, techniques in moderation, please.
Also, for all the "humor" supposedly in this film - no one laughed. Like, ever. At one point I remember finding something funny and wanting to laugh, but feeling stifled by the fact that no one else was laughing. Frankly, Daniel Radcliffe does comedy really well. Harry on Felix Felicis was hilarious. And yet, awkward. Again, the beats. Jokes were over and gone before people realized they'd been made. David Yates may know how to get good performances out of actors, and I'll admit I think he does, but he has no idea how to craft a scene.
The cinematography, on the other hand, was gorgeous. This is probably one of the prettiest films I've seen in some time. But it wasn't put to good use either. It was like a mirror: shiny, cold, flat, and with no life other than what you project onto it.
Also, just throwing this out there: the score didn't match up with the action. I don't know whose fault that was.
I will have to admit, though, that the Inferi scene was bad-ass. I jumped, even though I saw it coming. I was nearly on the edge of my seat, but at that point, I was already suffering from numb disappointment, so it was hard to really live in the moment.
Dumbledore's death scene was well done, but felt somewhat inorganic and emotionally manipulative after the flatness of everything that preceded it. Oh, hands raised in solidarity! Lights in the sky! Haunting music! Again: WHO CARES.
And what in the Christing Christ was that line about Harry having never noticed how beautiful Hogwarts was? Aside from perhaps the Burrow, Hogwarts is the only beautiful place Harry has ever seen. FAIL, Kloves.
[End Spoiler]
I guess I'm done for now. I feel rather incredibly down. So, I'm going to go make what may be the best cookies known to man. If you read all this, and especially if you reply, please let me know if you would like me to send you one.
Saturday
Storyteller.
I have been extra thinky lately, and I feel a desire to write. Of course, my usual problems with writing still apply, mainly a crippling fear of plot.
So here's what I propose: I'll write a story for you! Yes! You. All you have to do is tell me what story you would like me to tell to you. Then, in the reasonably near future, I will write that story. And ... blog it, I guess.
Open-ended, time-wise. First come, first served. Be as specific as you dare, for I have short-term imagination loss.
So here's what I propose: I'll write a story for you! Yes! You. All you have to do is tell me what story you would like me to tell to you. Then, in the reasonably near future, I will write that story. And ... blog it, I guess.
Open-ended, time-wise. First come, first served. Be as specific as you dare, for I have short-term imagination loss.
Sunday
I saw Daniel Radcliffe naked.
If you were interested.
I mean, he was in a play.
I was going to say "I saw Harry Potter naked" but I didn't because I respect him as an actor.
I mean, he was in a play.
I was going to say "I saw Harry Potter naked" but I didn't because I respect him as an actor.
I joined Ravelry.
You might have noticed this if I added you as a friend. I just went ahead and assumed we were friends! Also if I didn't add you it's because I couldn't find you through search. It doesn't mean I don't also assume that I am your friend.
Furthermore upon this matter, I need to make something for my sister for her birthday. My first impulse is to make her socks, because I love the fuck out of socks, and the making of them and because my sister doesn't have any nice socks. Unfortunately, though, there's a reason for this: my sister is disrespectful of anything that goes on her feet. Sigh.
So I'm thinking gloves. Or hat. Or matching gloves and hat. Oh my God, that would be adorable! But Jesus, I'm not a Rockefeller. Anyway. Ideas?
Furthermore upon this matter, I need to make something for my sister for her birthday. My first impulse is to make her socks, because I love the fuck out of socks, and the making of them and because my sister doesn't have any nice socks. Unfortunately, though, there's a reason for this: my sister is disrespectful of anything that goes on her feet. Sigh.
So I'm thinking gloves. Or hat. Or matching gloves and hat. Oh my God, that would be adorable! But Jesus, I'm not a Rockefeller. Anyway. Ideas?
Wednesday
Maybe it is me.
Last week, between Doctor Who and this community I joined that I don't want to tell you about, I don't think I moved from the computer for maybe 72 hours. In lieu of trying to remember what meals I missed, let me just say: all of them.
But now? I just had a "the internet is so boring" moment.
My recent experience taught me that I don't necessarily want to revive the days when all I would do was sit in front of a high-volume community for hours on end. Even if it is consistently entertaining. For one thing, I have other shit to do. (Which, not that I didn't in high school, but ... eh ... not really ... eh ... I don't really now either ... eh.) Also I'm old now and I get thrown into crises about how my life is slipping away and is essentially over every other day. (Yeah, I know. I don't want to hear it. When was the last time you tried to break into an industry obsessed with youth and beauty?)
AND TODAY I'M ALREADY BORED WITH THE INTERNET.
I'm so bored I just blogged, basically. So, I'm going to go do some needlepoint and watch the Colbert Report and mull over all the responsibilities I'm shirking.
What is wrong with me?
But now? I just had a "the internet is so boring" moment.
My recent experience taught me that I don't necessarily want to revive the days when all I would do was sit in front of a high-volume community for hours on end. Even if it is consistently entertaining. For one thing, I have other shit to do. (Which, not that I didn't in high school, but ... eh ... not really ... eh ... I don't really now either ... eh.) Also I'm old now and I get thrown into crises about how my life is slipping away and is essentially over every other day. (Yeah, I know. I don't want to hear it. When was the last time you tried to break into an industry obsessed with youth and beauty?)
AND TODAY I'M ALREADY BORED WITH THE INTERNET.
I'm so bored I just blogged, basically. So, I'm going to go do some needlepoint and watch the Colbert Report and mull over all the responsibilities I'm shirking.
What is wrong with me?
Tuesday
At least it was technically free.
This is one of at least three blog posts that I plan on writing today. Right now. With only breaks to get more apple juice and maybe dinner, depending on how late this goes.
Okay, so, what this post is about is, see, I recently picked up and read Twilight, the first in the eponymous book series by author Stephenie Meyer. I would like to talk about that.
Fair warning, if you have any interest in reading this series, you probably shouldn't read any more, because I really don't know if I can be bothered to use spoiler tags. Maybe, though! We'll see.
Twilight has recently been heavily pimped by the Harry Potter podcasts I listen to. Prior to that, I don't think I'd heard of it. The Potter geeks are interested because a movie version is in the process of being made, and the male lead is to be played by Robert "at least three 't's HOTTT" Pattinson, better known to most of us as the late, lamented, Cedric Diggory. After some cursory research, I found that the film will also include a few more people whom I register on the neutral/positive spectrum: Kristen Stewart, whom I greatly enjoyed in Panic Room, wherein she played a character who was essentially Lauren (though I've so far not managed to see her in anything else), and Michael Welch, who was wonderful as Amber Tamblyn's brother on "Joan Of Arcadia."
Variety of title style is getting a workout in this entry.
So, anyway, after they'd mentioned this a few times, I decided to try it out. I was promised sexy times, action adventure, and vampires. Seriously, odds are it was up my alley.
I went to the library to try to snag it there, but for the third time in a row, the book was listed as being in the library, but it was not on the shelf. So, either my public library has a large problem with theft, or they can't catalogue for shit. I wound up picking it up at the Barnes & Noble because I found a gift card I had for $30. I also finally picked up the last Ted Leo album.
The book is about 500 pages, and I finished it in less than 24 hours, gross time, even with doing other actual activities. This book bothered me greatly. Why, you may ask? It is a resplendent example of why I'm scared to write a novel: because I worry that this is the sort of story I would produce. Now, don't misunderstand. I'm not saying I didn't like it. I did, after all, just pay it the high compliment of saying that I could see myself writing it.[/hubris] I'm saying that it wasn't any good.
I checked out the author's website, and I read some of her background on her writing. (This is her first novel.) Among the things that quirked my lip corners: She got the idea for this story from a dream. Also, she obsesses mainly over the details of the characters. And she looks a lot like Charisma Carpenter. That last point is just for color.
She takes an awful amount of pages to say not very much. There's no plot to speak of, except towards the end where the characters passively happen to fall into a weak and contrived scenario. There's no active decision making that I can remember at all. The writing is painfully repetitive. The human girl's vampire boyfriend is very pretty. The author mentions this in every sentence in which he is described. Which happens 5-10 times for every scene that he's in. ... Which is pretty much every scene. Also, the human girlfriend is clumsy. Vampires are pale. She loves her vampire boyfriend. Her breath catches. Her heart beats erratically. Et cetera. Also, the vampire boyfriend has some sort of issue where he'll go from laughing to scowling and angry to smiling every other sentence. In a few years, if you're ever flipping through the premium channels and you catch Mr. Pattinson and he's doing this - he's not insane. He's in character.
The secondary vampire characters are all fairly ridiculous and not worth mentioning. They attend high school for Chrissakes. Listen, if you were a hundred years old, would you go back to high school? On purpose? Even if people left you alone and you aced all your tests and occasionally got a human girlfriend? No. You would not. There are a variety of subplots that wind up never having anything to do with anything. And of course there's the usual dilemma. You know, the vampire boyfriend totally loves the human girlfriend and they want to be with each other forever, but of course he doesn't want to make her a vampire. Except, see, in the mythology created by this book, and in the context of this story, this makes no effing sense. Seriously. As written, every single objection is discounted or can be worked around. So the dilemma comes across as preposterously artificial, and I was instantly tired with the whole thing as soon as we got there. Because I've read this before. Innumerable times. And it's been done. Better.
Of course, they don't really address the question of whether or not vampires have souls. I'm going to have to come down on the side of "no" though, because of one exchange. The vampire boyfriend claims that he likes music from the 50s and the 80s, but not the 60s or the 70s. And I can't. freaking. understand that! He must be evil, because that's a completely soulless thing to say. Furthermore, it doesn't make any sense. Most of the music in the 80s was a direct derivative of the music they were playing in the 70s, except for the teeny pop, which was based on the music of the early 60s. THAT SHIT MAKES NO SENSE. Get me a flow chart. What is he saying? That he would rather hear Tiffany than the Jackson 5? He would rather listen to Billy Joel than Bob Dylan? Poison is better than the Zep? Is he seriously saying that he prefers WHAM! to the Beatles? Human girlfriend: dump his stupid evil ass.
Of course, the author listed some of her musical preferences on her website, and she's got shit taste, too, so this perhaps explains it.
So, wait, what was my point? Oh yes. I worry that I would write something like this. I mean, obviously, my taste in music is better, and I would like to believe that my writing skills are better, but about the meandering plotless vacuum with excessive focus on character thing. About vampires or something like that. What's baffling, though, is that this series seems to have a large cult following. It's mostly teenage girls OMGing about romance and hot boys, but still. It was a NY Times bestseller. It's gotten all sorts of good reviews from various sources. Is it me? Are people just not that discriminating anymore? And ... I don't know, could that conceivably work to my advantage?
I'm not as keyed up about it as the entry probably sounds, though I have all these issues. Again, I didn't dislike it. I'm a sucker for vamp angst. It's like chicken. Even if it's not the greatest, I'll probably eat it. It's one of the few things I enjoy. But I definitely won't be getting the follow-up books. Especially as I'm given to understand that a werewolf storyline gets introduced, and man, I just don't have the time. The book collectively took less than 6 hours of my life, but I just do not have the time for that.
Okay, so, what this post is about is, see, I recently picked up and read Twilight, the first in the eponymous book series by author Stephenie Meyer. I would like to talk about that.
Fair warning, if you have any interest in reading this series, you probably shouldn't read any more, because I really don't know if I can be bothered to use spoiler tags. Maybe, though! We'll see.
Twilight has recently been heavily pimped by the Harry Potter podcasts I listen to. Prior to that, I don't think I'd heard of it. The Potter geeks are interested because a movie version is in the process of being made, and the male lead is to be played by Robert "at least three 't's HOTTT" Pattinson, better known to most of us as the late, lamented, Cedric Diggory. After some cursory research, I found that the film will also include a few more people whom I register on the neutral/positive spectrum: Kristen Stewart, whom I greatly enjoyed in Panic Room, wherein she played a character who was essentially Lauren (though I've so far not managed to see her in anything else), and Michael Welch, who was wonderful as Amber Tamblyn's brother on "Joan Of Arcadia."
Variety of title style is getting a workout in this entry.
So, anyway, after they'd mentioned this a few times, I decided to try it out. I was promised sexy times, action adventure, and vampires. Seriously, odds are it was up my alley.
I went to the library to try to snag it there, but for the third time in a row, the book was listed as being in the library, but it was not on the shelf. So, either my public library has a large problem with theft, or they can't catalogue for shit. I wound up picking it up at the Barnes & Noble because I found a gift card I had for $30. I also finally picked up the last Ted Leo album.
The book is about 500 pages, and I finished it in less than 24 hours, gross time, even with doing other actual activities. This book bothered me greatly. Why, you may ask? It is a resplendent example of why I'm scared to write a novel: because I worry that this is the sort of story I would produce. Now, don't misunderstand. I'm not saying I didn't like it. I did, after all, just pay it the high compliment of saying that I could see myself writing it.[/hubris] I'm saying that it wasn't any good.
I checked out the author's website, and I read some of her background on her writing. (This is her first novel.) Among the things that quirked my lip corners: She got the idea for this story from a dream. Also, she obsesses mainly over the details of the characters. And she looks a lot like Charisma Carpenter. That last point is just for color.
She takes an awful amount of pages to say not very much. There's no plot to speak of, except towards the end where the characters passively happen to fall into a weak and contrived scenario. There's no active decision making that I can remember at all. The writing is painfully repetitive. The human girl's vampire boyfriend is very pretty. The author mentions this in every sentence in which he is described. Which happens 5-10 times for every scene that he's in. ... Which is pretty much every scene. Also, the human girlfriend is clumsy. Vampires are pale. She loves her vampire boyfriend. Her breath catches. Her heart beats erratically. Et cetera. Also, the vampire boyfriend has some sort of issue where he'll go from laughing to scowling and angry to smiling every other sentence. In a few years, if you're ever flipping through the premium channels and you catch Mr. Pattinson and he's doing this - he's not insane. He's in character.
The secondary vampire characters are all fairly ridiculous and not worth mentioning. They attend high school for Chrissakes. Listen, if you were a hundred years old, would you go back to high school? On purpose? Even if people left you alone and you aced all your tests and occasionally got a human girlfriend? No. You would not. There are a variety of subplots that wind up never having anything to do with anything. And of course there's the usual dilemma. You know, the vampire boyfriend totally loves the human girlfriend and they want to be with each other forever, but of course he doesn't want to make her a vampire. Except, see, in the mythology created by this book, and in the context of this story, this makes no effing sense. Seriously. As written, every single objection is discounted or can be worked around. So the dilemma comes across as preposterously artificial, and I was instantly tired with the whole thing as soon as we got there. Because I've read this before. Innumerable times. And it's been done. Better.
Of course, they don't really address the question of whether or not vampires have souls. I'm going to have to come down on the side of "no" though, because of one exchange. The vampire boyfriend claims that he likes music from the 50s and the 80s, but not the 60s or the 70s. And I can't. freaking. understand that! He must be evil, because that's a completely soulless thing to say. Furthermore, it doesn't make any sense. Most of the music in the 80s was a direct derivative of the music they were playing in the 70s, except for the teeny pop, which was based on the music of the early 60s. THAT SHIT MAKES NO SENSE. Get me a flow chart. What is he saying? That he would rather hear Tiffany than the Jackson 5? He would rather listen to Billy Joel than Bob Dylan? Poison is better than the Zep? Is he seriously saying that he prefers WHAM! to the Beatles? Human girlfriend: dump his stupid evil ass.
Of course, the author listed some of her musical preferences on her website, and she's got shit taste, too, so this perhaps explains it.
So, wait, what was my point? Oh yes. I worry that I would write something like this. I mean, obviously, my taste in music is better, and I would like to believe that my writing skills are better, but about the meandering plotless vacuum with excessive focus on character thing. About vampires or something like that. What's baffling, though, is that this series seems to have a large cult following. It's mostly teenage girls OMGing about romance and hot boys, but still. It was a NY Times bestseller. It's gotten all sorts of good reviews from various sources. Is it me? Are people just not that discriminating anymore? And ... I don't know, could that conceivably work to my advantage?
I'm not as keyed up about it as the entry probably sounds, though I have all these issues. Again, I didn't dislike it. I'm a sucker for vamp angst. It's like chicken. Even if it's not the greatest, I'll probably eat it. It's one of the few things I enjoy. But I definitely won't be getting the follow-up books. Especially as I'm given to understand that a werewolf storyline gets introduced, and man, I just don't have the time. The book collectively took less than 6 hours of my life, but I just do not have the time for that.
Thursday
I'm pretending to be a writer today.
I had a little burst of inspiration last night that got me thinking about some of the stories that I would, in theory, like to write some day. I pulled out Robert McKee's Story and everything and am now reading the first chapter.
I'd like to write one of the stories in a particular way. I feel no fear in talking about this because I have zero plot, and therefore nothing to steal. I'd like to write a story wherein the main character is not the protagonist. What I mean is, I'd like to have the bulk of the events happen to, and for most of the action to come from, a character who is not the focus of the story. Not in a Nick Carraway kind of capacity, necessarily, but more that the main character doesn't really understand or get involved with the events of the story at all.
Can I do that? Has that been done before? I mean, I assume that it has, but I'm wondering if there are examples that could be brought to my attention.
I'd like to write one of the stories in a particular way. I feel no fear in talking about this because I have zero plot, and therefore nothing to steal. I'd like to write a story wherein the main character is not the protagonist. What I mean is, I'd like to have the bulk of the events happen to, and for most of the action to come from, a character who is not the focus of the story. Not in a Nick Carraway kind of capacity, necessarily, but more that the main character doesn't really understand or get involved with the events of the story at all.
Can I do that? Has that been done before? I mean, I assume that it has, but I'm wondering if there are examples that could be brought to my attention.
Monday
In which I look totally fucking emo.
Backstory: This coming Saturday there's an audition in town that I was considering going to. Even though I would have to get there late, because my Business Venture ties me up for a good chunk of my Saturdays. I can't let that stop me! Plus, I think I would be well-suited to that one role. No, not the sax player. I am not in the slightest bit emo, but I have range. Although, ironically, and for the first time ever, I may be too tall.
Of course, if you read all the small print, winning the audition would include not simply playing an emo character, but ... becoming part of an actual emo band. And while I would love to play a character and/or be in a band, there are certain lines that cannot be crossed. Which lead me to my decision of "no."
But!! Not until I had already tarted myself up emo-style to prove to myself I could. And took pictures. For the record, this is generally what my awesome new hair looks like. It looks even better when I'm not wearing all black and lipstick for eyeliner.
Emo!
Emo!!
Emo!!!
I feel the strange urge to get a MySpace.
Of course, if you read all the small print, winning the audition would include not simply playing an emo character, but ... becoming part of an actual emo band. And while I would love to play a character and/or be in a band, there are certain lines that cannot be crossed. Which lead me to my decision of "no."
But!! Not until I had already tarted myself up emo-style to prove to myself I could. And took pictures. For the record, this is generally what my awesome new hair looks like. It looks even better when I'm not wearing all black and lipstick for eyeliner.
Emo!
Emo!!
Emo!!!
I feel the strange urge to get a MySpace.
Labels:
art and craft,
aural fixation,
cagey answers,
picture book,
sick,
solipsism,
the bees knees
Tuesday
But never mind all that now!
Oh, it's my blog! So, um, I did a whole bunch of stuff last month. No time to dwell on it! Also, I had a devil of a time coming up with something to blog about that didn't take too long and make me get tired and bored and stop. So instead, let me tell you about
Fan Videos I've Never Made, Part 2.
Buffy The Vampire Slayer - The Warrior, by Scandal (or Skandal. Kirk: I'm still not sure.)
First, let me tell you that I cannot believe I forgot to mention this one last time. This is the song that first brought the idea of actually making fan videos to my mind. One, because it's for Buffy, the fandom that introduced me to fanvids. Two, guys, seriously, you have no idea. Aside from being totally perfect for Buffy in every way, the song also name-drops or overtly references at least 5 different episode titles.
Well isn't love primitive?
A wild gift that you wanna give
Break out of captivity
And follow me you stereo jungle child
Love is the kill
Your heart's still wild
Harry Potter - My Body Is A Cage, Arcade Fire
I recently got a chance to listen to Neon Bible by Arcade Fire. It was okay, but not great. The songs tended to mumble and run together, and while I almost liked several of them, it was, as I quipped to the boy, like trying to decide which was your favorite shade of blue. My favorite shade turned out to be the song above. The sound is dark, moody, and epic, and yet it's somehow also adolescent and kinda gay. Hence, Harry Potter. It would probably work better after the next two films come out, and there's more material to work with.
I'm living in an age
Whose name I don't know
Though the fear keeps me moving
Still my heart beats so slow
Lord of the Rings (Battle of the Pelennor Fields) - All Along The Watchtower, Bob Dylan
Now, don't get me wrong. I realize that "All Along The Watchtower" has been used for everything ever. However, I would use the actual Dylan version, and that makes me better than most people. Furthermore, how many of those things that feature this song have an actual watchtower, with actual princes all along it? That's what I thought, bitches.
You don't need lyrics, right?
Thanks for reading! Tune in next time.
Fan Videos I've Never Made, Part 2.
Buffy The Vampire Slayer - The Warrior, by Scandal (or Skandal. Kirk: I'm still not sure.)
First, let me tell you that I cannot believe I forgot to mention this one last time. This is the song that first brought the idea of actually making fan videos to my mind. One, because it's for Buffy, the fandom that introduced me to fanvids. Two, guys, seriously, you have no idea. Aside from being totally perfect for Buffy in every way, the song also name-drops or overtly references at least 5 different episode titles.
Well isn't love primitive?
A wild gift that you wanna give
Break out of captivity
And follow me you stereo jungle child
Love is the kill
Your heart's still wild
Harry Potter - My Body Is A Cage, Arcade Fire
I recently got a chance to listen to Neon Bible by Arcade Fire. It was okay, but not great. The songs tended to mumble and run together, and while I almost liked several of them, it was, as I quipped to the boy, like trying to decide which was your favorite shade of blue. My favorite shade turned out to be the song above. The sound is dark, moody, and epic, and yet it's somehow also adolescent and kinda gay. Hence, Harry Potter. It would probably work better after the next two films come out, and there's more material to work with.
I'm living in an age
Whose name I don't know
Though the fear keeps me moving
Still my heart beats so slow
Lord of the Rings (Battle of the Pelennor Fields) - All Along The Watchtower, Bob Dylan
Now, don't get me wrong. I realize that "All Along The Watchtower" has been used for everything ever. However, I would use the actual Dylan version, and that makes me better than most people. Furthermore, how many of those things that feature this song have an actual watchtower, with actual princes all along it? That's what I thought, bitches.
You don't need lyrics, right?
Thanks for reading! Tune in next time.
Remember when my foot was gross?
I do.
What I forgot was that apparently I had taken a whole bunch of pictures of it and put them on my Yahoo! photo account. Well, apparently Yahoo! photos is going to close, so I've been afforded the opportunity to import the pictures to Flickr. Which I totally just did.
So, now I will have a couple pictures of a pretty scarf, and a handful of pictures of my grisly maimed foot. Yay?
The point of this is, I need to upload more pictures to that account. I've been taking lots of the nature and crap that's around my house. I have a picture of the praying mantis and the painted lady butterfly that live in my garden, plus the Eastern Goldfinches that reside in my lilac tree (sadly, not a red oak tree). Also, one time about a year ago, there were totally awesome rainbows all over the place, and I took pictures of that too.
They are very pretty. I am very lazy not to have done anything with them. A few months ago I actually got the pictures developed from when I visited California. The first time. That was 2004, y'all.
What I forgot was that apparently I had taken a whole bunch of pictures of it and put them on my Yahoo! photo account. Well, apparently Yahoo! photos is going to close, so I've been afforded the opportunity to import the pictures to Flickr. Which I totally just did.
So, now I will have a couple pictures of a pretty scarf, and a handful of pictures of my grisly maimed foot. Yay?
The point of this is, I need to upload more pictures to that account. I've been taking lots of the nature and crap that's around my house. I have a picture of the praying mantis and the painted lady butterfly that live in my garden, plus the Eastern Goldfinches that reside in my lilac tree (sadly, not a red oak tree). Also, one time about a year ago, there were totally awesome rainbows all over the place, and I took pictures of that too.
They are very pretty. I am very lazy not to have done anything with them. A few months ago I actually got the pictures developed from when I visited California. The first time. That was 2004, y'all.
Thursday
Let me tell you about my fan videos.
Before we begin, I should note that I've never made a fan video in my life.
However, it seems that, alongside all the ideas for stories and songs and figurines, I now have a healthy amount of ideas for fan videos.
I don't know that much about fan videos. I was first introduced to the concept through Jewels from the WD. At one of the first WD parties I went to she pulled out of a tape of vids she had made. The gist is, you take a song, and make a sort-of music video for it using scenes from a given fandom. Or what have you. You can use it to illustrate a story in the canon, or fabricate your own based on the fact that Spike and Willow were clearly meant to be. Ahem. You know.
I don't know anything about the conventions of making fanvids or the community of fanvidders, and even less about how I would go about creating one myself. I imagine it would have something to do with torrents, and, most likely, getting a new computer. My computer barely loaded this page, honestly. I don't know anyone that I can really ask about it, either. Yet, every time I listen to certain songs, I can't help but mentally put certain scenes to it. It's not fair! I like those songs by themselves!
I've idly wondered if I could just commission someone who does this sort of thing to make them for me. Heaven knows I'm probably never going to get around to it. After knitting and making jam and reading Harry Potter for the fiftieth time, I don't imagine I'll have enough drive. Or boredom.
So, here's a list of all the fan videos I never made.
Lord of the Rings - Kashmir, by Led Zeppelin
If you can't figure out how to set LoTR to Led Zeppelin, then you're just not trying. The idea itself makes me giggle. It's a long-ass song, but there's also material from three long-ass movies. I'm not sure what the actual content would be like, but, you know, elves and Ents, that sort of thing.
To sit with elders of the gentle race
This world has seldom seen
Who talk of days for which they sit and wait
Lord of The Rings - Wayfaring Stranger, by Neko Case
The same thing, really, only this one would be a little more slowed down and moody. Shots of everyone clambering on rocks, Sam crying, stuff like that. The plunky pseudo-Celtic music is what sells it.
I am a poor wayfaring stranger
A'traveling through this word below
But there's no sickness toil or danger
In that bright land to which I go
Lost - John Saw That Number, by Neko Case
It would be completely brilliantly hilariously full of Locke and religious symbolism. Plus, John did see that number! All over the island! This is probably the one I think about the most, because I guess I think it's the most feasible. And since the end of the current season, there would be a lot more material to scavenge. I was so excited when Locke called someone a Pharisee in an episode. Between that and the Jupe-cast, I'm having paranoid suspicions that the show's creators are listening in on my thoughts. I would have said Desmond, but.
John saw that number
Way in the middle of the air
Crying 'Holy! Holy to the Lord!'
Star Wars - Angel, Won't You Call Me?, by the Decemberists
This one would be all about Anakin and Padmé. I KNOW! I know. It's so embarrassingly bad. But at least I would be guaranteed to tell the story better than George Lucas. DON'T JUDGE ME.
Though I am a lost cause
Angel won't you call me?
Battlestar Galactica - Reasons To Fall, by Lauren Hoffman
This one just happened, and is the reason I made this post in the first place. It would be about Kara. And ... anybody, really. Maybe Lee. But mostly Kara.
No, you're gonna wait 'til the moment is certain
While I've been out searching for reasons to fall
That's it! I was pretty sure I had at least one more, but I can't think of it. It might have been another iteration of LoTR + Zeppelin, though, so maybe we're better off.
However, it seems that, alongside all the ideas for stories and songs and figurines, I now have a healthy amount of ideas for fan videos.
I don't know that much about fan videos. I was first introduced to the concept through Jewels from the WD. At one of the first WD parties I went to she pulled out of a tape of vids she had made. The gist is, you take a song, and make a sort-of music video for it using scenes from a given fandom. Or what have you. You can use it to illustrate a story in the canon, or fabricate your own based on the fact that Spike and Willow were clearly meant to be. Ahem. You know.
I don't know anything about the conventions of making fanvids or the community of fanvidders, and even less about how I would go about creating one myself. I imagine it would have something to do with torrents, and, most likely, getting a new computer. My computer barely loaded this page, honestly. I don't know anyone that I can really ask about it, either. Yet, every time I listen to certain songs, I can't help but mentally put certain scenes to it. It's not fair! I like those songs by themselves!
I've idly wondered if I could just commission someone who does this sort of thing to make them for me. Heaven knows I'm probably never going to get around to it. After knitting and making jam and reading Harry Potter for the fiftieth time, I don't imagine I'll have enough drive. Or boredom.
So, here's a list of all the fan videos I never made.
Lord of the Rings - Kashmir, by Led Zeppelin
If you can't figure out how to set LoTR to Led Zeppelin, then you're just not trying. The idea itself makes me giggle. It's a long-ass song, but there's also material from three long-ass movies. I'm not sure what the actual content would be like, but, you know, elves and Ents, that sort of thing.
To sit with elders of the gentle race
This world has seldom seen
Who talk of days for which they sit and wait
Lord of The Rings - Wayfaring Stranger, by Neko Case
The same thing, really, only this one would be a little more slowed down and moody. Shots of everyone clambering on rocks, Sam crying, stuff like that. The plunky pseudo-Celtic music is what sells it.
I am a poor wayfaring stranger
A'traveling through this word below
But there's no sickness toil or danger
In that bright land to which I go
Lost - John Saw That Number, by Neko Case
It would be completely brilliantly hilariously full of Locke and religious symbolism. Plus, John did see that number! All over the island! This is probably the one I think about the most, because I guess I think it's the most feasible. And since the end of the current season, there would be a lot more material to scavenge. I was so excited when Locke called someone a Pharisee in an episode. Between that and the Jupe-cast, I'm having paranoid suspicions that the show's creators are listening in on my thoughts. I would have said Desmond, but.
John saw that number
Way in the middle of the air
Crying 'Holy! Holy to the Lord!'
Star Wars - Angel, Won't You Call Me?, by the Decemberists
This one would be all about Anakin and Padmé. I KNOW! I know. It's so embarrassingly bad. But at least I would be guaranteed to tell the story better than George Lucas. DON'T JUDGE ME.
Though I am a lost cause
Angel won't you call me?
Battlestar Galactica - Reasons To Fall, by Lauren Hoffman
This one just happened, and is the reason I made this post in the first place. It would be about Kara. And ... anybody, really. Maybe Lee. But mostly Kara.
No, you're gonna wait 'til the moment is certain
While I've been out searching for reasons to fall
That's it! I was pretty sure I had at least one more, but I can't think of it. It might have been another iteration of LoTR + Zeppelin, though, so maybe we're better off.
Monday
Just in time for spring!
I finished my scarf! Actually, I finished the knitting a few weeks ago, but it's taken me this long to get a yarn needle and get the ends taken care of. There weren't even that many! I haven't blocked it yet, because it is totally taller than I am and I don't know where I'm going to lay it out.
But! But! I took some pictures! And I put them on my (relatively) new Flickr account! There are all kinds of things happening on my blog today, I'll tell you what.
Not pictured: my face. I took a couple pictures of me wearing the scarf, which came out really good. I mean the scarf came out good. My face, not so much. So I just posted a close-up.
Scarf on bed.
Scarf on me.
My mother already told me that she wants me to make her one. Sure! I'll get right on it. ... Actually, I will. I told her to buy me some functional undergarments and Harry Potter in exchange. We still haven't preordered it! ONLY 102 DAYS!
But! But! I took some pictures! And I put them on my (relatively) new Flickr account! There are all kinds of things happening on my blog today, I'll tell you what.
Not pictured: my face. I took a couple pictures of me wearing the scarf, which came out really good. I mean the scarf came out good. My face, not so much. So I just posted a close-up.
Scarf on bed.
Scarf on me.
My mother already told me that she wants me to make her one. Sure! I'll get right on it. ... Actually, I will. I told her to buy me some functional undergarments and Harry Potter in exchange. We still haven't preordered it! ONLY 102 DAYS!
Sunday
Hooray for knitting!
Since I began knitting, I've started noticing a lot of things that I hadn't before. The way that fabric is made, for example. I was never exactly certain of what "cotton knit shirt" meant, but I sure do now!
Also since then, I've taken to noticing knit items on the people around me, and wondering, idly, if the items are handmade. Usually, my conclusion is "no." I mean, anything woven, or anything were the knit is very fine, that's a definite no. It gets trickier once the yarn is noticeably heavier. Could be handmade! But still, I decide, probably not. Not that I want to impune on my fellow crafters, but I don't tend to see things that are, frankly, crappy enough to be obviously handmade.
Today I identified my first unquestionably hand-knit items and a person who was, I am certain, a knitter. I went into town today, and while I was loitering around the Port Authority (I was too early for my planned activity - which is always preferable to being too late) I noticed a girl coming out of the bathroom. She was wearing a very long, chunky, garter-stitch scarf, in alternating blocks of red and gold. I suspected that this item was handmade. I didn't become absolutely certain until, while going down the stairs, I spotted a young man wearing the exact same scarf, only his was green and silver. Sure enough, the girl came down the stairs and she and the boy drew closer and closer, until off they went in their rival house scarves.
This made me so very happy I cannot explain. It was welcome, because my day up until that point had been pretty crappy. Actually, my entire weekend had the flavor of a hellish ordeal at some points. But enough about that. Knitting solves everything! And I was then in quite a nice frame of mind as I trotted off to do my undisclosed activities.
Also since then, I've taken to noticing knit items on the people around me, and wondering, idly, if the items are handmade. Usually, my conclusion is "no." I mean, anything woven, or anything were the knit is very fine, that's a definite no. It gets trickier once the yarn is noticeably heavier. Could be handmade! But still, I decide, probably not. Not that I want to impune on my fellow crafters, but I don't tend to see things that are, frankly, crappy enough to be obviously handmade.
Today I identified my first unquestionably hand-knit items and a person who was, I am certain, a knitter. I went into town today, and while I was loitering around the Port Authority (I was too early for my planned activity - which is always preferable to being too late) I noticed a girl coming out of the bathroom. She was wearing a very long, chunky, garter-stitch scarf, in alternating blocks of red and gold. I suspected that this item was handmade. I didn't become absolutely certain until, while going down the stairs, I spotted a young man wearing the exact same scarf, only his was green and silver. Sure enough, the girl came down the stairs and she and the boy drew closer and closer, until off they went in their rival house scarves.
This made me so very happy I cannot explain. It was welcome, because my day up until that point had been pretty crappy. Actually, my entire weekend had the flavor of a hellish ordeal at some points. But enough about that. Knitting solves everything! And I was then in quite a nice frame of mind as I trotted off to do my undisclosed activities.
Thursday
This post is not about anything in particular.
I just suddenly realized that it's been some time since I last blogged, and, what the hell, you kids deserve a treat.
By the time I finish my scarf, it may be spring. I don't know how long it's supposed to be, so I'm planning on continuing until I decide to stop.
Target (I believe) has a commercial that uses "Hello, Goodbye." It makes me profoundly sad every time I see it.
I am all caught up on robots now. "Black Market" was awful.
By the time I finish my scarf, it may be spring. I don't know how long it's supposed to be, so I'm planning on continuing until I decide to stop.
Target (I believe) has a commercial that uses "Hello, Goodbye." It makes me profoundly sad every time I see it.
I am all caught up on robots now. "Black Market" was awful.
This post will contain words that I have never used before.
But this is not to say that my lovely readers will be unfamiliar with them. Many of you won't be!
So ... guess what I've been doing!
If you answered "Knitting?" you get the prize! ... of self-satisfaction. I have totally been knitting. I had planned to attempt knitting for a while now. For Christmas of 2005 , my mother bought me Stitch N' Bitch and a gift certificate to my Local Yarn Store. A year and a week later, I decided to pack it to read on the train. A little under a week later, I spent 6 hours reading it through and thinking, "Well this doesn't sound so bad!" In my head, I was already designing my first project. A SCARF. Hooray!
Once I was home again, I turned to the internet to help me get some more information. On Saturday, I headed to my LYS. It was very exciting! I didn't hit a single light, I got a spot right in the front of the municipal parking lot, and there were 53 minutes on the meter. This boded well. Now, going in, I wasn't sure what my plan of attack was going to be. I strongly considered immediately finding the store owners and explaining that I had no idea what I was doing and could they please help me? Once I got to the store, I scratched that plan. It was smaller than I had anticipated. The ladies that I assumed were the owners were sitting in the back, stitching away, and saying things that until then I'd only read in blogs. I felt tiny and intimidated. Knowing what I was coming in for made me feel more confident and at ease. I was able to locate the yarn - I went with Blue Sky Alpaca, which I totally found on Annika's blog. Naturally, I got the amethyst. My ball of yarn looks just like that! Actually, better. But we'll get to that later. At this point in the story I'm still in the store and looking for needles. I was looking for US size 5. Yes, bitches, that's right. I had no idea how to knit and I was totally going for sport weight on size 5 needles. Average is for pussies. Ahem. There was a small display on the opposite side of the room of some very pretty, ridiculously expensive needles. ($25! What the hell! Not that I had any idea how much things cost. That was something of a problem.) Finally I ambled a little back and caught the eye of one of the owner ladies. Did I need help with something? Oh boy did I! I asked if she had any other needles than the ones displayed. She sure did! Turns out that underneath the display there were drawers, and those drawers were full of knitting needles. What size was I looking for? I was looking for size 5. "Oh!" I said. "That's the brand I was looking for." And it totally was. (They get their wood from renewable growing ... patches. Or something like that.) Did I want the shorter ones or the longer ones? I totally wanted the 14" ones.
At this point, I had made my selection, and the items fell neatly within the cushion of my gift certificate. An entirely cost-free excursion! Awesome! Now I had everything I needed and the only component missing was me actually knowing how to knit. Which I did not at all.
Then I went to the movies. My mother and I saw "Children Of Men." It was, in a word, ass. Then we went out to dinner. Later that evening, I set to winding my skein of yarn into a center-pull ball of yarn. I promptly got the whole thing tangled. So I called the boy and sat on my bed and I tried to undo the mess I'd created. Eventually, I did. Then I pressed my luck (it was about 1 o'clock at this time) by trying to figure out how to cast on. I found out that Stitch N' Bitch, while a fine book in many ways, is actually a terrible guide for learning how to knit. The instructions were basically: "Make a slip knot. Great! Now that you've got your entire first row of stitches ... " What! I went to sleep.
The next day, I learned how to knit from the internet. Um. FYI, if you know how to knit, and I know you know how to knit, someday I may have to ask you to tell me how to knit something. Just fair warning. I think I've done pretty well on my own, though! I cast on by knitting on. The loops are a little tight around the needle to start with, but I like the way it turns out. I practiced knitting and purling and binding off, and then I figured I was ready to go. I started making my SCARF. By the time I was on the third row, I had acquired two extra stitches. So I took it all out and started over. One extra stitch. Start over. Now, I realize that there's probably a way to fix having too many stitches, but I'll be damned if I know what it is. I have no idea what I'm doing, remember. I'm doing the border of my SCARF in seed stitch (it is attractive, guys!), but it turns out I was actually making 1x1 ribbing. Heh. Start over. At least now I'm making stitches faster.
I think I've worked out all the kinks at this point. If I wind up with anything half-way decent, I'll take a picture and post it. WHETHER YOU CARE OR NOT.
I feel all full of new knowledge now. Aside from finally being able to decipher some of my friends' blog posts, I've only just now discovered how much of the material I wear is knitted. I never noticed before!
Just so we're clear, I have no interest in joining a knitting society or anything. I still dislike most forms of socializing. That has not changed. I just want to make things. I like making things. I hope I'm good at it.
We will return to regularly scheduled subjects whenever I get around to blogging again.
So ... guess what I've been doing!
If you answered "Knitting?" you get the prize! ... of self-satisfaction. I have totally been knitting. I had planned to attempt knitting for a while now. For Christmas of 2005 , my mother bought me Stitch N' Bitch and a gift certificate to my Local Yarn Store. A year and a week later, I decided to pack it to read on the train. A little under a week later, I spent 6 hours reading it through and thinking, "Well this doesn't sound so bad!" In my head, I was already designing my first project. A SCARF. Hooray!
Once I was home again, I turned to the internet to help me get some more information. On Saturday, I headed to my LYS. It was very exciting! I didn't hit a single light, I got a spot right in the front of the municipal parking lot, and there were 53 minutes on the meter. This boded well. Now, going in, I wasn't sure what my plan of attack was going to be. I strongly considered immediately finding the store owners and explaining that I had no idea what I was doing and could they please help me? Once I got to the store, I scratched that plan. It was smaller than I had anticipated. The ladies that I assumed were the owners were sitting in the back, stitching away, and saying things that until then I'd only read in blogs. I felt tiny and intimidated. Knowing what I was coming in for made me feel more confident and at ease. I was able to locate the yarn - I went with Blue Sky Alpaca, which I totally found on Annika's blog. Naturally, I got the amethyst. My ball of yarn looks just like that! Actually, better. But we'll get to that later. At this point in the story I'm still in the store and looking for needles. I was looking for US size 5. Yes, bitches, that's right. I had no idea how to knit and I was totally going for sport weight on size 5 needles. Average is for pussies. Ahem. There was a small display on the opposite side of the room of some very pretty, ridiculously expensive needles. ($25! What the hell! Not that I had any idea how much things cost. That was something of a problem.) Finally I ambled a little back and caught the eye of one of the owner ladies. Did I need help with something? Oh boy did I! I asked if she had any other needles than the ones displayed. She sure did! Turns out that underneath the display there were drawers, and those drawers were full of knitting needles. What size was I looking for? I was looking for size 5. "Oh!" I said. "That's the brand I was looking for." And it totally was. (They get their wood from renewable growing ... patches. Or something like that.) Did I want the shorter ones or the longer ones? I totally wanted the 14" ones.
At this point, I had made my selection, and the items fell neatly within the cushion of my gift certificate. An entirely cost-free excursion! Awesome! Now I had everything I needed and the only component missing was me actually knowing how to knit. Which I did not at all.
Then I went to the movies. My mother and I saw "Children Of Men." It was, in a word, ass. Then we went out to dinner. Later that evening, I set to winding my skein of yarn into a center-pull ball of yarn. I promptly got the whole thing tangled. So I called the boy and sat on my bed and I tried to undo the mess I'd created. Eventually, I did. Then I pressed my luck (it was about 1 o'clock at this time) by trying to figure out how to cast on. I found out that Stitch N' Bitch, while a fine book in many ways, is actually a terrible guide for learning how to knit. The instructions were basically: "Make a slip knot. Great! Now that you've got your entire first row of stitches ... " What! I went to sleep.
The next day, I learned how to knit from the internet. Um. FYI, if you know how to knit, and I know you know how to knit, someday I may have to ask you to tell me how to knit something. Just fair warning. I think I've done pretty well on my own, though! I cast on by knitting on. The loops are a little tight around the needle to start with, but I like the way it turns out. I practiced knitting and purling and binding off, and then I figured I was ready to go. I started making my SCARF. By the time I was on the third row, I had acquired two extra stitches. So I took it all out and started over. One extra stitch. Start over. Now, I realize that there's probably a way to fix having too many stitches, but I'll be damned if I know what it is. I have no idea what I'm doing, remember. I'm doing the border of my SCARF in seed stitch (it is attractive, guys!), but it turns out I was actually making 1x1 ribbing. Heh. Start over. At least now I'm making stitches faster.
I think I've worked out all the kinks at this point. If I wind up with anything half-way decent, I'll take a picture and post it. WHETHER YOU CARE OR NOT.
I feel all full of new knowledge now. Aside from finally being able to decipher some of my friends' blog posts, I've only just now discovered how much of the material I wear is knitted. I never noticed before!
Just so we're clear, I have no interest in joining a knitting society or anything. I still dislike most forms of socializing. That has not changed. I just want to make things. I like making things. I hope I'm good at it.
We will return to regularly scheduled subjects whenever I get around to blogging again.
Wednesday
But is it art?
I often say that I have always wanted to be an actress. To be honest with you, this is not an entirely accurate representation. The first thing I ever wanted to be, and ever told people that I wanted to be, was an "artist." Always forward thinking I, I left it vague. While performance was always swirling around at the top, I also had ambitions to be a singer, a painter, a ballerina, a sculptor, a musician, a photographer, a writer, or what have you. If it fell under the "art" then I wanted to do it. This is still, for the most part, true.
Now, my li'l ol' heart's desire is to be an actress. This is clear. However, it's become apparent to me that performing arts differ from other types of arts in a key, maddening, way: you don't actually get to do much art. Acting doesn't often get recognized as being an art these days, and that makes me sad. Writing or music, I think, has an advantage in that you do your thing first, and then your challenge is to get someone to recognize it. With acting, you need to jump through all manner of hoops before you even get to do your thing. Expressively yourself creatively is like a prize that you have to fight and claw for. Depressing.
Not that the goal is any less attractive for this realization. But. As I've been sitting around lately, all melancholy and at-loose-ends, I've realized that I might pursue other artistic avenues. You know, add some pretentious slashes to my career goals. Also, over the past year I've ... gotten fat. I'm working on it! I'm eating much better and I plan on actually doing something physical with my body sometime soon. But no one is going to hire me when I'm fat. This must be what it is, since I rock in precisely all other capacities. I need something to do in the meantime, though.
But what! I don't know. I'm good at many things. [/HUMILITY ALERT] But I don't really have a driving passion for any of them. I make figurines out of clay, like the kind I could sell at art fairs for primo buckos, but we got rid of our wooden kitchen table when we moved, and I haven't done anything since because that was my work station. In a similar vein, I rock at embroidery. At an art fair like mentioned above, I saw these embroidery works by this Asian lady that she was selling for hundreds of dollars. I believe it. Unfortunately, I know how hard she had to work for that price tag. "I could do that," I pompously thought, but the truth is I don't have the time. I don't have the time! Plus, art fairs? Eh .
I could take up painting, I guess? When I was in 7th grade and taking natural sciences, we had an assignment to draw pictures of the various types of clouds. Instead of doing that I busted out with an OIL PAINTING of clouds, Bob Ross-stylee. (I did random and crazy shit like this all the time, do not be alarmed.)
I could always write, as many people have told me. Not that you can tell from reading anything I say on the internet, I actually have a fair amount of skill at writing. Unfortunately, I have no skill whatsoever at storytelling. (I apologize if this sounds familiar to some readers, as I have totally discussed this with people before.) The first time anyone told me I was good at writing, I was 10 and in 6th grade. We were commissioned to write short stories for Halloween and I kicked it out of the park and my teacher actually discussed my mad skill with my parents. What they didn't know, however, is that I really had to work to come up with actual events for my story. In the end I wound up opting for a generic kids-investigate-haunted-house type thing. I have at least 3 ideas for major works that have lived in my head for a while. But no storylines. Just a gaggle of well developed characters with complex relationships and lives and thoughts who do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. (Talk about "write what you know," right? Shit.) I guess this is why I like acting. The story's already written for you, you just have to fill in the details. (Ooh! Ooh! That reminds me. You remember my friend Jen? Jen was a kick-ass artist in the field of drawing. She used to draw pictures, and I would color them in with colored pencils, totally re-inventing Chiaroscuro all by myself. No, seriously, they looked awesome. But I only ever liked the shading. I never could have done anything if she didn't draw the picture for me first. I have no idea why I'm saying this here, but it does fit with the theme.)
I've even taken a class (no, wait, two) in storytelling, and I'm still not any good at it. I've read "Story" by Robert McKee, and I'm still not any good at it! I don't know. I shouldn't really make it seem like I'm bad at it, because the truth is, I don't actually try. I feel something akin to social anxiety when I need to make actual plot decisions. I took a class in screenwriting, and as a final I wrote a short-film. My professor told me that mine was very good, but he didn't understand why the main character made the decision that lead to the action of the story. Not a big deal, but it still took me two years to realize and admit to myself that he was right.
I'm starting to not have a point. Upshot: I don't know if writing is the path for me. I'd be willing to give it a shot, because I may be wrong. I could also write stories based on my dreams. [/another post entirely]
Finally, I could be a musician of some sort. Problem with that is, of course, I don't really play any instruments. At least until I teach myself bass. I could sing, but people hate singers who do nothing else (people = I). Also, music requires a.) writing songs, which combines my issues with writing fiction AND my issues with writing poetry, b.) the ability to read music (probably) which I never learned, and c.) meeting and dealing with other people, if you want to be in a band. I hate people. Other than this, I'd probably love it.
Speaking of which (sort of), here's an anecdote designed solely to present my life as more interesting and glamorous than it actually is:
My father's friend owns an honest-to-goodness literal castle that used to house his law firm. Also, in the 70s it housed a cult until the leader was extradited to India after he tried to poison people with salmonella. They've been trying to sell the joint for about four years now.
The company that I work for sells insurance. Today we were speaking with a woman who put in an offer for the place that she feels was well-received (I called my father for the skinny). Currently, this woman runs a bed-and-breakfast that doubles as her headquarters for her personal management service for death metal rock bands.
AWESOME. Of course, there is every possibility that she will not wind up getting the house because, due to the historical significance of the property, she has to go through a hearing wherein she is reviewed by two towns and the county and they will probably freak the fuck out about her business. My father said he'd take me if they hold it. And also, my company will probably not wind up insuring her in any event, because they're really a tiny family-run operation and this is kind of out of their depth. But! Wouldn't that be neat? If I started my hypothetical band, perhaps she'd hypothetically represent me! She is looking to expand to other genres.
Now, my li'l ol' heart's desire is to be an actress. This is clear. However, it's become apparent to me that performing arts differ from other types of arts in a key, maddening, way: you don't actually get to do much art. Acting doesn't often get recognized as being an art these days, and that makes me sad. Writing or music, I think, has an advantage in that you do your thing first, and then your challenge is to get someone to recognize it. With acting, you need to jump through all manner of hoops before you even get to do your thing. Expressively yourself creatively is like a prize that you have to fight and claw for. Depressing.
Not that the goal is any less attractive for this realization. But. As I've been sitting around lately, all melancholy and at-loose-ends, I've realized that I might pursue other artistic avenues. You know, add some pretentious slashes to my career goals. Also, over the past year I've ... gotten fat. I'm working on it! I'm eating much better and I plan on actually doing something physical with my body sometime soon. But no one is going to hire me when I'm fat. This must be what it is, since I rock in precisely all other capacities. I need something to do in the meantime, though.
But what! I don't know. I'm good at many things. [/HUMILITY ALERT] But I don't really have a driving passion for any of them. I make figurines out of clay, like the kind I could sell at art fairs for primo buckos, but we got rid of our wooden kitchen table when we moved, and I haven't done anything since because that was my work station. In a similar vein, I rock at embroidery. At an art fair like mentioned above, I saw these embroidery works by this Asian lady that she was selling for hundreds of dollars. I believe it. Unfortunately, I know how hard she had to work for that price tag. "I could do that," I pompously thought, but the truth is I don't have the time. I don't have the time! Plus, art fairs? Eh .
I could take up painting, I guess? When I was in 7th grade and taking natural sciences, we had an assignment to draw pictures of the various types of clouds. Instead of doing that I busted out with an OIL PAINTING of clouds, Bob Ross-stylee. (I did random and crazy shit like this all the time, do not be alarmed.)
I could always write, as many people have told me. Not that you can tell from reading anything I say on the internet, I actually have a fair amount of skill at writing. Unfortunately, I have no skill whatsoever at storytelling. (I apologize if this sounds familiar to some readers, as I have totally discussed this with people before.) The first time anyone told me I was good at writing, I was 10 and in 6th grade. We were commissioned to write short stories for Halloween and I kicked it out of the park and my teacher actually discussed my mad skill with my parents. What they didn't know, however, is that I really had to work to come up with actual events for my story. In the end I wound up opting for a generic kids-investigate-haunted-house type thing. I have at least 3 ideas for major works that have lived in my head for a while. But no storylines. Just a gaggle of well developed characters with complex relationships and lives and thoughts who do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. (Talk about "write what you know," right? Shit.) I guess this is why I like acting. The story's already written for you, you just have to fill in the details. (Ooh! Ooh! That reminds me. You remember my friend Jen? Jen was a kick-ass artist in the field of drawing. She used to draw pictures, and I would color them in with colored pencils, totally re-inventing Chiaroscuro all by myself. No, seriously, they looked awesome. But I only ever liked the shading. I never could have done anything if she didn't draw the picture for me first. I have no idea why I'm saying this here, but it does fit with the theme.)
I've even taken a class (no, wait, two) in storytelling, and I'm still not any good at it. I've read "Story" by Robert McKee, and I'm still not any good at it! I don't know. I shouldn't really make it seem like I'm bad at it, because the truth is, I don't actually try. I feel something akin to social anxiety when I need to make actual plot decisions. I took a class in screenwriting, and as a final I wrote a short-film. My professor told me that mine was very good, but he didn't understand why the main character made the decision that lead to the action of the story. Not a big deal, but it still took me two years to realize and admit to myself that he was right.
I'm starting to not have a point. Upshot: I don't know if writing is the path for me. I'd be willing to give it a shot, because I may be wrong. I could also write stories based on my dreams. [/another post entirely]
Finally, I could be a musician of some sort. Problem with that is, of course, I don't really play any instruments. At least until I teach myself bass. I could sing, but people hate singers who do nothing else (people = I). Also, music requires a.) writing songs, which combines my issues with writing fiction AND my issues with writing poetry, b.) the ability to read music (probably) which I never learned, and c.) meeting and dealing with other people, if you want to be in a band. I hate people. Other than this, I'd probably love it.
Speaking of which (sort of), here's an anecdote designed solely to present my life as more interesting and glamorous than it actually is:
My father's friend owns an honest-to-goodness literal castle that used to house his law firm. Also, in the 70s it housed a cult until the leader was extradited to India after he tried to poison people with salmonella. They've been trying to sell the joint for about four years now.
The company that I work for sells insurance. Today we were speaking with a woman who put in an offer for the place that she feels was well-received (I called my father for the skinny). Currently, this woman runs a bed-and-breakfast that doubles as her headquarters for her personal management service for death metal rock bands.
AWESOME. Of course, there is every possibility that she will not wind up getting the house because, due to the historical significance of the property, she has to go through a hearing wherein she is reviewed by two towns and the county and they will probably freak the fuck out about her business. My father said he'd take me if they hold it. And also, my company will probably not wind up insuring her in any event, because they're really a tiny family-run operation and this is kind of out of their depth. But! Wouldn't that be neat? If I started my hypothetical band, perhaps she'd hypothetically represent me! She is looking to expand to other genres.
Labels:
art and craft,
aural fixation,
musty tomes,
solipsism,
the bees knees
Sunday
Life is weird.
Okay, since none of you know this, I will start at the beginning. When I was a very young person, let's say, 1-3 years old, I went to daycare at the home of a woman named Terry. At her house. It was very small and informal and homey and there were always people. They came to my 4th birthday party, which took place at a McDonald's. My big memory from that is how I had already become obsessed with vampires somehow. I instigated a game that was a lot like tag, except with added plot. That plot being, the person who was "it" was the vampire, and they had to run around and get people. And then the next person would be the vampire, and so on. I enlisted Terry's daughter, Tara, to begin the game. I was kind of in love with her. I'm pretty sure I tried to cling to her whenever possible. Terry also had a younger daugher, Laura, and some sons who were older. I'm not sure how old any of them were, because when you're three, everyone older than 5 is stratospherically old. Anyway, I was the first person that Tara went for. And she announced, "Okay, now Amy's the vampire! Everyone run away from her!" And that's when I started crying and throwing a fit, because I really did not want to be the vampire.
As you can see, I have always been interested in fair and equal play. And follow-through.
Skip ahead about a little under two decades. You know that thing I talked about in my last entry? The classes, the performance? My scene partner, who I've worked with for the past three months or so? Her name is Laura. After a brainstorming session with my father today, we realized that she is Laura, Terry's daughter Laura . And her sister, Tara, who've I've met about 4 times now? Yeah. HOLY CRAP. She doesn't know yet! I plan to call her and tell her. Only I'm a little worried that she won't be as completely smacked-about-the-face by this news as I am. Holy crap!!
So, I hung out with my father today and we saw Superman Returns . Yesterday I went to the movies with my mother. We saw The Devil Wears Prada . I was pleasantly surprised by both experiences! Regarding Superman, I agree with everything Jess, and by proxy Soupy, said about it. Including the part about Invasion.
The Devil Wears Prada was mildy interesting because I think, although I can't be entirely sure, that this is the first time I've ever seen a production of something that I auditioned for and didn't get. It's probably not true, considering how many things I've been rejected from. But I think so. ... Not for any of the good parts, you understand. Anne Hathaway's eyes are much, much bigger than mine, and it makes me feel inadequate. I'm in love with the red-haired English girl, though. Though it turns out that she may not be red-haired in real life, in which case my love dwindles slightly.
Also, remember a couple months ago I went to that funeral and afterwards I went to IHOP? No? Well, a couple months ago I went to a funeral, and then I wound up at IHOP. On Friday, a plane crashed into the parking lot of that IHOP. Jesus fuck! Nothing major. A small plane. But still, Jesus fuck! It's sort of (but not really) like that time that a tour bus was blown up in front of the Cairo Museum a month to the day after I was sitting right there in a tour bus just like it. I'm not sure what any of this means. Maybe that I need to start showing up at the homes of people I don't like.
Some jerks just walked by my house setting off ... some kind of fireworks, I guess. They're trying to celebrate the birth of their nation by blowing up a small piece of it. I would be nice if they didn't come close to burning my house down, though. Or blowing out my eardrums.
In other news, Happy Birthday Harper! And tomorrow, Happy Birthday Jess!
As you can see, I have always been interested in fair and equal play. And follow-through.
Skip ahead about a little under two decades. You know that thing I talked about in my last entry? The classes, the performance? My scene partner, who I've worked with for the past three months or so? Her name is Laura. After a brainstorming session with my father today, we realized that she is Laura, Terry's daughter Laura . And her sister, Tara, who've I've met about 4 times now? Yeah. HOLY CRAP. She doesn't know yet! I plan to call her and tell her. Only I'm a little worried that she won't be as completely smacked-about-the-face by this news as I am. Holy crap!!
So, I hung out with my father today and we saw Superman Returns . Yesterday I went to the movies with my mother. We saw The Devil Wears Prada . I was pleasantly surprised by both experiences! Regarding Superman, I agree with everything Jess, and by proxy Soupy, said about it. Including the part about Invasion.
The Devil Wears Prada was mildy interesting because I think, although I can't be entirely sure, that this is the first time I've ever seen a production of something that I auditioned for and didn't get. It's probably not true, considering how many things I've been rejected from. But I think so. ... Not for any of the good parts, you understand. Anne Hathaway's eyes are much, much bigger than mine, and it makes me feel inadequate. I'm in love with the red-haired English girl, though. Though it turns out that she may not be red-haired in real life, in which case my love dwindles slightly.
Also, remember a couple months ago I went to that funeral and afterwards I went to IHOP? No? Well, a couple months ago I went to a funeral, and then I wound up at IHOP. On Friday, a plane crashed into the parking lot of that IHOP. Jesus fuck! Nothing major. A small plane. But still, Jesus fuck! It's sort of (but not really) like that time that a tour bus was blown up in front of the Cairo Museum a month to the day after I was sitting right there in a tour bus just like it. I'm not sure what any of this means. Maybe that I need to start showing up at the homes of people I don't like.
Some jerks just walked by my house setting off ... some kind of fireworks, I guess. They're trying to celebrate the birth of their nation by blowing up a small piece of it. I would be nice if they didn't come close to burning my house down, though. Or blowing out my eardrums.
In other news, Happy Birthday Harper! And tomorrow, Happy Birthday Jess!
Friday
Now my parents know I'm awesome.
So, for the past few months, I've been taking acting classes at ... well, I'm not really sure what at. We have a local area theatre, and in residence there is an art school, and ... well, anyway, it's in there. The class I was taking was "Building A Character" and it's all about, well, like it said. Next week I'm going to be receiving more practical, biz-related instruction.
Well anyway, tonight our classes had a showcase where we performed the scenes and monologues that we'd been working on. Not everyone did a monologue. Just though who rocked. *clears throat* I got to play a 45-year-old South African man, and a 15-year-old girl. And no, I was not doing anything by Caryl Churchill. The evening was attended by friends and family of the participants, some interested professionals, and about a dozen teenagers from Iceland. My life is sometimes very strange. It got real blonde up in the theatre, is all I'm saying. Which worked out great, because my teenage costume included a shirt that reads, "Trust me, I'm a brunette."
The upshot of all this is that this is the first time my parents (both of them, and they sat next to each other all night, because they are freaks) have seen me perform on stage. Well, since middle school, at any rate. And given that I was extremely awesome (don't worry, I'm modest when company's around) they will probably both stop worrying that I may actually suck at my chosen path. Hey, you never know! Instead, now my mother can mother out about how people should be recognizing my talent. I daren't hope that it has any affect on my father.
I had a wonderful time. I really wish I could do this all the time. Someday someday someday! However, I am kicking myself that I forgot a good chunk of dialogue from my scene. I know, I know, everyone tells me that the audience didn't notice, so it doesn't matter, but that's not the point. The point is that I'm pissed off because it was my favorite part. I got to wax rhapsodical about chicken.
Well anyway, tonight our classes had a showcase where we performed the scenes and monologues that we'd been working on. Not everyone did a monologue. Just though who rocked. *clears throat* I got to play a 45-year-old South African man, and a 15-year-old girl. And no, I was not doing anything by Caryl Churchill. The evening was attended by friends and family of the participants, some interested professionals, and about a dozen teenagers from Iceland. My life is sometimes very strange. It got real blonde up in the theatre, is all I'm saying. Which worked out great, because my teenage costume included a shirt that reads, "Trust me, I'm a brunette."
The upshot of all this is that this is the first time my parents (both of them, and they sat next to each other all night, because they are freaks) have seen me perform on stage. Well, since middle school, at any rate. And given that I was extremely awesome (don't worry, I'm modest when company's around) they will probably both stop worrying that I may actually suck at my chosen path. Hey, you never know! Instead, now my mother can mother out about how people should be recognizing my talent. I daren't hope that it has any affect on my father.
I had a wonderful time. I really wish I could do this all the time. Someday someday someday! However, I am kicking myself that I forgot a good chunk of dialogue from my scene. I know, I know, everyone tells me that the audience didn't notice, so it doesn't matter, but that's not the point. The point is that I'm pissed off because it was my favorite part. I got to wax rhapsodical about chicken.
Wednesday
A is my favorite letter of the alphabet.
This is one of those blog things. I am to tell you ten things about my life having to do with a particular letter. Beth has picked the letter "A" for me. I guess I'm also supposed to ... pass this on? If you want to play, you reply, I tell you what letter and you make one of these in your own blog? It sounds very frightening and interactive.
But here goes.
1. Amy. As most of you probably know by now, my name is Amy. This seems like the most basic place to start, and I'd like to thank Beth for assigning me a letter with a freebie. That's a good friend, folks! Anyway, if you were to ask my father, he would tell you that my name is Amy Grace. And this is what he tends to call me. Neither he nor his sisters were given middle names at birth. What he uses as a middle name, Joseph, was his confirmation name, from my uncle. So in his mind, I don't have a middle name either; Amy Grace is my full first name. I put an official stop to that shortly before I turned four, when I had my first dance class. My father introduced me as Amy Grace, but I told Miss Roseanna that she should just call me Amy. I was also nearly named Amelia, though my mother would still have called me Amy. Amelia was the name of my great-great grandmother.
2. Anita. Anita is my sister, though I never call her Anita. We call each other Bud, which we vaguely understand may be odd to people who don't know us. I'm told this is an Irish thing, to have the nickname Bud, though it's really a nickname for a boy. My grandfather was Bud. My sister turned 15 ten days after I was born. Both my parents worked, and my sister was pretty much my primary caregiver when I was a small child. She changed me and doted on me and is probably the reason I'm so darn smart. I love her more than just about anything. However, she constantly (constantly!) reminds me about how she changed me and doted on me and is probably the reason I'm so darn smart. And that can get very annoying.
3. A boyfriend. Heeeeeeeee!!!! I could just leave this here, as it's perhaps more descriptive than anything I could say. I normally don't get publically gushy about my relationship. That's for us. But it's positively alarming how much I love and care for this person.
4. Acting. I almost wrote "art." This is probably the topic about which I could write the most, and about which I could probably never fully explain how I feel. Ever since I can first remember, there are only two things that I ever wanted to be in life: an "actress", or an "artist". I fervently hope that one day I might be both. It's a hard answer to give, though, and not just because it's a tough path to pursue. In the past, my answer was always tempered by the fact that I was young and I accomplished a lot in school. I don't have that anymore. I'm not used to people assuming that I'm stupid, but when it's widely known that you're trying to break into acting, that's what people assume. My mother told me that my chosen course is beneath me. I don't know how to respond, because I always felt like I was aspiring to something higher.
5. Ambidexterity. It's a thing that I have. Though according to the internet, I am not truly ambidextrous. And if I am, it's a sign that I have brain damage. What! I in fact am "cross-dominant" or something like that. The deal is, I do not have a specific hand/side/brain lobe that I favor over the other. I do not do all tasks equally well with both hands. One is usually more fine tuned than the other. I used to be able to write equally well with both. In second grade, in Catholic School, I was told that I would never achieve satisfactory penmanship unless I focused my writing energy on only one hand. Therefore, I would receive Cs in Penmanship until I picked a hand. ... And I had to pick the right. This is why, 90% of the time, I am to be seen writing with my right hand. My left hand is out of practice, but it still knows what it's doing. Here's something that fascinates me: I can write with my left with equal speed and clarity to my right, as long as I don't realize that I'm using my left hand. I have had many instances where I have been writing something with my left hand, and the thought occured to me: "Oh! I'm using my left hand!" and then my writing immediately deteriorates. It's one of my goals in life to rebuild my writing ability in my left hand.
6. Aldactone. This is the latest prescription drug that I have added to my daily regimine. This brings my total to five, though I take seven individual pills a day. It's actually a blood pressure medicine, but I take it to combat my excessive swarthiness due to the high levels of testosterone that my cystic ovaries produce. Whoo boy am I somatically fucked up! This is the first medication in a while that I've taken for what is, largely, a cosmetic issue. But it's important enough to me to suffer through the past few weeks of side effects while my body adapts to it. (These side effects include dips in my already low blood pressure and dizziness.) I have also taken other medications that start with A, including: Alesse, Atenolol, Allegra, and good old Advil.
7. Apple trees. I like apples. And since I was a small child I have been fascinated with the idea of having my very own apple tree. Or any fruit-bearing plant, but mostly apple. I have tried many times with little success to grow apple plants from seeds. Of course, these experiments were never monitored by someone who knew what she was doing (i.e. my mom) so I usually wound up drowning them. Turns out you shouldn't water plants every day. Who knew! I'm currently in the middle of my latest and most earnest attempt. I have five seedlings in a numbered row sitting on my sun porch. They are each about five inches tall. I also have a "cutting" that I kinda sorta stole from a tree at the Home Depot that I am trying to root in some soil. That's not going so swell. Anyway, not only do trees take a long time to grow, but apples are particularly fussy, and they require two separate individuals in order to produce fruit. My yard doesn't have the room for one apple tree, let alone two, but that's okay. I imagine that if my attempts are successful that I will carry my fledging trees around with me wherever I move, and I will plant them when I find the place I want to be my home.
8. Allie. Allie was my German Shepard. Because we didn't have enough people with "A" names already, we had to give them to our pets as well. Allie (her given name was Alexis) was bred to be a show dog in Mississippi. My sister got her when she was living in West Milford with some of the money she was awarded after being in a horrible car accident. Then she moved back home, and Allie moved with her. After a life of nothing but cats, we had to adjust to living with an ENORMOUS canine. She was 105 pounds, solidly fit. Despite being a cat person through and through, I loved Allie very much. I used to sit on the floor and hand feed her Kibbles 'N' Bits. She especially liked the cheese pieces. My perception of animals is sometimes unfortunately skewed. My neighbor had a Dalmatian named Ted who lived to be 17 years old. This meant that even though I knew intellectually that he was an exception, I was still shocked and confused when Allie developed a brain tumor at the age of ten. Allie is also the reason that most "big dogs" don't impress me very much. Eh. He's not that big. When you're eight years old and a dog stands on her back legs and you stare up at her towering over you, you're forever spoiled for size. Allie was an awesome dog. My sister wants to get another German Shepard. She says she'll know her when she sees her. I am fully in favor of this.
9. Annie. Not the girl. The movie, starring Aileen Quinn, Carol Burnett, and Albert Finney. Annie was my very first hardcore obsession. By the time I hit kindergarten I knew it word for word and sang the songs daily. Which of course did not deter me from also watching it daily. I directed my friends so that we would put on mini Annie-plays during the day. While it doesn't have the same cultural fluency as the Simpsons or Buffy, it was the precursor to all those entertainment loves. It set the tone and the pattern and also my love for redheaded heroines (others including Anne Shirley, Pippilotta Longstocking, and Strawberry Shortcake). This is probably the reason that there's still a part of me that desperately wants to be a redhead. Mr. Warbucks prefers redheaded children.
10. Accord. I drive a white 1995 Honda Accord. It's the car of choice for young and useless people. I don't really like it, and I wasn't thrilled to get it. Of course, I don't really like driving, so that could be a big part of it. And also the major headaches that were going on in my life around the time that I acquired it. I named my car Nerwin, because it was the very first name that came to me. I don't know what that means. Nerwin and I have a fairly neutral relationship. She gets me between points in efficient time and I've yet to die or be seriously injured. Right now Nerwin needs some gas and a trip to the car wash.
But here goes.
1. Amy. As most of you probably know by now, my name is Amy. This seems like the most basic place to start, and I'd like to thank Beth for assigning me a letter with a freebie. That's a good friend, folks! Anyway, if you were to ask my father, he would tell you that my name is Amy Grace. And this is what he tends to call me. Neither he nor his sisters were given middle names at birth. What he uses as a middle name, Joseph, was his confirmation name, from my uncle. So in his mind, I don't have a middle name either; Amy Grace is my full first name. I put an official stop to that shortly before I turned four, when I had my first dance class. My father introduced me as Amy Grace, but I told Miss Roseanna that she should just call me Amy. I was also nearly named Amelia, though my mother would still have called me Amy. Amelia was the name of my great-great grandmother.
2. Anita. Anita is my sister, though I never call her Anita. We call each other Bud, which we vaguely understand may be odd to people who don't know us. I'm told this is an Irish thing, to have the nickname Bud, though it's really a nickname for a boy. My grandfather was Bud. My sister turned 15 ten days after I was born. Both my parents worked, and my sister was pretty much my primary caregiver when I was a small child. She changed me and doted on me and is probably the reason I'm so darn smart. I love her more than just about anything. However, she constantly (constantly!) reminds me about how she changed me and doted on me and is probably the reason I'm so darn smart. And that can get very annoying.
3. A boyfriend. Heeeeeeeee!!!! I could just leave this here, as it's perhaps more descriptive than anything I could say. I normally don't get publically gushy about my relationship. That's for us. But it's positively alarming how much I love and care for this person.
4. Acting. I almost wrote "art." This is probably the topic about which I could write the most, and about which I could probably never fully explain how I feel. Ever since I can first remember, there are only two things that I ever wanted to be in life: an "actress", or an "artist". I fervently hope that one day I might be both. It's a hard answer to give, though, and not just because it's a tough path to pursue. In the past, my answer was always tempered by the fact that I was young and I accomplished a lot in school. I don't have that anymore. I'm not used to people assuming that I'm stupid, but when it's widely known that you're trying to break into acting, that's what people assume. My mother told me that my chosen course is beneath me. I don't know how to respond, because I always felt like I was aspiring to something higher.
5. Ambidexterity. It's a thing that I have. Though according to the internet, I am not truly ambidextrous. And if I am, it's a sign that I have brain damage. What! I in fact am "cross-dominant" or something like that. The deal is, I do not have a specific hand/side/brain lobe that I favor over the other. I do not do all tasks equally well with both hands. One is usually more fine tuned than the other. I used to be able to write equally well with both. In second grade, in Catholic School, I was told that I would never achieve satisfactory penmanship unless I focused my writing energy on only one hand. Therefore, I would receive Cs in Penmanship until I picked a hand. ... And I had to pick the right. This is why, 90% of the time, I am to be seen writing with my right hand. My left hand is out of practice, but it still knows what it's doing. Here's something that fascinates me: I can write with my left with equal speed and clarity to my right, as long as I don't realize that I'm using my left hand. I have had many instances where I have been writing something with my left hand, and the thought occured to me: "Oh! I'm using my left hand!" and then my writing immediately deteriorates. It's one of my goals in life to rebuild my writing ability in my left hand.
6. Aldactone. This is the latest prescription drug that I have added to my daily regimine. This brings my total to five, though I take seven individual pills a day. It's actually a blood pressure medicine, but I take it to combat my excessive swarthiness due to the high levels of testosterone that my cystic ovaries produce. Whoo boy am I somatically fucked up! This is the first medication in a while that I've taken for what is, largely, a cosmetic issue. But it's important enough to me to suffer through the past few weeks of side effects while my body adapts to it. (These side effects include dips in my already low blood pressure and dizziness.) I have also taken other medications that start with A, including: Alesse, Atenolol, Allegra, and good old Advil.
7. Apple trees. I like apples. And since I was a small child I have been fascinated with the idea of having my very own apple tree. Or any fruit-bearing plant, but mostly apple. I have tried many times with little success to grow apple plants from seeds. Of course, these experiments were never monitored by someone who knew what she was doing (i.e. my mom) so I usually wound up drowning them. Turns out you shouldn't water plants every day. Who knew! I'm currently in the middle of my latest and most earnest attempt. I have five seedlings in a numbered row sitting on my sun porch. They are each about five inches tall. I also have a "cutting" that I kinda sorta stole from a tree at the Home Depot that I am trying to root in some soil. That's not going so swell. Anyway, not only do trees take a long time to grow, but apples are particularly fussy, and they require two separate individuals in order to produce fruit. My yard doesn't have the room for one apple tree, let alone two, but that's okay. I imagine that if my attempts are successful that I will carry my fledging trees around with me wherever I move, and I will plant them when I find the place I want to be my home.
8. Allie. Allie was my German Shepard. Because we didn't have enough people with "A" names already, we had to give them to our pets as well. Allie (her given name was Alexis) was bred to be a show dog in Mississippi. My sister got her when she was living in West Milford with some of the money she was awarded after being in a horrible car accident. Then she moved back home, and Allie moved with her. After a life of nothing but cats, we had to adjust to living with an ENORMOUS canine. She was 105 pounds, solidly fit. Despite being a cat person through and through, I loved Allie very much. I used to sit on the floor and hand feed her Kibbles 'N' Bits. She especially liked the cheese pieces. My perception of animals is sometimes unfortunately skewed. My neighbor had a Dalmatian named Ted who lived to be 17 years old. This meant that even though I knew intellectually that he was an exception, I was still shocked and confused when Allie developed a brain tumor at the age of ten. Allie is also the reason that most "big dogs" don't impress me very much. Eh. He's not that big. When you're eight years old and a dog stands on her back legs and you stare up at her towering over you, you're forever spoiled for size. Allie was an awesome dog. My sister wants to get another German Shepard. She says she'll know her when she sees her. I am fully in favor of this.
9. Annie. Not the girl. The movie, starring Aileen Quinn, Carol Burnett, and Albert Finney. Annie was my very first hardcore obsession. By the time I hit kindergarten I knew it word for word and sang the songs daily. Which of course did not deter me from also watching it daily. I directed my friends so that we would put on mini Annie-plays during the day. While it doesn't have the same cultural fluency as the Simpsons or Buffy, it was the precursor to all those entertainment loves. It set the tone and the pattern and also my love for redheaded heroines (others including Anne Shirley, Pippilotta Longstocking, and Strawberry Shortcake). This is probably the reason that there's still a part of me that desperately wants to be a redhead. Mr. Warbucks prefers redheaded children.
10. Accord. I drive a white 1995 Honda Accord. It's the car of choice for young and useless people. I don't really like it, and I wasn't thrilled to get it. Of course, I don't really like driving, so that could be a big part of it. And also the major headaches that were going on in my life around the time that I acquired it. I named my car Nerwin, because it was the very first name that came to me. I don't know what that means. Nerwin and I have a fairly neutral relationship. She gets me between points in efficient time and I've yet to die or be seriously injured. Right now Nerwin needs some gas and a trip to the car wash.
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