Heh! I went with my mother to see RENT (2005). I had to sit and think a while about what I thought of it, because it was totally good, and I'm conflicted from having seen the show. I had the same problem when I saw Chicago . And that movie was great. So, what follows will be a somewhat comparision of show to movie, and a discussion of changes I felt worked and did not.
I'm going to assume that if you're not from the New York area (and most of you are not) that you haven't seen the show. Hopefully I won't talk down to you in an off-putting fashion!
[Begin Spoiler for RENT — Highlight to view]
The first difference is that the movie is a musical. Isn't the show? No. The show is a rock opera . There is almost no dialogue in the show. Like a real opera! But you can't have a movie of four or even two straight hours of singing, so I'm fine with the fact that the level of dialogue increased. What I didn't like is that the dialogue seemed like filler between the songs. Which I find happens in musicals. A few lines of dialogue creates a bridge between two songs. Doesn't have to be. I'm pretty sure Chicago did not have this problem. I'm pretty much going to blame the direction.
There was premature concern about Chris Columbus directing this, and people were worried that it was going to be Columbus-ified. Were these concerns valid? In my opinion, yes. The movie certainly does not suck, because the material is great. But I do think it could have been better under another director. Chris Columbus really doesn't have to make any more movies, as far as I'm concerned. Or, if he does, he should stick with the films we expect him to make: kids' films.
On the old cast: Anthony Rapp was still playing like they were on a stage. He's done enough movies to know better. The same can be same, to a lesser degree, for Ms. Menzel, but it fit her character, so that ameliorates it even more. Adam Pascal is the only one who seems to have mellowed with age, and that made me profoundly disappointed because I love Roger and adore Mr. Pascal in everything he's been in. (Which, um. Is RENT and SLC Punk ) But he's still blond and I still love him. The other gentlemen were still fucking fabulous.
On the new cast: Rosario Dawson looks like a perfect Mimi, but falls flat in the actual ... acting. Or rather, singing. Daphne Rubin-Vega can't really sing, but she does so with intense passion, and that's why she's great. Dawson is sort of the reverse. Not that she was horrible by any means. Tracie Thoms, on the other hand, was ... I freaking love her. She's adorable and tough and great and fabulous and should be in everything. Really.
The show, clearly, it is better. That's probably true in all cases. The show's always better, the book's always better, etc. For me, I feel this way because the moments that hit me the hardest in the show were in parts that were absent from the film. One example is where we learn about the fate of April. **SHOW SPOILER!** In the show, they come off the exuberance of the opening number and Mark is about to head out. "Take your AZT," he tells Roger (just like in the film) but then he explains in song to the near silent audience (with Roger plucking at his guitar in the foreground) "His girlfriend April left a note saying 'We've got AIDS.' before slitting her wrists in the bathroom." And, holy shit. I'm pretty sure I gasped, because it felt like a slap in the face. The movie was sadly devoid of moments like this.
In addition, it wasn't really that great to see April on screen. She was pretty skanky. I mean, so too was Roger, but in the show, it's really up for grabs what April's part was in the acquirement of the HIV. It's strongly implied that Roger contracted it because he was using drugs, and then he gave it to April, who wasn't doing anything deviant. And then she killed herself. Which does a whole lot to explain why Roger is so fucked up. And this is ... off in screen version.
One thing that I did like was changing the time frame of the first act. I could never buy that all that shit took place in one night. So I was in favor of all that, and I smiled to myself at how they changed the lyrics around to fit it. However, it could have been done with more finesse. And that's on the dude that did the screenplay.
In conclusion, I still had tears streaming down my face. It's pretty great. If you have a chance to see the show (and perhaps I'll list some more reasons to do so at a later time) you should definitely do that. But in the meantime, if you have the chance to see the movie (which you do, unless you live in Wyoming or some place) you should do that too.
[End Spoiler]
Saturday
NB
The sweet potatoes will not last until my birthday if I continue to eat them with supposed impunity.
My birthday is in 9 days.
My birthday is in 9 days.
Thursday
I am thankful for monkeys.
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday that is not my birthday. It is a day that is orange, and orange is my second favorite color after purple. Today I wore an orange sweater and ate orange food, and it was good.
Also, this year is the first year in ... perhaps ever that I did not have Thanksgiving at my house. Well, except for those few years when my mother was not doing holidays. I forget what I did then. It was kind of a blur. But this year we went up to my sister's because ... I don't know. Complicated reasons that no one really remembers any more. I was completely surprised by all the traffic. But at least we weren't going south. Whoa nelly!
The evening went about 85% great. A seven-year-old girl is adorable and loves me. My sister made me hot cocoa. THERE WAS A NOTICEABLE LACK OF SMOKE AND IT MADE THINGS EXCELLENT. We watched Million Dollar Baby On Demand and it was a terrible, terrible movie. My mother got cranky towards the end of the night, but a frigid ride home put her to rights.
The important thing is that I now have two large containers filled with sweet potatoes in my refrigerator. This will surely last me until my birthday, which was the plan all along. SO GOOD.
Also today I told my family some good news that I received on Monday but hadn't mentioned until today. Yes, that's right. I had good news that I intentionally told no one. I don't know why I did that! It's not like I was making a choice not to say anything. I just kind of ... didn't. And people asked me "Is anything going on?" And I said, "Not really." Not really!
Tomorrow I will go see RENT with my mommy. Then we will go look for Elton John sheet music. I swear these events are unrelated! Heeeeee! Oh, I also have to call this cat toy company because I need to obtain a very specific product for my neurotic cat who is losing her mind without it.
In conclusion, "What are you thankful for?"
"Monkeys."
Also, this year is the first year in ... perhaps ever that I did not have Thanksgiving at my house. Well, except for those few years when my mother was not doing holidays. I forget what I did then. It was kind of a blur. But this year we went up to my sister's because ... I don't know. Complicated reasons that no one really remembers any more. I was completely surprised by all the traffic. But at least we weren't going south. Whoa nelly!
The evening went about 85% great. A seven-year-old girl is adorable and loves me. My sister made me hot cocoa. THERE WAS A NOTICEABLE LACK OF SMOKE AND IT MADE THINGS EXCELLENT. We watched Million Dollar Baby On Demand and it was a terrible, terrible movie. My mother got cranky towards the end of the night, but a frigid ride home put her to rights.
The important thing is that I now have two large containers filled with sweet potatoes in my refrigerator. This will surely last me until my birthday, which was the plan all along. SO GOOD.
Also today I told my family some good news that I received on Monday but hadn't mentioned until today. Yes, that's right. I had good news that I intentionally told no one. I don't know why I did that! It's not like I was making a choice not to say anything. I just kind of ... didn't. And people asked me "Is anything going on?" And I said, "Not really." Not really!
Tomorrow I will go see RENT with my mommy. Then we will go look for Elton John sheet music. I swear these events are unrelated! Heeeeee! Oh, I also have to call this cat toy company because I need to obtain a very specific product for my neurotic cat who is losing her mind without it.
In conclusion, "What are you thankful for?"
"Monkeys."
Monday
Sunday
El Diablo wants me to watch Spanglish .
And I will not do it. This entry really has no point, other than that I don't ever want to watch the film Spanglish . And my reasons have nothing to do with its content or how good or bad it might be. I don't care how good or bad it might be (though I suspect, Cloris Leachman aside, it's probably something I would not enjoy). I just don't want to watch it, because some unseen force has been trying to make me watch it for months.
When I went out to California, this film was shown on just about every single freaking flight I took on the whole trip (four). Some guy was watching it on his laptop on one of my train trips. This movie has been shoved at me, while I've been a captive audience, an unrememborable amount of times. And it's a movie that I never had any intention of seeing. So now it's a thing. A vow.
Last night, Spanglish was premiering on HBO. I was going to be out of the house eating food with my mother, but the lines were too long so we came home and ordered Chinese. And I was confronted with Spanglish once again.
Instead of watching this movie, I opted to watch Dances With Wolves instead. Dances. With freaking Wolves. Now, some of you may know my history with this film. I was dragged along by my parents to see it in theaters when I was 6 or 7 or however old I was when it came out. I remembered nothing of the film except that there was a line to get in, I fell asleep, and the only thing I remember of the story was that at one point a man holds a gun to his head, says, "God Save the King" and shoots himself. And this I only remember because it was at this point that my mother covered my eyes with her hand. And I like to point out that if she had not drawn attention to this, I never would have remembered it, yet because she did, it is now burned permanently into my brain.
Well, now I know what happens in the movie, and my beloved anecdote is ruined. In addition, I spent three hours looking at Kevin Costner's hideous face . All this I did, so that I would not have to watch Spanglish . Were there other options? Probably. But I wasn't thinking clearly.
I know I used a lot of extra-slanty italics in this post, and for that I apologize. I'll have to work on changing the layout of my blog, because it could just be so much more optimal.
When I went out to California, this film was shown on just about every single freaking flight I took on the whole trip (four). Some guy was watching it on his laptop on one of my train trips. This movie has been shoved at me, while I've been a captive audience, an unrememborable amount of times. And it's a movie that I never had any intention of seeing. So now it's a thing. A vow.
Last night, Spanglish was premiering on HBO. I was going to be out of the house eating food with my mother, but the lines were too long so we came home and ordered Chinese. And I was confronted with Spanglish once again.
Instead of watching this movie, I opted to watch Dances With Wolves instead. Dances. With freaking Wolves. Now, some of you may know my history with this film. I was dragged along by my parents to see it in theaters when I was 6 or 7 or however old I was when it came out. I remembered nothing of the film except that there was a line to get in, I fell asleep, and the only thing I remember of the story was that at one point a man holds a gun to his head, says, "God Save the King" and shoots himself. And this I only remember because it was at this point that my mother covered my eyes with her hand. And I like to point out that if she had not drawn attention to this, I never would have remembered it, yet because she did, it is now burned permanently into my brain.
Well, now I know what happens in the movie, and my beloved anecdote is ruined. In addition, I spent three hours looking at Kevin Costner's hideous face . All this I did, so that I would not have to watch Spanglish . Were there other options? Probably. But I wasn't thinking clearly.
I know I used a lot of extra-slanty italics in this post, and for that I apologize. I'll have to work on changing the layout of my blog, because it could just be so much more optimal.
Thursday
Monkeys!!
Oh man! Today I got a card from Stephanie, and it was the best card ever in the whole world. Seriously!
You may be thinking, "Best card ever, huh? Well, I don't know ... I've gotten some pretty good cards before."
This one beats those.
You may be thinking, "Best card ever, huh? Well, I don't know ... I've gotten some pretty good cards before."
This one beats those.
Tuesday
You know, I really hate people.
Some days, I just say that. But on other days, I really mean it.
This is quite the fitting mood, then, with which I can go elect (or not, as the case will probably be) some public leaders. Did I mentioned that I watched the Gubernatorial Debates back ... whenever they had those? Man, that was the most useless hour of my life. Seriously. That's why I'm doing a write-in vote! (Not for Pat, sadly. That's only for president.) Truly exercising my right to throw my vote away. But seriously, all of the major candidates suck so much. It's ridiculous. I'd have rather seen them run footraces and eat live bugs, that's how valuable the whole thing was.
This really doesn't fit into my hateful mood theme, more of an introspective/contemplative mood theme, but I need to get these things out.
I can't believe that I'm as old as I am. Really, I can't. I know that the readership of this blog is people who are up-to-and-including double my age (hee!) but you're just going to have to bear with me on this. I can't believe that I'm not still 15. I can't believe that I'm out of high school. Shit, I can't believe that I'm out of college ! I've been out of school for over a year! Although, to be fair, I guess I kind of cheated on that account. But honestly, I sometimes feel as though I must have misplaced a bunch of years along the way. I suppose this is really the expression of my feeling that I've gotten a delayed start on life. I feel that way too. I feel like what I'm doing with myself now should have been what I was doing with myself at 15. So what did I spend all that time doing? Nothing, apparently.
Then again, you know, I suppose it really isn't too late to go to law school and learn tennis and devote myself entirely to a pre-mapped life that will never bring me joy. I mean, that's still on the table, really.
Wow. Did you know that it's almost 3 o'clock? Days like this are the reason that I sometimes forget to eat. I've been "making myself lunch" for the past two and a half hours.
This is quite the fitting mood, then, with which I can go elect (or not, as the case will probably be) some public leaders. Did I mentioned that I watched the Gubernatorial Debates back ... whenever they had those? Man, that was the most useless hour of my life. Seriously. That's why I'm doing a write-in vote! (Not for Pat, sadly. That's only for president.) Truly exercising my right to throw my vote away. But seriously, all of the major candidates suck so much. It's ridiculous. I'd have rather seen them run footraces and eat live bugs, that's how valuable the whole thing was.
This really doesn't fit into my hateful mood theme, more of an introspective/contemplative mood theme, but I need to get these things out.
I can't believe that I'm as old as I am. Really, I can't. I know that the readership of this blog is people who are up-to-and-including double my age (hee!) but you're just going to have to bear with me on this. I can't believe that I'm not still 15. I can't believe that I'm out of high school. Shit, I can't believe that I'm out of college ! I've been out of school for over a year! Although, to be fair, I guess I kind of cheated on that account. But honestly, I sometimes feel as though I must have misplaced a bunch of years along the way. I suppose this is really the expression of my feeling that I've gotten a delayed start on life. I feel that way too. I feel like what I'm doing with myself now should have been what I was doing with myself at 15. So what did I spend all that time doing? Nothing, apparently.
Then again, you know, I suppose it really isn't too late to go to law school and learn tennis and devote myself entirely to a pre-mapped life that will never bring me joy. I mean, that's still on the table, really.
Wow. Did you know that it's almost 3 o'clock? Days like this are the reason that I sometimes forget to eat. I've been "making myself lunch" for the past two and a half hours.
Saturday
"...now that they make frozen vegetables..."
Tonight my mother and I went and hung out in the triangle below Canal and attended a screening of the short film that I was in last year. My sister was also supposed to be there (in fact, she was supposed to drive us, since that's where she spent most of the last half of the nineties and new where we could park for free and get a great salad) but she came down with about five different kinds of illness this week, because she works with children, who are gross. It's just as well, though, because the traffic was stupefying. But we made it in ample time.
Film: 12 minutes. Apparently, any longer than 15 and festivals will spit on you. Next year: Sundance. So maybe Will can get to see it. I wound up staying for both showings, because after the second there was a "DVD featurette" of behind-the-scenes footage. A 7-minute film about the making of the 12-minute film. All in all, it was kind of awesome. The film was pretty great, and the writer/director/star was a pretty terrific actor. I had no idea when I was hangin' out with him. The blonde chick? Not so much. But not horrible, either. In between, I got in some good schmooze with the producer.
Then we went out for eats! We couldn't find the place my sister recommended, because my mother was unwilling to wander the streets and figure out where we were. My mother steadfastly refuses to believe that I know how to navigate in the city. Because I'm five. It turns out that I knew precisely where we were because we were a block from the restaurant where I had my first date with the boy. Awww. It was a highly coincidental experience.
But we wound up going to a Japanese restaurant where we dined on tempura, green tea ice cream, and a sample of plum wine. SO STUFFED. Also, my mother commented afterwards that my eyes looked a little bloodshot. I am so cheap a drunk, my drink was free. It's sad and adorable, I know.
On the way home, we enjoyed some people watching. The above quote is courtesy of some chick on the bus, and I swear to God she said that . Sadly, the strap of my Italian leather purse gave way after many years of use. If you've seen me in the last five years, you know the one of which I speak. I think it's finally done. The metal loop broke, and then fell off on the bus somewhere. This makes me very sad. I guess I'll just have to get another on or something!
Also, I looked really pretty.
All in all, it was a pretty terrific evening, I'd have to say.
Film: 12 minutes. Apparently, any longer than 15 and festivals will spit on you. Next year: Sundance. So maybe Will can get to see it. I wound up staying for both showings, because after the second there was a "DVD featurette" of behind-the-scenes footage. A 7-minute film about the making of the 12-minute film. All in all, it was kind of awesome. The film was pretty great, and the writer/director/star was a pretty terrific actor. I had no idea when I was hangin' out with him. The blonde chick? Not so much. But not horrible, either. In between, I got in some good schmooze with the producer.
Then we went out for eats! We couldn't find the place my sister recommended, because my mother was unwilling to wander the streets and figure out where we were. My mother steadfastly refuses to believe that I know how to navigate in the city. Because I'm five. It turns out that I knew precisely where we were because we were a block from the restaurant where I had my first date with the boy. Awww. It was a highly coincidental experience.
But we wound up going to a Japanese restaurant where we dined on tempura, green tea ice cream, and a sample of plum wine. SO STUFFED. Also, my mother commented afterwards that my eyes looked a little bloodshot. I am so cheap a drunk, my drink was free. It's sad and adorable, I know.
On the way home, we enjoyed some people watching. The above quote is courtesy of some chick on the bus, and I swear to God she said that . Sadly, the strap of my Italian leather purse gave way after many years of use. If you've seen me in the last five years, you know the one of which I speak. I think it's finally done. The metal loop broke, and then fell off on the bus somewhere. This makes me very sad. I guess I'll just have to get another on or something!
Also, I looked really pretty.
All in all, it was a pretty terrific evening, I'd have to say.
Monday
Donuts, I got ... Hey I know you!
So, back in the day when I thought I was going to be an Ivy-Leaguer, I went through some complicated application processes. Swanky schools like you to meet with alumni of distinction, and then have those alumni report back to them and tattle on you.
For Princeton, my father figured it would be in my favor to meet with someone he knew. (But he apparently didn't think it would be in my favor to, you know, save any money for me. Whoops! Still bitter I guess.)
So one fall evening I trekked into Newark, into the area where they have all the Neo Classical buildings so it doesn't really look so bad (as Newark tends to do). After a pass through some metal detectors I went up some swanky elevators to the swanky office of my father's old crony (I mean, "business associate"). That gentleman? Judge Samuel A. Alito.
Seriously guys? He's pretty nice. And his voting record is clearly pro-me, so I think that's all we need to know. Right?
For Princeton, my father figured it would be in my favor to meet with someone he knew. (But he apparently didn't think it would be in my favor to, you know, save any money for me. Whoops! Still bitter I guess.)
So one fall evening I trekked into Newark, into the area where they have all the Neo Classical buildings so it doesn't really look so bad (as Newark tends to do). After a pass through some metal detectors I went up some swanky elevators to the swanky office of my father's old crony (I mean, "business associate"). That gentleman? Judge Samuel A. Alito.
Seriously guys? He's pretty nice. And his voting record is clearly pro-me, so I think that's all we need to know. Right?
Thursday
It's so involved being me.
Okay, I think I'm resolute on something now.
[Begin Spoiler for Veronica Mars Season 2 — Highlight to view]
I like Veronica and Duncan together. I realize this puts me at odds with most fans. But whatev! That's nothing new. I also realize that, as this is tv, there's no way they'll last out this season. But I still hope they do. I'm in favor.
Perhaps I empathize.
[End Spoiler]
In other news, I've been listening to new music, I made a charitable contribution to a humanitarian organization, I purchased candy some of which I now intend to eat, and I'm going to wait around to hear back about my Next Project.
My life is no where near as glamorous as I'm pretending it is, but at least I'm aware that I'm using the internet to construct an escapist fantasy. And that's something, right?
Also, I wish my brain could just go ahead and decided whether or not I'm actually depressed, because the mood swings are getting pretty damn annoying.
[Begin Spoiler for Veronica Mars Season 2 — Highlight to view]
I like Veronica and Duncan together. I realize this puts me at odds with most fans. But whatev! That's nothing new. I also realize that, as this is tv, there's no way they'll last out this season. But I still hope they do. I'm in favor.
Perhaps I empathize.
[End Spoiler]
In other news, I've been listening to new music, I made a charitable contribution to a humanitarian organization, I purchased candy some of which I now intend to eat, and I'm going to wait around to hear back about my Next Project.
My life is no where near as glamorous as I'm pretending it is, but at least I'm aware that I'm using the internet to construct an escapist fantasy. And that's something, right?
Also, I wish my brain could just go ahead and decided whether or not I'm actually depressed, because the mood swings are getting pretty damn annoying.
This entry is about Harry Potter. Again.
I know, it's a little strange placed. But I haven't seen Serenity , so I'll have to talk about something else. I've been rereading the Harry Potter, and I've gotten back around to Book Six. So now I'll pick up the discussion that everyone left off several months ago. Since I've been meaning to, really, but just dropped the ball. Butterfingers!
[Begin Spoiler for And The Half Blood Prince — Highlight to view]
The first thing I want to discuss is what pisses me off. The fact that Ron and Hermione refuse to believe Harry about Malfoy pisses me off. I may (or may not) have mentioned in the past that this is a convention I typically hate: when a character is blanketly not believed, even by those closest to him, even when he's typically a rational person. It happens a lot in horror movies. And it sucks. Similarly, it really bothers me when characters have their sanity questioned or discredited. It bugs me out. I guess it's because, in fiction anyway, it seems so easy to have all your rights and abilities instantly stripped away by the mere suspicion of mental instability. And there's nothing you can do about it!
That's not really the point, though. But I am vastly disappointed that neither of Harry's best friends thought for a minute that he might be right. And it's not like it was that far-fetched a suggestion! I did not understand why they were so against the idea. The basis for their denial seems to be "Malfoy is too young to be a Death Eater." Which, frankly, is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. I suppose it could be understandable if they were thinking of the Order of the Phoenix, which seems to have an age restriction, or at least a general understanding of "too young to risk your life fighting evil." However, the flaw there is that the Order of the Phoenix cares about its members and doesn't really want to put children in danger. I doubt Voldemort gives a similar shit, really. I think it's very strange that they would think the Most Evil Wizard Ever would have any kind of scruples, especially when he's trying to build his dark army. And, unlike the Dumbledore trusting Snape thing, I really don't think Ron and Hermione have any better reasons that they're not divulging. And it's not like they haven't latched on to Harry's less founded theories, either. And it's not like either of them want to believe the best of Malfoy. And they don't think Malfoy's too incompetent, either, so I really don't know what's up with it. It's extremely annoying and rather detracts from my enjoyment of the book. It's about the only thing, but it's a pretty big thing.
Now, onto thing Number Two. That thing being: Harry is still a Horcrux. Yeah, he is. But the important thing is that I think I've come up with a way it's likely to turn out.
Pat made an entry way back describing why he doesn't like the idea of Harry being a Horcrux. Which was fair. But one of the things he brought up was the suggestion that if Harry is a Horcrux, he needs to be destroyed in order for Voldemort to be destroyed. And that's something I've wanted to address since. Because: no he doesn't. In the book we learn that a Horcrux can, indeed, be un-Horcrucified. Of course, I don't know exactly how that works, but it seems to involve fire and danger. So, it's probably not a walk through the park, but it's doable. And if Harry is a Horcrux (which he totally is) then I'm sure there's a way to undo that while causing him no lasting harm.
Then I was thinking about the prophecy, and how this relates to it. I guess prophecies are meant to sound lacey and, well, arty-farty, but I've always thought the wording "neither can live while the other survives" was a little weird. Of course, I'm a language enthusiast and a drama geek, so I might be reading too much into it, but I think there's a definite difference in meaning between the word "lives" and the word "survives." Why couldn't it be "neither can live while the other also lives"? That would have been more straightforward. I think because it was ambiguous as to the state of the survival of the participants. Surely, Voldemort can't live pleasantly if Harry's still alive, because he'd always be up to mischief and foiling his evil schemes. But why does Harry have to knock off Voldemort? Perhaps the prophecy means that Harry has to get rid of the last vestige of Voldemort - the part that's inside himself - so that he can get to living life like a real boy.
The benefit of this interpretation is that Harry would not actually have to kill Voldemort. He would merely need to stop the last part of Voldemort surviving . See, the big reveal at the end of OotP was that Harry was going to have to kill Voldemort. Or, you know, die by his hand. And I found this to be pretty anti-climactic, because, well, isn't that what we all expected? I mean, we've all read stories before, so we're not new at this. I was confused as to what the big deal was, and I was a bit chagrined when the author pointed it out to me: Murder is bad. Oh yeah. Whoops. Killing people, it seems, is something you want to avoid doing if at all possible. In fact, killing people rips your soul in half . Ouch! This is probably something that you want to avoid happening to the hero of your story. However, the prophecy says that Harry has to kill Voldemort. Or does it? And thus my point.
So, Harry's a Horcrux, but that's actually probably a good thing. Huh.
Ron and Hermione need to be kicked in the nuts for that other crap, though. I'm serious.
[End Spoiler]
Also, I watched some television shows yesterday, and they were pretty good.
[Begin Spoiler for And The Half Blood Prince — Highlight to view]
The first thing I want to discuss is what pisses me off. The fact that Ron and Hermione refuse to believe Harry about Malfoy pisses me off. I may (or may not) have mentioned in the past that this is a convention I typically hate: when a character is blanketly not believed, even by those closest to him, even when he's typically a rational person. It happens a lot in horror movies. And it sucks. Similarly, it really bothers me when characters have their sanity questioned or discredited. It bugs me out. I guess it's because, in fiction anyway, it seems so easy to have all your rights and abilities instantly stripped away by the mere suspicion of mental instability. And there's nothing you can do about it!
That's not really the point, though. But I am vastly disappointed that neither of Harry's best friends thought for a minute that he might be right. And it's not like it was that far-fetched a suggestion! I did not understand why they were so against the idea. The basis for their denial seems to be "Malfoy is too young to be a Death Eater." Which, frankly, is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. I suppose it could be understandable if they were thinking of the Order of the Phoenix, which seems to have an age restriction, or at least a general understanding of "too young to risk your life fighting evil." However, the flaw there is that the Order of the Phoenix cares about its members and doesn't really want to put children in danger. I doubt Voldemort gives a similar shit, really. I think it's very strange that they would think the Most Evil Wizard Ever would have any kind of scruples, especially when he's trying to build his dark army. And, unlike the Dumbledore trusting Snape thing, I really don't think Ron and Hermione have any better reasons that they're not divulging. And it's not like they haven't latched on to Harry's less founded theories, either. And it's not like either of them want to believe the best of Malfoy. And they don't think Malfoy's too incompetent, either, so I really don't know what's up with it. It's extremely annoying and rather detracts from my enjoyment of the book. It's about the only thing, but it's a pretty big thing.
Now, onto thing Number Two. That thing being: Harry is still a Horcrux. Yeah, he is. But the important thing is that I think I've come up with a way it's likely to turn out.
Pat made an entry way back describing why he doesn't like the idea of Harry being a Horcrux. Which was fair. But one of the things he brought up was the suggestion that if Harry is a Horcrux, he needs to be destroyed in order for Voldemort to be destroyed. And that's something I've wanted to address since. Because: no he doesn't. In the book we learn that a Horcrux can, indeed, be un-Horcrucified. Of course, I don't know exactly how that works, but it seems to involve fire and danger. So, it's probably not a walk through the park, but it's doable. And if Harry is a Horcrux (which he totally is) then I'm sure there's a way to undo that while causing him no lasting harm.
Then I was thinking about the prophecy, and how this relates to it. I guess prophecies are meant to sound lacey and, well, arty-farty, but I've always thought the wording "neither can live while the other survives" was a little weird. Of course, I'm a language enthusiast and a drama geek, so I might be reading too much into it, but I think there's a definite difference in meaning between the word "lives" and the word "survives." Why couldn't it be "neither can live while the other also lives"? That would have been more straightforward. I think because it was ambiguous as to the state of the survival of the participants. Surely, Voldemort can't live pleasantly if Harry's still alive, because he'd always be up to mischief and foiling his evil schemes. But why does Harry have to knock off Voldemort? Perhaps the prophecy means that Harry has to get rid of the last vestige of Voldemort - the part that's inside himself - so that he can get to living life like a real boy.
The benefit of this interpretation is that Harry would not actually have to kill Voldemort. He would merely need to stop the last part of Voldemort surviving . See, the big reveal at the end of OotP was that Harry was going to have to kill Voldemort. Or, you know, die by his hand. And I found this to be pretty anti-climactic, because, well, isn't that what we all expected? I mean, we've all read stories before, so we're not new at this. I was confused as to what the big deal was, and I was a bit chagrined when the author pointed it out to me: Murder is bad. Oh yeah. Whoops. Killing people, it seems, is something you want to avoid doing if at all possible. In fact, killing people rips your soul in half . Ouch! This is probably something that you want to avoid happening to the hero of your story. However, the prophecy says that Harry has to kill Voldemort. Or does it? And thus my point.
So, Harry's a Horcrux, but that's actually probably a good thing. Huh.
Ron and Hermione need to be kicked in the nuts for that other crap, though. I'm serious.
[End Spoiler]
Also, I watched some television shows yesterday, and they were pretty good.
Wednesday
*DEAD*
I considered many various witty (?) and descriptive (?) titles, but, in the end, this seems to encapsulate everything.
I just got back from Jamaica (...Queens), and boy am I fucking tired! In other words, FILMING!
On ... what was it, Tuesday? I got up at 5:45 so that I could make it to my call time of 8:30. I didn't figure out until I got into the Port Authority at 7:50 that this might have been a bit early. But it's not like I ever travel (or wake up) in the morning, so I didn't know what traffic would be like.
Filming took place at the Jamaica High School, which is so totally nicer than my high school . They have a grounds. And a dean. I didn't have any of that crap. So, I and about a hundred others were shuffled around like cattle to the auditorium, where we waited endlessly for hair and makeup while sitting about in our woolen garments. We got around to shooting at some time around 1:30, and we finished sometime before six. I now have a story to tell by way of pointing at a screen and saying "It was one billion and twelve degrees when we shot this." Just like Pop Up Video. Does VH1 still have that? Anyway. I stood around in the 82 degree heat, under the sun, in a polyester dress, wool cardigan, fleece-lined coat, and scarf. Because it was cold out. (Which makes several things in the scene irrational, but no matter) This is why, when I finally got home and got around to taking pictures of myself (I forgot my camera on both days. My hair is mostly documented, though, which is the important thing) I looked completely melted. My hair was adorable and flippy and poofy in the morning. 12 hours later, when I photgraphed it, it was not so much. MELTED. For us there was no recourse. For the small group of principle girls, there was frequent makeup touch-ups. Then there was the young ingenue, the star of the film, who for argument's sake I will call "Miss W." Miss W. had someone following her around with a big black parasol.
Stuff and business. Then I went home. I got home between 8:30 and 9. Then I called for my call day for today. (Is it still today?) Which was for 4:30AM.
Blink.
"Damn."
Then I had to figure out how I was going to get there. There's no public transportation that runs that early. Or, late. A small parental extortion later, and I had scheduled a cab to pick me up at 3:45. Then I ate a bowl of cereal. Then I went to sleep. Or rather, I had a brief nap. Then I got up again! And went back in.
Today we had our prom. Aw. It was one of the musical numbers. The song was "Hold Me Tight." An interesting choice! It was actually sung by Miss W., who is a suprisingly good singer. Surprising because I've never really thought about whether or not she can sing. But she certainly can!
Hair was an immense undertaking. Makeup too, but mostly hair. And all the ladies wore corsetesque bras that I'm pretty sure have bruised my hip bones. I wore my big pink puffball, and waited for hair and makeup. And somehow, despite being one of the first people on line, I was one of the last to get finished up. I was tired and disappointed. And I wound up being a wallflower, because they ran out of gentlemen for the ladies to dance with. Except for three young black men, who, as denizens of the 1960s, were unacceptable mates. So I sat and tapped my toes and looked disappointedly at the dance floor. It was an entirely authentic performance, I assure you.
Then SAG members and faux-SAG members (of which I was one) had a hour of lunch for reasons I can't guess at, because immediately after lunch we went home. I kept my hair and makeup, even though I might have looked like a drag queen up close. A very nice woman spent about half an hour elaborately painting me, and she was sure that I was going to be right up front. Which was nice of her. But I guess it will depend on which shot they use. Um. I kept the hair and makeup so that I could take pictures, which I did, and also show my mother, which I have.
And now, having written this on a sleep ratio of 4/38 hours, I plan to try to remove the makeup which will no doubt take me the better part of a year. And then I will pass out.
I just got back from Jamaica (...Queens), and boy am I fucking tired! In other words, FILMING!
On ... what was it, Tuesday? I got up at 5:45 so that I could make it to my call time of 8:30. I didn't figure out until I got into the Port Authority at 7:50 that this might have been a bit early. But it's not like I ever travel (or wake up) in the morning, so I didn't know what traffic would be like.
Filming took place at the Jamaica High School, which is so totally nicer than my high school . They have a grounds. And a dean. I didn't have any of that crap. So, I and about a hundred others were shuffled around like cattle to the auditorium, where we waited endlessly for hair and makeup while sitting about in our woolen garments. We got around to shooting at some time around 1:30, and we finished sometime before six. I now have a story to tell by way of pointing at a screen and saying "It was one billion and twelve degrees when we shot this." Just like Pop Up Video. Does VH1 still have that? Anyway. I stood around in the 82 degree heat, under the sun, in a polyester dress, wool cardigan, fleece-lined coat, and scarf. Because it was cold out. (Which makes several things in the scene irrational, but no matter) This is why, when I finally got home and got around to taking pictures of myself (I forgot my camera on both days. My hair is mostly documented, though, which is the important thing) I looked completely melted. My hair was adorable and flippy and poofy in the morning. 12 hours later, when I photgraphed it, it was not so much. MELTED. For us there was no recourse. For the small group of principle girls, there was frequent makeup touch-ups. Then there was the young ingenue, the star of the film, who for argument's sake I will call "Miss W." Miss W. had someone following her around with a big black parasol.
Stuff and business. Then I went home. I got home between 8:30 and 9. Then I called for my call day for today. (Is it still today?) Which was for 4:30AM.
Blink.
"Damn."
Then I had to figure out how I was going to get there. There's no public transportation that runs that early. Or, late. A small parental extortion later, and I had scheduled a cab to pick me up at 3:45. Then I ate a bowl of cereal. Then I went to sleep. Or rather, I had a brief nap. Then I got up again! And went back in.
Today we had our prom. Aw. It was one of the musical numbers. The song was "Hold Me Tight." An interesting choice! It was actually sung by Miss W., who is a suprisingly good singer. Surprising because I've never really thought about whether or not she can sing. But she certainly can!
Hair was an immense undertaking. Makeup too, but mostly hair. And all the ladies wore corsetesque bras that I'm pretty sure have bruised my hip bones. I wore my big pink puffball, and waited for hair and makeup. And somehow, despite being one of the first people on line, I was one of the last to get finished up. I was tired and disappointed. And I wound up being a wallflower, because they ran out of gentlemen for the ladies to dance with. Except for three young black men, who, as denizens of the 1960s, were unacceptable mates. So I sat and tapped my toes and looked disappointedly at the dance floor. It was an entirely authentic performance, I assure you.
Then SAG members and faux-SAG members (of which I was one) had a hour of lunch for reasons I can't guess at, because immediately after lunch we went home. I kept my hair and makeup, even though I might have looked like a drag queen up close. A very nice woman spent about half an hour elaborately painting me, and she was sure that I was going to be right up front. Which was nice of her. But I guess it will depend on which shot they use. Um. I kept the hair and makeup so that I could take pictures, which I did, and also show my mother, which I have.
And now, having written this on a sleep ratio of 4/38 hours, I plan to try to remove the makeup which will no doubt take me the better part of a year. And then I will pass out.
Friday
I'm one degree from Kirsten Dunst!
Ask me how!
Also. I have determined that my new hair cut makes me look alarmingly like the film depiction of Pansy Parkinson. Not in the picture I posted, though, so don't compare.
I'll leave it to Beth to determine what this says about my taste in boys.
Also. I have determined that my new hair cut makes me look alarmingly like the film depiction of Pansy Parkinson. Not in the picture I posted, though, so don't compare.
I'll leave it to Beth to determine what this says about my taste in boys.
Thursday
Speaking of stupid.
Lost is back!
Um. Lost is not stupid. It was pretty good. But Jack needs to be kicked, or perhaps punched, right in the nuts.
[Begin Spoiler for Lost 2.1 — Highlight to view]
He dropped the torch down the hatch hole! With the rope leading down it! WHAT IF SOMEONE HAD BEEN CLIMBING DOWN THE ROPE, JACK? Or standing at the bottom?? Geez! What is his problem??
Also, even if you don't like someone, when a shady character is holding a gun to his head and you hold that person's life in your hands? It's not the best time to get all jerky with the "I told you so"s. God. What a Jack ass. I almost hope he dies. And it's only the first episode! We'll see how he does.
Also, I pretty much knew ... 97% maybe, that the nice quasi-mystical fellow with the really bad Irish/Scottish accent was going to wind up in the hatch. It was still totally weird, though.
Shallow note: Shannon's hair is ever-so-slightly longer than it was at the end of last season. It's distracting. Also, I'm jealous.
[End Spoiler]
I also watched "Invasion" which I don't think I'll do again. I only watched it because it seemed to totally parallel the plot of an episode of The Outer Limits that was described to me recently. Totally! The crazy brother is a really good actor, though. Definitely the best on the show. Take that, William Fitchner!
Um. Lost is not stupid. It was pretty good. But Jack needs to be kicked, or perhaps punched, right in the nuts.
[Begin Spoiler for Lost 2.1 — Highlight to view]
He dropped the torch down the hatch hole! With the rope leading down it! WHAT IF SOMEONE HAD BEEN CLIMBING DOWN THE ROPE, JACK? Or standing at the bottom?? Geez! What is his problem??
Also, even if you don't like someone, when a shady character is holding a gun to his head and you hold that person's life in your hands? It's not the best time to get all jerky with the "I told you so"s. God. What a Jack ass. I almost hope he dies. And it's only the first episode! We'll see how he does.
Also, I pretty much knew ... 97% maybe, that the nice quasi-mystical fellow with the really bad Irish/Scottish accent was going to wind up in the hatch. It was still totally weird, though.
Shallow note: Shannon's hair is ever-so-slightly longer than it was at the end of last season. It's distracting. Also, I'm jealous.
[End Spoiler]
I also watched "Invasion" which I don't think I'll do again. I only watched it because it seemed to totally parallel the plot of an episode of The Outer Limits that was described to me recently. Totally! The crazy brother is a really good actor, though. Definitely the best on the show. Take that, William Fitchner!
Wednesday
I'm sorry if my aunt is one of the worst hurricanes on record.
So, hurricanes, man. Of all the things you can say about them, I've chosen to pick perhaps one of the least important aspects of them and make a fuss over it.
The naming of them.
Now, I understand why hurricanes are given names. It's much more immediate, even when you look at the abbreviated history of storms on news pages or what not. Hurricane Katrina kills people! Hurricane Andrew kills people! Hurricane Camille kills people! And then there was like this hurricane that was back around the turn of the century and it was really big? Yeah, killed people.
Back in the early 90s, my sister's soon-to-be husband was named Andrew. That was around when I started considering this. It was brought up again by a small editorial in my local paper, that I read while I was using said paper to catch drips as I painted a trim in my kitchen, describing the thoughts of some ladies named Katrina to the fact that they, it seems, destroyed New Orleans. And now there's Hurricane Rita the Category 5. Of course, like a good guinea, I have an aunt named Rita.
Does this strike anyone else as something of a bad idea? As I've said, I understand the rationale behind naming them. But must they be given peoples' names? A little girl in that article said that her classmates had been making fun of her name. Not, of course, that this is the greatest tragedy of the whole thing, but, seriously. Some things can't be helped and some things can. Having the same first name as the Long Island Lolita certainly didn't do me any favors in sixth grade.
What if, for example, you had a beloved grandmother Katrina, and you were about to give birth to a baby girl, and you could think of no better tribute than to name her after dear granny? Now, for the rest of her life (or at least for the next ten years, with varying frequency) you'll be asked why you named your child after the storm that decimated the Big Easy.
Now, with a storm like "Ophelia" -- it's not that bad. Because it's not a name many people have, and it's already famous for another reason. But "Katrina" -- that means Hurricane now. That means relief funds and refugees (or not, if you find that racist!) and floodwaters.
Then, here's a morbid consideration - if your name comes up for a hurricane, how well do you want it to do? Think about it. I mean, really, you don't want your storm to level cities and kill hundreds. Or do you? This is your shot for the record books, right? You don't want to be lame and never make it past tropical storm status, do you? Or hell, tropical depression ?? But do you really feel like having your name tied to the infamous? It's the only one you've got. (Unless you don't have a real name.)
I mean, my aunt (who may have to start going by Marguerite) has been around for quite some time. I'm sure she wouldn't appreciate me saying how long. But the better part of a century. A lot longer than this hurricane. Yet I know she's going to hear about it. I know she's going to have to think about it and its attendent destruction in relation to herself. Because, hell, that's what I'd do.
It's like this terrible commercial that I saw with my mother while we were watching Lost (hi Steph!). Although I didn't say these exact words, my thought was, "Gee, aren't you glad you lived so long to witness this?" Seriously, that's how bad it was.
It's sort of the same feeling. As stated, this is not the most terrible or lasting thing about hurricanes. But ... isn't it kind of stupid? Seriously? What's to be lost by naming hurricanes after ancient gods, or something anthropomorphic yet still mostly impersonal like that? At least they don't have feelings to hurt. Unless you've actually named your child Zeus. In which case ... he's got bigger problems.
The naming of them.
Now, I understand why hurricanes are given names. It's much more immediate, even when you look at the abbreviated history of storms on news pages or what not. Hurricane Katrina kills people! Hurricane Andrew kills people! Hurricane Camille kills people! And then there was like this hurricane that was back around the turn of the century and it was really big? Yeah, killed people.
Back in the early 90s, my sister's soon-to-be husband was named Andrew. That was around when I started considering this. It was brought up again by a small editorial in my local paper, that I read while I was using said paper to catch drips as I painted a trim in my kitchen, describing the thoughts of some ladies named Katrina to the fact that they, it seems, destroyed New Orleans. And now there's Hurricane Rita the Category 5. Of course, like a good guinea, I have an aunt named Rita.
Does this strike anyone else as something of a bad idea? As I've said, I understand the rationale behind naming them. But must they be given peoples' names? A little girl in that article said that her classmates had been making fun of her name. Not, of course, that this is the greatest tragedy of the whole thing, but, seriously. Some things can't be helped and some things can. Having the same first name as the Long Island Lolita certainly didn't do me any favors in sixth grade.
What if, for example, you had a beloved grandmother Katrina, and you were about to give birth to a baby girl, and you could think of no better tribute than to name her after dear granny? Now, for the rest of her life (or at least for the next ten years, with varying frequency) you'll be asked why you named your child after the storm that decimated the Big Easy.
Now, with a storm like "Ophelia" -- it's not that bad. Because it's not a name many people have, and it's already famous for another reason. But "Katrina" -- that means Hurricane now. That means relief funds and refugees (or not, if you find that racist!) and floodwaters.
Then, here's a morbid consideration - if your name comes up for a hurricane, how well do you want it to do? Think about it. I mean, really, you don't want your storm to level cities and kill hundreds. Or do you? This is your shot for the record books, right? You don't want to be lame and never make it past tropical storm status, do you? Or hell, tropical depression ?? But do you really feel like having your name tied to the infamous? It's the only one you've got. (Unless you don't have a real name.)
I mean, my aunt (who may have to start going by Marguerite) has been around for quite some time. I'm sure she wouldn't appreciate me saying how long. But the better part of a century. A lot longer than this hurricane. Yet I know she's going to hear about it. I know she's going to have to think about it and its attendent destruction in relation to herself. Because, hell, that's what I'd do.
It's like this terrible commercial that I saw with my mother while we were watching Lost (hi Steph!). Although I didn't say these exact words, my thought was, "Gee, aren't you glad you lived so long to witness this?" Seriously, that's how bad it was.
It's sort of the same feeling. As stated, this is not the most terrible or lasting thing about hurricanes. But ... isn't it kind of stupid? Seriously? What's to be lost by naming hurricanes after ancient gods, or something anthropomorphic yet still mostly impersonal like that? At least they don't have feelings to hurt. Unless you've actually named your child Zeus. In which case ... he's got bigger problems.
Thursday
Oh, yeah, incidentally?
I'M FUCKING BALD!!!
My hair has not been this short in ... dude. I don't even frigging know. Also, when I was trying to get a decent picture, I realized that I look alarmingly like my mother. This could be the hair, or it could be my RAPID DEGENERATIVE AGING DISEASE.
Also, this is (hopefully) not how my hair will look. This is how it looked immediately after getting home after walking through some rain and hideous humidity. I'm still wearing those clothes. And my shirt still has small sliced hairs upon it. Because that's how real time this is, bitches!
I have no hair!
My hair has not been this short in ... dude. I don't even frigging know. Also, when I was trying to get a decent picture, I realized that I look alarmingly like my mother. This could be the hair, or it could be my RAPID DEGENERATIVE AGING DISEASE.
Also, this is (hopefully) not how my hair will look. This is how it looked immediately after getting home after walking through some rain and hideous humidity. I'm still wearing those clothes. And my shirt still has small sliced hairs upon it. Because that's how real time this is, bitches!
I have no hair!
Wednesday
A haircut, a real job, and the attainment thereof.
So far, I've been paid to have people dress me up and do my hair.
I would have to say that I've definitely chosen the right profession for me. Now all I have to do is do this all the time. And not, say, just this once. We'll see how that goes.
In other news, my real world job told me to fuck off on Monday. Wait. No. That's what I told them. Only, in my head. They said they no longer required my services.
AND I COULD NOT BE HAPPIER.
I would have to say that I've definitely chosen the right profession for me. Now all I have to do is do this all the time. And not, say, just this once. We'll see how that goes.
In other news, my real world job told me to fuck off on Monday. Wait. No. That's what I told them. Only, in my head. They said they no longer required my services.
AND I COULD NOT BE HAPPIER.
Tuesday
I like this aspect.
An editorial from the Times-Picayune, September 6, by Chris Rose.
Louisiana ambassadors say hello
Dear America,
I suppose we should introduce ourselves: We're South Louisiana.
We have arrived on your doorstep on short notice and we apologize for that, but we never were much for waiting around for invitations. We're not much on formalities like that.
And we might be staying around your town for a while, enrolling in your schools and looking for jobs, so we wanted to tell you a few things about us. We know you didn't ask for this and neither did we, so we're just going to have to make the best of it.
First of all, we thank you. For your money, your water, your food, your prayers, your boats and buses and the men and women of your National Guards, fire departments, hospitals and everyone else who has come to our rescue.
We're a fiercely proud and independent people, and we don't cotton much to outside interference, but we're not ashamed to accept help when we need it. And right now, we need it.
Just don't get carried away. For instance, once we get around to fishing again, don't try to tell us what kind of lures work best in your waters.
We're not going to listen. We're stubborn that way.
You probably already know that we talk funny and listen to strange music and eat things you'd probably hire an exterminator to get out of your yard.
We dance even if there's no radio. We drink at funerals. We talk too much and laugh too loud and live too large and, frankly, we're suspicious of others who don't.
But we'll try not to judge you while we're in your town.
Everybody loves their home, we know that. But we love South Louisiana with a ferocity that borders on the pathological. Sometimes we bury our dead in LSU sweatshirts.
Often we don't make sense. You may wonder why, for instance - if we could only carry one small bag of belongings with us on our journey to your state - why in God's name did we bring a pair of shrimp boots?
We can't really explain that. It is what it is.
You've probably heard that many of us stayed behind. As bad as it is, many of us cannot fathom a life outside of our border, out in that place we call Elsewhere.
The only way you could understand that is if you have been there, and so many of you have. So you realize that when you strip away all the craziness and bars and parades and music and architecture and all that hooey, really, the best thing about where we come from is us.
We are what made this place a national treasure. We're good people. And don't be afraid to ask us how to pronounce our names. It happens all the time.
When you meet us now and you look into our eyes, you will see the saddest story ever told. Our hearts are broken into a thousand pieces.
But don't pity us. We're gonna make it. We're resilient. After all, we've been rooting for the Saints for 35 years. That's got to count for something.
OK, maybe something else you should know is that we make jokes at inappropriate times.
But what the hell.
And one more thing: In our part of the country, we're used to having visitors. It's our way of life.
So when all this is over and we move back home, we will repay to you the hospitality and generosity of spirit you offer to us in this season of our despair.
That is our promise. That is our faith.
Louisiana ambassadors say hello
Dear America,
I suppose we should introduce ourselves: We're South Louisiana.
We have arrived on your doorstep on short notice and we apologize for that, but we never were much for waiting around for invitations. We're not much on formalities like that.
And we might be staying around your town for a while, enrolling in your schools and looking for jobs, so we wanted to tell you a few things about us. We know you didn't ask for this and neither did we, so we're just going to have to make the best of it.
First of all, we thank you. For your money, your water, your food, your prayers, your boats and buses and the men and women of your National Guards, fire departments, hospitals and everyone else who has come to our rescue.
We're a fiercely proud and independent people, and we don't cotton much to outside interference, but we're not ashamed to accept help when we need it. And right now, we need it.
Just don't get carried away. For instance, once we get around to fishing again, don't try to tell us what kind of lures work best in your waters.
We're not going to listen. We're stubborn that way.
You probably already know that we talk funny and listen to strange music and eat things you'd probably hire an exterminator to get out of your yard.
We dance even if there's no radio. We drink at funerals. We talk too much and laugh too loud and live too large and, frankly, we're suspicious of others who don't.
But we'll try not to judge you while we're in your town.
Everybody loves their home, we know that. But we love South Louisiana with a ferocity that borders on the pathological. Sometimes we bury our dead in LSU sweatshirts.
Often we don't make sense. You may wonder why, for instance - if we could only carry one small bag of belongings with us on our journey to your state - why in God's name did we bring a pair of shrimp boots?
We can't really explain that. It is what it is.
You've probably heard that many of us stayed behind. As bad as it is, many of us cannot fathom a life outside of our border, out in that place we call Elsewhere.
The only way you could understand that is if you have been there, and so many of you have. So you realize that when you strip away all the craziness and bars and parades and music and architecture and all that hooey, really, the best thing about where we come from is us.
We are what made this place a national treasure. We're good people. And don't be afraid to ask us how to pronounce our names. It happens all the time.
When you meet us now and you look into our eyes, you will see the saddest story ever told. Our hearts are broken into a thousand pieces.
But don't pity us. We're gonna make it. We're resilient. After all, we've been rooting for the Saints for 35 years. That's got to count for something.
OK, maybe something else you should know is that we make jokes at inappropriate times.
But what the hell.
And one more thing: In our part of the country, we're used to having visitors. It's our way of life.
So when all this is over and we move back home, we will repay to you the hospitality and generosity of spirit you offer to us in this season of our despair.
That is our promise. That is our faith.
Sunday
That's all I was looking for.
"But to my country I want to say this: During this crisis you failed us. You looked down on us; you dismissed our victims; you dismissed us. You want our Jazz Fest, you want our Mardi Gras, you want our cooking and our music. Then when you saw us in real trouble, when you saw a tiny minority preying on the weak among us, you called us 'Sin City,' and turned your backs.
Well, we are a lot more than all that. And though we may seem the most exotic, the most atmospheric and, at times, the most downtrodden part of this land, we are still part of it. We are Americans. We are you."
-- Anne Rice September 4, 2005
Well, we are a lot more than all that. And though we may seem the most exotic, the most atmospheric and, at times, the most downtrodden part of this land, we are still part of it. We are Americans. We are you."
-- Anne Rice September 4, 2005
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