Reaver Reading Parties

'If they take the ship, they'll rape us to death, eat our flesh and sew our skins into their clothing. And if we're very very lucky, they'll do it in that order.'


Has there ever been a more chilling introduction to a villain?  I can't think of one.  In no other context would I ever assume that getting raped to death would be a mercy--except here.  I think that's part of why it's so scary.  As a female in this modern society I am almost hyper-aware that at any time in public I could be assaulted and raped.  This is seen as one of the very worst things that could happen to someone--and rightly so.  

So if you introduce a villain who'll do this scary worst-of-the-worst thing to you, and then have it be more merciful than anything else they'd do to you, it's mindbogglingly terrifying.  

But even though I find this statement horrifying and even though the thought of Reavers is enough to make me tremble, I would like to raise a small quibble.

Not a very large quibble.  But it occurred to me that I have difficulty imagining part of the above statement.  I don't have trouble imagining the raping, or the death, or the eating of the flesh (is it sad or scary that I have little trouble imagining these things?)

What I have trouble imagining is the sewing our skins into their clothing.  It's not that I have trouble with the concept of people using human skin as clothing--it's an icky thought but perfectly acceptable for your big evil baddie.  

However let us recap.

Reavers are scary.  We've established this.  

Reavers are in a state of perpetual rage and bloodthirsty impulses.  We've seen this in both Firefly and Serenity.

I would like to know what part of scary perpetual rage and bloodthirsty impulses lends itself to sewing projects.

I mean, I have trouble enough finishing ordinary sewing projects when I'm not emotionally compromised by frustration or impatience.  Let alone scary perpetual rage and bloodthirsty impulses.  How do you sew like that?  How would an angry scary Reaver sew?  It's like trying to imagine Orcs doing sewing projects.  It just doesn't seem right.

Would they carefully flay/cut all the skin off first to get the most out of it?  Or are they into the cut pieces off and make it work style of sewing?  Do they actually technically sew with needles or do they use things like staple guns to make it stay together?  I can imagine Reavers angrily stapling things together.

We don't expect Reavers to show any other form of domesticity--why sewing?  When they eat our flesh off our bodies I don't think we expect them to cook it first in a nice wine sauce.  I highly doubt they're much for cleaning house and it boggles the mind to try to think of them knitting a scarf.  Unless it were with human intestines.  And even then I doubt they'd have the patience for it (angry knitting!)

So yeah.  As much as it shames me to say it, even my vivid imagination has trouble imagining Reavers doing sewing projects.  

  

Possum Haiku (again)

Is it my fault there
are so many possums to
write haikus about?

hee.

I nearly hit you
Possum on the right road side.
Good thing you turned back.

Wednesday Word: Hope

Does anyone else find it interesting that Hope is such a small word?  I could talk about the significance of it and the deeper meaning etc etc blah etc, pandora's box, etc, blah.

Or I could just let you do the thinking about it.

Hope.

It even sounds upbeat.  Your voice naturally rises when you say it.  You start lower on the 'h' and then upswing a bit to the 'p'.

Hope.

I'm kind of glad it's a small word.

BBC is Proud to Present: Mark Gatiss--Everywhere!

If you are at all a fan of BBC tv shows, it's quite possible you already know who Mark Gatiss is.  Not only is one of the co-creators of Sherlock, but he also stars in it as Mycroft.  (a tidbit I recently learned and was slightly astonished by).

Not long after learning that Gatiss was both writer and actor I happened to rewatch a Doctor Who episode: third season, The Lazarus Experiment.  Imagine my surprise when I recognize the actor playing Dr. Lazarus--it's Mark Gatiss!  A fact which escaped me the first time around the series.  (and the second.  Shush.)

At times like these I find it impossible not to go onto Imdb and see what else someone's been up to.  Although since my quota for shock and surprise has been used up I was fully expecting what I found:  Mark Gatiss is in lots of things.  Lots of BBC things.  In fact he's in so many of them I wonder if he even bothers auditioning or if they just call him out of habit and ask him if he's feeling up for another role.

You never know.  Brits are awesome like that.

(and I use the term 'Brits' endearingly, if you'll allow it.  I've heard some find it objectionable, just like we americans are supposed to find being called a 'Yank' objectionable.  Although I've never been bothered by the term.  Isn't it sad that in our politically correct age we're not even allowed to have decent epithets anymore by which to call other people in other countries?  I'm not speaking in favor of racism and cultural bias--I'm just lamenting the lack of an easy term by which to call other people.)

Commando Bunnies and Other 3am Thoughts

Have you ever seen a bunny try to avoid getting hit by a car?  It's very different from what squirrels do--freeze in place and then make a mad dash for freedom only to freeze up at the very worst time when your wheel rolls over them.  (goodbye squirrel)  No, rabbits run very differently.  They've got the zig-zag pattern down.  They sprint for safety and even when they've reached it they still keep going.  But perhaps the best descriptor I could give them is this: they look like someone just shouted  'Take evasive action!' and the bunny tries desperately to avoid the gunfire it knows is coming.  So it zigs, it zags, it runs really fast then changes direction to confuse you.  You want to know who'd win in a gun fight?  Bunnies every time.

And in case you're out driving late at night and need something to keep your interest going, look for foxes!  Because if you see one you get the great joy of shouting 'View haloo!' and then making lots of hunting horn noises.  You may then keep making hunting horn noises until you tire of it.  Which may be after the first two attempts at a hunting horn noise, or it might be after ten minutes of satisfactory bugling.  You decide.  :)

Beauty

I find it interesting that what I seem to find beautiful at the moment is stars or things that look like stars.  Mmm, pretty.

Poem: Room

Room
is there room for all the flowers and sunlight
filling everything so full you'd swear there isn't room for breathing anymore.
Let alone dying.
Because in some strange way dying takes up more space than living.
Dying doubles you.  There's your body
lying in the sunlight strewn with
broken flowers and shattered pots and
drip drip dripping water
soaking through your favorite shirt
and you can see it all because you're on the outside now.
Taking up more space than before because now
your body doesn't have you anymore.
And you don't have your body.
So you can watch
the flowers falling and
the water dripping and
the sunlight easing its way into all the crevices between the shadows.
And it all feels so tight, you understand?
All so tight because there isn't enough space
for you and your body and all that sunlight.
It's even tighter than it was a moment ago
when your chest condensed in pain and you thought
nothing could be worse than this.
You were right, and you were wrong.
Nothing could be worse than that--
than dying among the flowers and the sunlight.
But then nothing could be worse than what happens next.
What does happen next?
After the sun goes down and the flowers wilt and brown what happens next?

Surprise! You have calluses!

That title is slightly inaccurate.  I have no idea if you have calluses.

But I do!  (not sure if I'm actually excited.  Just felt like the statement deserved more than a period)

It was to my great surprise early this morning that I ran my fingers over my hands and felt little lumps right under the top crease of my middle fingers.  I realized instantly what had happened but it was still a surprise that it had happened:  I drive so much now that I got calluses from where my hands most often touch the steering wheel.  Apparently most of the pressure and friction is on that spot.  Calluses.  Who'd of thunk?

I didn't.  

I'm just glad I didn't get blisters.  I hate blisters.

Wednesday Word: Supercilious

Supercilious: Coolly and patronizingly haughty.

His expression was supercilious as he corrected her grammar.

Yeah.  We know people like that.  :)

The really fun part about this word (other than the way it sounds, of course) is the latin words it comes from.

Super--meaning 'above'
Cilium--meaning 'eyelid'

What's above our eyelids?  Well I think most of us can lay claim to eye-brows (unless you've recently suffered a grilling accident due to the spurt of nice weather today).

The original latin word 'supercilium' meant eyebrow or haughtiness.  Mostly prolly because supercilious people always seem to raise an eyebrow to demonstrate their superiority.  Although that only really demonstrates superiority over facial muscles.  Eh.

Supercilious!  How many supercilious people do you know?

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...

All right, worst things first:

I hit a bunny rabbit.  The one thing I specifically didn't want to to (other than hit a deer) was hit a bunny rabbit!!  And do you know what it did?  It ran under my tire!  It was horrible.  I was very very upset.  I might have taken out a little of my unhappiness on Roger (sorry Roger) and pounded his steering wheel several times.  This made me very sad.

But strangely enough the day had one good thing in store for me: my favorite flower is back!  I saw it blooming on the side of the road and I was soooo happy that the seasons have progressed enough for Chicory to bloom again.  Now I can look forward to an entire summer of seeing it everywhere.  :)  This is a good day.

Chicory!

It is my favorite flower ever.  I don't care if most people would call it a weed.  It is beautiful and it loves to grow on road sides where no other plant likes to grow.  Chicory thrives on bad soil and eventually makes bad soil into nicer soil where other things can grow.

7 Terrible Movies I Can't Get Enough Of

I'm talking about the worst of the worst.  The ones with almost no redeeming value except how fun they are.  And even that is debatable.

These are the movies with flaws.  If they were people you might go as far as to say that they 'have a great personality.'  Or that they 'try really hard.'  As someone who has probably been damned with this faint praise in her lifetime, I hold a special affinity for movies like this.

Also my suspenders of disbelief are massively large and well-sprung.

Or you could say that I'm more like a five year old child than I should be, and I relish watching movies in the way they were meant to be enjoyed.  And sometimes for their unintentional hilarities.

In no particular order:

Doom:  Karl Urban, Rosamund Pike, and The Rock killing evil mutated monsters in a creepy network of tunnels.  Based off the early computer game of the same name.  This statement pretty much sums up why this movie is awful.  It was based off a first person shooter from the early days of computer games (I remember my relatives playing it--I always got a kick out of the part where the bad guys exploded and an eyeball went flying by) and it has The Rock in a lead role.  Do you expect much plot?  Do you expect good character development?  No?  Then you might just last through this highly entertaining ridiculousness.  Besides, if you're willing to give it a shot you might see why I like it: Karl Urban playing a protective older brother to his awesome scientist sister Rosamund Pike.  The tension filled relationship between the two make this movie far better than it ought to be.

Hulk: Not The Hulk, not The Incredible Hulk: just Hulk.  Yeah.  It's that bad.  Eric Bana and Jennifer Connolly star in Ang Lee's horrible flop.  It didn't have to flop.  It might not have flopped (I don't say it would have been amazing or even considered as good as the superhero movies that are coming out now) if not for one thing: the horrible horrible idea someone had to shoot it 'comic book style.'  As in, most scenes are shot with multiple cameras and put onto the screen at the same time with the look of a comic book.  But what works for a comic book fails miserably on a tv screen.  You don't know where to look and you can't really sink into the story.  But I can defend my liking for this movie like this: the acting in it was truly good and far better than the second attempt to reboot the Hulk with Edward Norton and Liv Tyler.  (seriously?  Replacing Jennifer Connolly with Liv Tyler?  Get your head checked, people).  And while it's difficult to watch, when you remember watching it later you don't see the strange double/triple screen shots and all you remember wast that it was a pretty decent movie.

The Shadow:  Alec Baldwin playing a superhero who uses mind powers to turn mostly invisible--except for his shadow.  Ian McKellan plays an absent minded scientist.  Tim Curri is an obnoxious scientist.  The Shadow must thwart the last descendant of Genghis Khan who wants to blow up New York with an atomic bomb.  Boo-yah.  This is camp.  This is over the top.  This is sheer ridiculousness.  This is terrible script writing.  This is so much fun.  The original Shadow was a radio drama.  'What evil lurks in the hearts of man?   The Shadow knows!!'  :)

Aeon Flux:  I've mentioned this movie already on my sappy movie night post.  It's bad scifi with Charlize Theron and Marton Czokas (criminally underused actor).  Their love story is the only really good part of the movie.  Along with the costume design.  And the set design.  Oh it's just so pretty you should watch it anyway!  Just try to ignore the plot holes.  And the way nothing is really explained.  Hoike your suspenders up and prepare for a good time.

Willow:  Most of you might know of Willow.  For the rest of you I'll sum it up thusly: a fantasy romp with Warwick Davis and Val Kilmer trying to fight the evil Queen Bavmorda to save a baby princess.  Along the way they meet trolls and brownies and a good fairy and the amazing disappearing pink dress.  (Similar in a way to the ever-tightening pants of David Bowie in Labyrinth).  There's action!  Adventure!  Terrible acting! Terrible lines you'll remember and want to use over and over again!  Funfunfunfun....

Surf Ninjas: You will never see this movie.  You'll never be able to find this movie.  But I watched it so many times growing up that now I own a dvd copy of it.  Want to know what it's about?  Read that title again.  Yes my friend.  This movie is about surfing ninjas.  In a fake country called Patousan.  'Pa-tou-san.'  Heh.  And it contains such immortal gems of wisdom such as 'Money can't buy knives.'  And an immortal rendition of 'Babaram' set to the tune of 'Barbara Ann.'  Horrible horrible 90's movie, where would my childhood be without you?

Van Helsing:  Hugh Jackman, Kate Beckinsale, David Wenham, in one of the most ridiculous vampire movies ever.  It takes all the old supernatural gothic tropes and it shoves them into one movie in what might have been an attempt at an homage, but just turns into sheer strangeness.  Although this Dracula and his sexy hairclip is possibly my favorite dracula.  Just because.


Now go out and be horrified by what they world has in store for you!  And do try to enjoy yourself.

Haiku and Moon

Haiku for a Less Creepy Possum

Less Creepy Possum,
What is so interesting
That you are sniffing?



I saw the moon today as big as glory and as thin as a sliver of ice.  A star danced just out of reach as clouds tried to hide them.  It was beautiful.

Add it to the list

I've nearly run over a lot of animals since I started doing my paper route.  Squirrels, Rabbits, Raccoons, Mice, Foxes, Deer, That Creepy Possum, a Chicken (hee).  You know.  The usuals.

Today I got to add Turkey to my pantheon of 'Almost Road Kill.'  Turkey!  Just one, and fortunately it stayed on its side of the road and let me not hit it.  That would have been very sad.  Not as sad as hitting a bunny--but then, few things are.

Turkey!

Daily Dose of Humour

No, I did not just spell 'humor' wrong (silly Americans).  I used the British spelling which still includes the 'u,' which is very appropriate because what I am about to show you is from across the pond and very very funny.

QI!

Never heard of it?  Of course you haven't.  Let me 'splain.  No no, there is too much.  Let me sum up.

QI is a British quiz show with Stephen Fry as the host with the panel consisting of mostly British comedians where impossible questions are asked and points are awarded on how interesting you are and taken away based on boring or ordinary answers.

You may curse me for introducing you to this addictive show.  I will accept your curses with a smile.

Now go forth and laugh yourself silly.

Wednesday Words

Today I don't have just one word to share with you.  Today is one of those days where one word just won't do it.

Let me first tell you a short story.

My Bubby is 101 (coming up on 102) years old.  I love spending time with her because the wealth of her knowledge about the past and the nature of humanity is impossible to find anywhere else.  I remember hearing her stories about our family since I was very young.  I remember all the pictures in her apartment and could tell you all the stories about them.

But one day not too long ago I noticed something in her bedroom that I somehow had never noticed in all my years of visiting with her: a poster.  It was nicely framed and had a lot of words in it--but somehow I'd never 'seen' it in all this time.  A little bit surprised at myself, I stood and read what it had to say, never dreaming that what the words were saying would be even more surprising.

Here is what it says:

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love, for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

I was pole-axed.  I had been living these words already for so many years but here they were written down in a beautifully clear form.  

I give them to you today as they were given to me: my Bubby had bought this poster nearly 80 years ago.  Today when I told her how much I admired it she told me I should take it home with me, that it was far better that I should own it because I valued it and could appreciate it.

Like me you may wonder who wrote these words and where they came from.  The Internet is a beautiful thing.  :)  

It was a man named Max Ehrmann who wrote this prose poem entitled Desiderata; meaning 'desired things' in Latin.  It was possibly written in 1927, and was only discovered years later.  I hope it gives you as much meaning as it does to me.

Things I've learned from jobs I've done

1. Always be polite no matter who you're talking to.
            --I knew this one already before I ever drew a paycheck but it really came home to me after I saw the sheer negativity you have to swallow down when you're in a job.  I've been a busser, a phon-a-thon caller, a cashier, a janitor (and many more) and I can honestly say that your day becomes a lot brighter and easier to bear when the people you're trying to help take a moment and say thank you, or just give you a nice smile.  It doesn't take much on your part to make someone's day that much better so why not take that extra second and be polite to your cashier?

2.  Always put your trash in the garbage (and always use a garbage bag).
          --Again, things that I knew already.  But when I was a janitor I learned just how many people didn't seem to care if they just left enormous amounts of old food and other garbage on every surface.  They didn't pick it up because they knew you would.  Please people, be considerate.  The garbage is right there.  It's enough work to clean a room even without your extra mess.  Also, don't ever put trash in a bin without a liner of some sort.  That gets disgusting really quickly and adds a ton of horrible smelling work for the person who now has to clean out that trash can.  I've been less than perfect with my cleanliness habits before and in places like hotels there is always the lazy impulse that 'someone else will clean it up.'  I've been that someone else, and I swore that I'd remember what it was like on the other side of that sentiment.

3.  Don't park in front of a mailbox.
        --Admittedly this is something I never thought about until I got a job as a paper-deliverer.  I never thought about mailboxes and how I should be careful not to park too near them because it would make it difficult for the person who has to deliver the mail.  Well, now that I'm the person who has to deliver papers, I'm thinking about it!  Isn't that the way of things?  We never really think about things until they effect us.

I feel a sappy movie night coming on

I'm a girl.

(That really shouldn't surprise you.)

I might like swords and knives (and guns!  practical clothing!  I hate pink!) and can avidly discuss the many different ways of using them on people's bodies but I have my softer sides too.  :)

I sew things.  I like to cook.  When I do decide to clean I do a good job.  In fact, my domestic skills are pretty top for this day and age and I'm really proud of them.  (thank you Mom.  You're wonderful).

And on occasion I not only am a girl--but I allow myself to act girly.

Cue my planned marathon of some of the most girly rom-com movies ever.  Some good.  Some mildly horrifying to the male gender.  Some that even other girls would consider going too far.

Guess what?  I don't care!  It's wonderful being me and I love all the differing facets of my personality.  Sometimes all I want to do is watch things blow up.  Other times I'm in the mood for heart-wrenching drama (although less often, to be honest).  I like fantasy, sci-fi, even a touch of horror, comedies, dramas, rom-coms, westerns--

The list goes and goes.  I was once told by a friend that I have one of the most eclectic movie collections they'd ever seen.  Whee!!  I love it.

Long ago I gave myself the freedom to not be ashamed of what I liked and let me tell you, life's a whole lot more fun when you enjoy doing what you like to do.

Movie list!!

Dear Frankie: this one tops my list of movies that I want to watch on my Sappy Movie Extravaganza.  It's wonderful.  You should see it if you haven't already.  Unlike the rest of the movies on this list it's actually good and members of the male gender might be able to tolerate it.

The Lake House: irredeemable horrible rom-com fun.  Well, sort of fun.  They mess up the time travel logistics!! ARRGHGGGH!!!  But for some reason I still really enjoy it every time.  Not recommended for casual viewers.

Aeon Flux: horrible.  Terrible.  Everyone hates this movie.  Technically it's a sci-fi action-y flick.  But that parts kinda rubbish (pretty though--that set design!  Those production values!  The costuming!).  In point of fact, my favorite part of that movie is the love story which is very well acted out.  Do not see this movie unless you have a very high tolerance for bad.

Perhaps I'll also pull out my Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan collection.  Because you see, I'm in need of some sappy ridiculousness.

:)

I'm going to have so much fun!

Names

You may have noticed I've got a thing for names.  Names are fun!  But it's more than names--I love words.  Words and meanings and descriptions and the taste of it as you say it.  Names are just words of a specific sort.

So it makes me really happy when I see that a name of something is actually true:

Elm Street actually has elms on it.

There's a lake on Lake Shore Drive.

And yes, that was a deer running on Deer Run.  Boo-yah.



I will also tell you of the creepy possum I saw last night.

Haiku for a Creepy Possum

Oh Creepy Possum
Unusual sized Rodent
Stop staring at Me.


It was sitting in the middle of the road and I almost ran over it because, well, it was just sitting there--so I swerved around it and all it did was turn its head and watch me go as if it was saying 'Yeah.  You better run.  My creepy stare would kill you if  you stuck around any longer.'

No creepy possum.  In the game of car bumper vs. creepy possum stare the car bumper wins.  Every time.

Except when I swerve around you. That's sort of a tie.

But it really reminded me of The Princess Bride and the ROUSes.  The possum is probably the largest rodent in North America and the possum I saw definitely wins the 'I'd tear off your arm and eat you alive' creepy rodent award.

Gaaagghghh.

Friday Freewrite

I walked a long way yesterday.  Walked right out of my head and into the black beyond.  Have you ever been there?  Not to my black beyond, I mean, but to yours?  Well they might be the same one I'm really not sure.  No one ever talks about it.  Most people probably don't know it's there.

But it is.  It's the reason we're scared of the dark.  Scared of what follows behind.  Scared of what comes after.

Because we already know: we carry it around with us in our heads all the time.  In the back, in a small unseen corner that never gets dusted there is a door.  Mine's large and wooden with big iron straps on it and a large iron ring for a handle.  It's a very heavy door and it's only meant to be opened once.  You know when.

But this is me we're talking about and I've always been too curious by half about what goes on in my brain.  So there I was poking around where I shouldn't be and I found this door in front of me.  How very odd.  Right at the limit of my brain, right at the curving wall of my consciousness I find a door to...what?  How could there be a door at the edge of me?  Where would it go?

Surprisingly it wasn't hard to open.  I just had to really want to go through it--but then, most people probably don't ever want to run out on themselves so their door stays shut tight and unnoticed in their undusted corner.

I think it's been calling to me lately.  I used to shout at it--or it would shout at me, I was never sure--'what are you?'  What are you?

Recently it's been a bit different.  Something's been calling back 'Come here.'  Come here.

Yes.  I'm coming.

Through the daily worries and joys I'm coming.  Past the shoulds and the should-nots I'm coming.  Past the buried emotions and the rock bottom instincts I'm coming.

Come Here.

I'm at the door.  I'm coming.

Come Here.

I'm here.

Here.

Oh God it's so dark it's so empty there's light above me and I think it was the door I came through but it's such a small patch of not-dark now and I think I'm falling further and further away and am I breathing I can't tell anymore if I'm breathing maybe I don't need to breathe anymore I've fallen right out of my body is my body breathing is it all right how will I ever get back how will I ever get out of this black beyond the black the black oh God it's so empty and I'm so small I'm getting smaller I don't know how I know but I'm getting smaller the black is taking everything away and soon I won't be able to go back there'll be nothing left of me

That's it.  That's what the black beyond is.  It's nothing.  Forever.  And you wonder why we all dream of falling and falling and never hitting the ground until BAM!  We jerk awake in our beds and tell ourselves it was just a dream, just a nightmare.  It wasn't real.  It couldn't be real.

We don't know that what we're really experiencing is time in reverse: a memory of what is to come.  The black beyond is stalking us in our heads and we don't even know it's there.

Don't go there.  Don't find your door whatever it looks like.  Don't wish to see what's on the other side.  There's a price if you want to come back.  A price to pay that you might not want to.  Because the price to pay to come back is to come back and live forever with the knowledge of what's inside waiting.  There's too much truth living in you now for all the lies and fakery to fit.  There's no place you fit anymore.  But there will always be the door.  Always the black beyond.  And when you finally dissolve into it maybe it won't be black anymore.  Maybe it won't be empty.  Maybe.

Movie: The Siege

I don't know if anyone remembers this movie.  I don't know if it made much of a splash when it came out in 1998.  I certainly don't remember anyone talking about it then or now.  I might have seen part of it on tv once: one of the scenes was slightly familiar.

But watching this movie now from the vantage point of 2012, all I can think is how horribly predictive it was, and how heart-breakingly sad it is to watch now.

The plot is simple: there are arab terrorists in New York and they are using bombings to try to gain the release of their religious leader whom the American military kidnapped after he directed a bombing on an army base in the middle east.  The FBI (headed by Denzel Washington) does its best to discover and take care of these many threats but they are hampered by both the cultural differences and the US military when martial law is declared in New York city.

Arab extremists.  Bombs.  Hundreds dead.  Terrorist cells.  All of these things made more haunting by the occasion wide shot of New York city with the two towers still standing.

1998.  All this in 1998.  And seeing how Hollywood works, this script could have been in production for up to ten years.  Maybe less, maybe not.  I couldn't say.

This movie--while powerful--wasn't spectacular.  I can see why it isn't particularly remembered now.  (Although Denzel and Tony Shalhoub turn in some great performances)

The reason I tell you of this movie is because it represents something of our history.  Not only 9/11, but of WWII and the camps that interned innocent Japanese Americans.  This is what we can become when fear rules  us.  It is a good thing to be reminded of.





And a very Happy Birthday to Liam Neeson and Karl Urban!  We are glad you are alive and making wonderful movies.  Well, I say we.  At the very least I'm glad.  :)

Wednesday Word: Remnant

Remnant: a small piece remaining from a larger whole.

Why does this word take so long to say?  Remnant.  It lingers in your mouth.  It should be shorter!  Smaller!  Something more befitting it's meaning.

That is all.

Things my mind comes up with at 5 in the morning

I have a job now.  Jobs are cool.  But my job requires that I stay up very late/early and go to sleep at 6-7 in the morning when I finish my job.  So while I'm out there driving my paper route and doing my best not to hit things while simultaneously rolling papers and sticking them into boxes and reading my directions and being very thankful that no one else is on the road at the same time as me--I often have strange thoughts pop into my head.

Not that that's all that different from other times.  I think we all know that my head is very strange.

But the very strange thought that popped into my mind was this:  'Oooh!  Bunny!  Don't hit it!  Wow, bunnies are fast...bunny races!'

In case you didn't follow that: I almost hit a bunny (there are so many of them and they are all so cute and fuzzy and their little tails are so adorable I could just die.  That is all) but managed to avoid hitting it not only thanks to my excellent driving skills (aaaaaaaahhhhhh don't hit the bunny!) but because that rabbit was just so ridiculously fast.  Which led to the inevitable, 'I wonder how fast they can run,' which led to the, 'It would be so cool to see two rabbits race each other,' which will eventually lead to my convincing a good friend to let me borrow her rabbits and try to race them.  Please?

Polka Will Never Die!

Sigh.  There are so few of you who will understand why that is so funny.  And to you all I say thusly: 'What are you doing?  Go read The Dresden Files!  Now!!'

But this post is not about Jim Butcher's going-on-fourteen-books amazing series that you should immediately read .  (hint hint).

It is about Polka!

(just in case you didn't know what polka sounded like because everyone you've ever met has been a hater)

Polka is amazing!

But what surprises me most about polka is how many people dislike it.  Passionately.  They despise polka so much it's amazing there hasn't been a legendary polka-music-burning like what happened to all the books in Germany before WWII.  (I'm not trying to minimize the horror of what happened back then by comparing it to polka.  But in all seriousness, I've met more people who hate polka than I've met Anti-Semites.  Why are there no Polka Hate groups?  No scary tatoo clad men running around destroying clarinets and accordions?  I'm sure most people would be glad of their absence.  Not me!  But some people)

But I think I've discovered why there is no middle ground with polka.

I know--it's a big shocker that I discovered the secret after all this time, but it took a keen mind and countless hours of--oh, wait a minute, it only took listening to three polka songs in a row to understand.

People hate polka because they don't like being happy.

No really!

Polka is so ridiculously joyously fun-filled that it leaves no room for anything but having an amazingly ridiculous joy-packed fun-filled time.

So if you have any tendencies towards gloominess at all--no matter how small or slight--you don't like polka.  It will annoy you.  You'll wish that it never existed and that someone had killed the first person to invent it before they wrote a single note of it.

So you and all your grumpy-gill friends can go stand in a corner discussing how much you hate the rain.  I'll just be over here cavorting with everyone else who wants to have a good time.

Polka will never die!

Poem: End of Destination

This was first written in my Senior year during my Classical literature class.  I'd be paying enough attention to my teacher but at the same time I'd feel so urgent about something--who knows what sort of something, I don't--and I always feel better when I externalize my unknowable emotions into words/poems.  So it's a bit odd, even for me.  :)  A couple years later now I've reworked it and edited it down to something a little better.  Thoughts?

End of Destination

I defy poetry as words. 

I’ve traded up for

faltering phrases to snag

your inner landscape and make it stick to mine. 

My own interests require me

to tell you that this

is a wild fire in the curls of brainy-matter

stuffed in cornered crevices, pulsing

out in thoughtful moments

the compressed

under-sternum-panic Beat. 

I bid the beat. 

It isn’t fair, it isn’t fair, it never gets old how

it just isn’t fair the lies

are neither here nor there, the fresh the old the

sensatory drowning pull

Down—

pressure flying behind it all it pushes me forward,

give me no-nothing

I wish begging wasn’t so undignified what use is pride—

all pride is keeping world from moving on too quick and leaving me behind

I ask that you acknowledge

I’m deceiving you/me

we-heap

It takes more than unknowable statements

(I say whimsical profundity) to fill a bucket

with a hole in the bottom.

Frequently washes the sailor his cloth,

the sailor his cloth, the sailor his

hands. 

I’ve only got one. 

Only got one in my

lead covered net I

only spasm for lung-air blood-breath to shake my head

You might as well keep

pulling on that string, something

larger

will come out of the hole and you don’t want to miss it. 

Regret to inform loss-duck.  Lurch-luck. 

I falling height.  Drinking

time is only blinding, compacting in a

garbage compactor, extractor compactor half

adrift half

sane half

afraid half

here half

ear brink edge, level six on the kitchen aid—

mechanical scream whirring cream to whipped cream creaming sugar and butter before

adding flour. 

Have I lost you/me yet? 

Have I lost the peculiar

doubling

of ideas-impossibilities both true both

here-gone

would you mind if we had a moment of silence

Did you mind?

Suction from the back of the eyeball gives no brain fluid

I hope you know it only shows how much you pissed your life away

your potentialities

by sitting like a lump on your one tone ass with your one tone voice—

kill-shot kick to the head. 

I’m in the throes of foes, handed over to

those immortality sickened and I

am catching it left handed sort of way. 

Hate me, I’m learning

to hate me,

learning from everyone else who withers with their mouths

false-trues that once upheld

souls from mangling. 

But the worn out gears of machined gunned clock

tower factories we-heap. 

Oh we-heap.

This is good and bad, you understand.  At least pretend—

I’m pretending too

since I don’t really have a mind to think with, you understand,

at least pretend you

understand I need a crack-less cavern

solitudinous bubble shaped

for convenience of no entrances. 

And they say keep it open to the sun to the moon to the stars to me to them to wind to dirt

to world

to flagrant invasion insipid morrocans, or do

I mean those things in your hands filled with sand a stone shaking

in a five-year-old’s hands at a teacher’s discretion. 

We-heap,

oh, we-heap.

I’ve tried to word over world

In search of a little vindication

Taking part in twisting your arm—

Metaphorically speaking vindictive

But only by reason of loss

Perceived, received, deceived

In a way that crippled my

Sensibilities of the younger me

Who was told that being odd

Was a sort of death and

Didn’t I want to be immortal?

Pardon me if I am bitter

It’s only the words I learned to chew

But never swallow.  Never eat

Heave all unnecessary baggage water-ward

I promise sir, you won’t need this,

It’s only one light lie I need-believe—

Well I believe you told it to a child

And tried to teach a price

That makes you feel all safe inside

All comfy-headed cushion-souled

Now that magic sold itself to pay the bills

That weren’t existent yesterday,

The day before that saw perpetuation of a lie

I tried hard not to hear.

This should be a National Holiday

It's Morgan Freeman's Birthday everyone!!!

Break out your exclamation points and get ready to par-taaay!!!!!!!!  WHOOOO!!!!!!!!!



I'm sorry, I just can't help it.  It's MORGAN FREEMAN.  And he's still alive!  Yay!!!  I mean, he's not terribly old (75) but he's not getting any younger and that makes me seriously dread the day when he won't be alive any more.  I know--too morbid--but if celebrating your birthday is about anything then it's about having been born on this day once upon a time--and still being alive on this day right now.   :)  This is a reason for happiness!

So we should all celebrate Morgan Freeman's utter awesomeness and go to Clarksdale, Mississippi and hang out at his blues club.  (Morgan Freeman owns a blues club!  See?!)

Or, y'know, for those of us not within easy driving distance of his blues club (sad day :(     ) we should just have Morgan Freeman parties and talk about how awesome this man is.

We can break out our worst/best Morgan Freeman impressions!

We can watch our favorite Morgan Freeman movies!

We can get into fights about who's allowed to kidnap Morgan Freeman and force him to legally adopt them!

Yay!!  This is turning out to be a great party, guys.

But seriously, dibs on the legal adoption thing.  Don't make me come after you.

:D