Marriage is a wonderful institution, but who would want to live in an institution? - H.L. Mencken
The best reason for a knitter to marry is that you can't teach the cat to be impressed when you finish a lace scarf. Even if he doesn't know a cable from a boble, my mate can be my biggest cheerleader. - At Knit's End, Yarn Harlot
I just finished my first (of 3) baby blankets. It is for a co-worker from a previous job. It's a pink and blue knit blanket (even though she is having a girl) with a yellow crochet trim. I finished it up after a month of working on it. I did the last ten rows and the crocheted edge while watching about 5 hours of CSI Season 1 on DVD. At 7am, my husband comes into the room and I show him the blanket. He stares at it for a long time before saying, "This is the best thing I've ever seen you make!" Even if the receiver doesn't like the blanket at all, my husband's praise made doing the job worthwhile. Best. Encouragement. Ever.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Fear
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our Light, not our Darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you NOT to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightening about shrinking so that other people won't feel unsure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone. As we let our own Light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others. Marianne Williamson
I first heard this quote in Coach Carter. It made me pause, cry a little, and pull out my journal with a promise to let my light shine. In the movie, there is no mention of God. So imagine my surprise that the truth of the quote without God was validated (to me) by the truth of the quote including God. There was a certain power to the words, as if God had reached from the television to touch the part of my heart that makes this quote true. I am afraid to push myself to my limits, working to exhaustion, resting when needed, congratulating myself when I succeed, learning from my mistakes when I fail.
I know my biggest fear is failure. I am afraid I am no good, that I am trying to hard for nothing. I am afraid that others will be better than me, nullifying my achievements. I am afraid that I will not learn, I will not grow and therefore, I will die. I fight against it every day, trying my hardest to be innovative. I am also afraid that I will let those around me down. What I am beginning to understand is that I will do all the things I am afraid of, but what I continually find, much to my amazement, is that I do not do them. When I am my most judgemental self, something keeps me from being the disappointment I should be. When I write, it always comes out as something insightful, or funny, or emotional, depending on what I am writing. Others are better than me, but my achievements are still noticed and rewarded and when something I do isn't rewarded, there is still some comfort in finding that I've done my best. No matter what darkness threatens to overtake my efforts, I find that, through no help from me, my efforts avail much. If there is weakness in my actions, the results are momentous. So if my actions are strong, the results my be astounding. That is what, in the end, I am afraid of.
It is our Light, not our Darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you NOT to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightening about shrinking so that other people won't feel unsure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone. As we let our own Light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others. Marianne Williamson
I first heard this quote in Coach Carter. It made me pause, cry a little, and pull out my journal with a promise to let my light shine. In the movie, there is no mention of God. So imagine my surprise that the truth of the quote without God was validated (to me) by the truth of the quote including God. There was a certain power to the words, as if God had reached from the television to touch the part of my heart that makes this quote true. I am afraid to push myself to my limits, working to exhaustion, resting when needed, congratulating myself when I succeed, learning from my mistakes when I fail.
I know my biggest fear is failure. I am afraid I am no good, that I am trying to hard for nothing. I am afraid that others will be better than me, nullifying my achievements. I am afraid that I will not learn, I will not grow and therefore, I will die. I fight against it every day, trying my hardest to be innovative. I am also afraid that I will let those around me down. What I am beginning to understand is that I will do all the things I am afraid of, but what I continually find, much to my amazement, is that I do not do them. When I am my most judgemental self, something keeps me from being the disappointment I should be. When I write, it always comes out as something insightful, or funny, or emotional, depending on what I am writing. Others are better than me, but my achievements are still noticed and rewarded and when something I do isn't rewarded, there is still some comfort in finding that I've done my best. No matter what darkness threatens to overtake my efforts, I find that, through no help from me, my efforts avail much. If there is weakness in my actions, the results are momentous. So if my actions are strong, the results my be astounding. That is what, in the end, I am afraid of.
Saturday, June 18, 2005
Snide comments are SO called for.
I am a yarn nerd. I asked about yarn shops everywhere I went in Indiana. People told me different places, but they were never places we were going. Finally in Ohio, I spot a fabric shop. The coffee shop we were going to check out was two blocks away, so when we ordered our food, I ran to the shop to check out what yarn, if any, they had.
There were two little old ladies in the back, talking. They looked at me as I walked in, then went back to their conversation. Neither greeted me, neither offered to help. They just talked about what their granddaughter was going to wear somewhere, what their son said the other day, etc. I saw some really beautiful yarn and some really passe yarn. There was this soft netting type yarn that would have been very pretty for a baby shawl, or even a tiny sweater. There was this multicoloured yarn that would have been awesome for a bag. There were these two old biddies that wouldn't even give me the time of day. So, yarn nerd that I was, I stood up, turned towards the door and started my walk out. I took big, angry steps, like the steps my mom took when I was a little girl struggling to keep up. I let my full weight fall into each step, sounding like the giant I am. Then I said, cheerily, loudly, with a touch of the anger and hurt I was feeling, "Thank you ladies so much..." I began
"You're welcom..." one lady got out before I finished. "for helping me." She cut her "Hon" short because she hadn't.
I walked two block faster than I've ever walked any place, stopping short at a sign. I quickly sprinted into the store and ordered. Half a pound of fudge. Peanut butter fudge and chocolate peanut butter fudge. Because I was hollow. The proprietor was nice. He even rounded down though he was mathematically able to round up.
"Thank you for being nice." I say. I don't know what was in my voice, but he looked at me, his eyes softened a little and he said genuinely, almost laughing, "Hey, that's what I'm here for!"
I heard, "I can't solve all the problems of the world, but I can do my part to be a human being." Then I saw C and J at the car with our food and rushed out, a pinch of fudge on the way to my mouth.
There were two little old ladies in the back, talking. They looked at me as I walked in, then went back to their conversation. Neither greeted me, neither offered to help. They just talked about what their granddaughter was going to wear somewhere, what their son said the other day, etc. I saw some really beautiful yarn and some really passe yarn. There was this soft netting type yarn that would have been very pretty for a baby shawl, or even a tiny sweater. There was this multicoloured yarn that would have been awesome for a bag. There were these two old biddies that wouldn't even give me the time of day. So, yarn nerd that I was, I stood up, turned towards the door and started my walk out. I took big, angry steps, like the steps my mom took when I was a little girl struggling to keep up. I let my full weight fall into each step, sounding like the giant I am. Then I said, cheerily, loudly, with a touch of the anger and hurt I was feeling, "Thank you ladies so much..." I began
"You're welcom..." one lady got out before I finished. "for helping me." She cut her "Hon" short because she hadn't.
I walked two block faster than I've ever walked any place, stopping short at a sign. I quickly sprinted into the store and ordered. Half a pound of fudge. Peanut butter fudge and chocolate peanut butter fudge. Because I was hollow. The proprietor was nice. He even rounded down though he was mathematically able to round up.
"Thank you for being nice." I say. I don't know what was in my voice, but he looked at me, his eyes softened a little and he said genuinely, almost laughing, "Hey, that's what I'm here for!"
I heard, "I can't solve all the problems of the world, but I can do my part to be a human being." Then I saw C and J at the car with our food and rushed out, a pinch of fudge on the way to my mouth.
Are We There Yet?
"Do you need directions sir?"
"No. I'm from here."
I didn't doubt he didn't need directions, but we had been up all day, it was nearly 10:45 and we needed to be on our way to the warm bed that was awaiting us at the end of our journey. C. had worked 6 hours, 7 for me and J. pretty much worked all day. Then we'd flown out of Hartsfield and landed in Indianapolis 1 hour later, ready to put our bags down and go to sleep.
We settled back into the seats of our brand new, never before driven Santa Fe, taking in the new car smell, wondering why they didn't put any car mats down and driving in what looked like a big circle.
"I think we're on the airport loop." J. said.
"I see the interstate over there." C. said. I didn't say anything.
"Yeah, I see that." J. said.
"You're in a Santa Fe." C. said. J. looked askance. I said nothing.
"You know, you could take this thing over the grass..." C. joked.
"I can just see myself trying to explain the scratches. 'I promise, the scratches were already there! I don't know why she didn't see them when she checked us out.'" J. laughed. "Oh, here's a street off the loop." He takes it. I begin to laugh to myself a little bit.
Then we drive. I feel like we've seen the whole of Indianapolis and are still no closer to getting to sleep. Finally, we stumble upon the interstate. They breathe a sigh of relief.
"Interesting." I say. J. turns around and looks at me. "No snide comments about me not taking directions." he says. I tell him I was commenting on the car that went too far, backed up in the midst of busy traffic, then went in the right direction at a busy intersection. Interesting that she backed up, interesting that it was this busy at 11:30.
We get on the interstate. We follow it correctly. 10 minutes later, on our right, is the airport, our car rental name emblazoned in yellow. The same car rental place we'd left 45 minutes ago.
Interesting.
For the rest of the trip, I laughed everytime someone asked J. if he needed directions.
"No. I'm from here."
I didn't doubt he didn't need directions, but we had been up all day, it was nearly 10:45 and we needed to be on our way to the warm bed that was awaiting us at the end of our journey. C. had worked 6 hours, 7 for me and J. pretty much worked all day. Then we'd flown out of Hartsfield and landed in Indianapolis 1 hour later, ready to put our bags down and go to sleep.
We settled back into the seats of our brand new, never before driven Santa Fe, taking in the new car smell, wondering why they didn't put any car mats down and driving in what looked like a big circle.
"I think we're on the airport loop." J. said.
"I see the interstate over there." C. said. I didn't say anything.
"Yeah, I see that." J. said.
"You're in a Santa Fe." C. said. J. looked askance. I said nothing.
"You know, you could take this thing over the grass..." C. joked.
"I can just see myself trying to explain the scratches. 'I promise, the scratches were already there! I don't know why she didn't see them when she checked us out.'" J. laughed. "Oh, here's a street off the loop." He takes it. I begin to laugh to myself a little bit.
Then we drive. I feel like we've seen the whole of Indianapolis and are still no closer to getting to sleep. Finally, we stumble upon the interstate. They breathe a sigh of relief.
"Interesting." I say. J. turns around and looks at me. "No snide comments about me not taking directions." he says. I tell him I was commenting on the car that went too far, backed up in the midst of busy traffic, then went in the right direction at a busy intersection. Interesting that she backed up, interesting that it was this busy at 11:30.
We get on the interstate. We follow it correctly. 10 minutes later, on our right, is the airport, our car rental name emblazoned in yellow. The same car rental place we'd left 45 minutes ago.
Interesting.
For the rest of the trip, I laughed everytime someone asked J. if he needed directions.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Reflections during flight
I had to switch to all plastic and wood knitting needles for this flight, although somehow my crochet hook made it in under the radar. That means I had to give up two urgent projects because I was working with metal needles. Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhh. RANT: I had to start two new projects to compensate for the lack of metal needles. Now I'm truly overloaded. Please clue me in when a little old lady tries to hijack a plane with size 11 US knitting needles or Addi Turbo circulars.
There is a lady wearing pink and green. Bright pink and green. Neon even. Colours I haven't seen together since 10th grade. 13 years ago. And only on a very awkward, socially unacceptable teen. Me. And I thought I was cute, just like this lady. And I was wrong. Just like this lady.
I'm making myself a scarf knit on size 19 needles. I'm very excited. This is the first thing I'll knit for myself that will be any good. My first knit item sits in the bottom drawer of my husband desk at work. Even I am not sure what it is supposed to be. He says it looks like I took a skein of yarn, threw it to a dog to play with, took it back 30 minutes later and say, "Here's my scarf."
There is a squeaky wheel on the plane. It's as bad as a bad grocery cart wheel. But scarier. I'm sure it doesn't say anything good about the plane.
Take off is the best part of flying.
There is a lady wearing pink and green. Bright pink and green. Neon even. Colours I haven't seen together since 10th grade. 13 years ago. And only on a very awkward, socially unacceptable teen. Me. And I thought I was cute, just like this lady. And I was wrong. Just like this lady.
I'm making myself a scarf knit on size 19 needles. I'm very excited. This is the first thing I'll knit for myself that will be any good. My first knit item sits in the bottom drawer of my husband desk at work. Even I am not sure what it is supposed to be. He says it looks like I took a skein of yarn, threw it to a dog to play with, took it back 30 minutes later and say, "Here's my scarf."
There is a squeaky wheel on the plane. It's as bad as a bad grocery cart wheel. But scarier. I'm sure it doesn't say anything good about the plane.
Take off is the best part of flying.
Monday, June 06, 2005
Land Shark!
Here is proof that Sci-Fi Network reads my blog. I don't know if that's good or not. Without a doubt the thoughts presented in High Tide are present in this finished product by Sci-Fi. That's okay. It couldn't be better than mine was going to be.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants of course spoilers
Yes. That is actually the title of this post. No, I did not find jeans that magically fit me and three of my friends. Heck, I can't find a pair that will fit just me. But I found a movie that fit quite nicely. The movie starred Joan of Arcadia and a Gilmore Girl and America Ferrera, and another girl who I didn't know from anything. They were well thought out characters, characters that were dynamic, that changed during the course of the movie, that were three dimensional. The story was well written, a good flow of ideas into images that sometimes took my breath away. And I cried.
How did I come to see this traveling pants movie, you ask? It all started out well enough. I was taking the girls I mentor to a movie, since we were getting too weighed down with all the things going on around us. I decided they should pick the movie. I was hoping we would get to see The Longest Yard, even though I've only heard so-so reviews about it. The Sisterhood came out that day and was at the top of the listing for movies and they didn't get much further than that one. I breathed a big sigh and said, "Okay." I invited a co-worker to go with us, simply because I didn't know her and thought it would be fun getting to know her. So there we were, our own weird sisterhood, going to watch this movie. I enjoyed the dialogue, the sadness that didn't get mired into sappiness, the realness of friendship portrayed, the truth of parent/child relationships. Even the benign self-centeredness of Carmen's (America Ferrera's character) stepmother-to-be as she prepared for her wedding was real. I wasn't quite that bad, but I remember. The favourite character was Bailey, the precocious 12 year old with leukemia. She was acidic enough to be 12, but caring enough to be a person facing death every day. I don't think Dakota Fanning has to watch her back, but she was truly good. I cried the most during Carmen's scenes with her dad. The longing to be with him even though he kept himself far from her, the treachery she felt, the anger, and the pure joy when he included her without being coerced into doing so. Maybe it was too much of a happy ending for her story, but at the same time, it was right. Oh, it's not Oscar worthy, where I left the theater thinking that I'd never seen a better written movie, or more ably acted, or anything like that. I did walk away from it with many topics running through my mind. Things like, why do I fear death? Will I ever be honest with my dad like Carmen? Can I stop looking down on others just because they chose a path I wouldn't have? Will I continue to fight for the love I've been given against any odds?
I guess I should say this at the beginning, but I recommend this movie. If you've gotten this far, you've seen a map of the journey, perhaps, but you haven't seen the beauty of Greece, and the joy of being acknowledged, or the anguish of defeating yourself that this movie takes you through. It's something else to look at the world again though another's eyes.
How did I come to see this traveling pants movie, you ask? It all started out well enough. I was taking the girls I mentor to a movie, since we were getting too weighed down with all the things going on around us. I decided they should pick the movie. I was hoping we would get to see The Longest Yard, even though I've only heard so-so reviews about it. The Sisterhood came out that day and was at the top of the listing for movies and they didn't get much further than that one. I breathed a big sigh and said, "Okay." I invited a co-worker to go with us, simply because I didn't know her and thought it would be fun getting to know her. So there we were, our own weird sisterhood, going to watch this movie. I enjoyed the dialogue, the sadness that didn't get mired into sappiness, the realness of friendship portrayed, the truth of parent/child relationships. Even the benign self-centeredness of Carmen's (America Ferrera's character) stepmother-to-be as she prepared for her wedding was real. I wasn't quite that bad, but I remember. The favourite character was Bailey, the precocious 12 year old with leukemia. She was acidic enough to be 12, but caring enough to be a person facing death every day. I don't think Dakota Fanning has to watch her back, but she was truly good. I cried the most during Carmen's scenes with her dad. The longing to be with him even though he kept himself far from her, the treachery she felt, the anger, and the pure joy when he included her without being coerced into doing so. Maybe it was too much of a happy ending for her story, but at the same time, it was right. Oh, it's not Oscar worthy, where I left the theater thinking that I'd never seen a better written movie, or more ably acted, or anything like that. I did walk away from it with many topics running through my mind. Things like, why do I fear death? Will I ever be honest with my dad like Carmen? Can I stop looking down on others just because they chose a path I wouldn't have? Will I continue to fight for the love I've been given against any odds?
I guess I should say this at the beginning, but I recommend this movie. If you've gotten this far, you've seen a map of the journey, perhaps, but you haven't seen the beauty of Greece, and the joy of being acknowledged, or the anguish of defeating yourself that this movie takes you through. It's something else to look at the world again though another's eyes.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
I Do My Own Stunts
I am a dangerous person. The biggest danger is that I can come from nowhere and wreck anything. Literally.
I come by my clumsiness naturally. That is to say, I wasn't graceful once. I've always been clumsy. And I inspire others. My dad dropped me when I was just a wee babe. He of the not dropping much of anything. My dad could walk with planks of wood without hurting himself or others. He could carry many building things in his hands and walk drop free. Me, on the other hand, the most precious of his acquired things, he dropped without even realizing that such a thing could happen. I'm sure he was shocked, and I'm sure my mom kept me far from him for a few months at least.. I credit Velcro Hands, that technology only mothers have, with not dropping me. However, if my hunch is right, and it normally is, she dropped me. It's just that noone ever saw her do it. It's a secret she will take to her grave.
Growing up didn't bring much success. I was coltish, with long awkward legs and arms, my elbows and knees huge knobs on my skinny frame. My head was over big, as if I were trying to retain the "big headed baby" cuteness from my infancy. It wasn't working. I was an awkward child and looked it. I could reach, but I wasn't allowed to carry. Papers would inevitably fall from my hands, outside on windy days. Balls would bounce from my grasp into busy streets. Erasers would slam, with a fuss and a cloud, to the ground if I but looked at them. And heaven forbid if it was my turn to wash the board. Floods of epic proportions my friends. Floods of epic proportions.
Believe me, it didn't get better. I guess my body did grow to fit my head... or, grow closer to the size my head was going for, but my look of awkward destruction did not leave. By this point, I am tripping myself and other people, dropping trays in the lunchroom, somehow getting food fights started. Once, a teacher was hit with blue mashed potatoes, potatoes I had dared someone to dye blue with their ink pen. It wasn't pretty.
Even now, as an adult, I trip over nothings on the floor. I hardly bother to look anymore. I am wary of high, narrow stairs and I've fallen up stairs at least twice. As we speak, my husband is waiting to hear the horrific news that I've somehow managed to stab myself with my knitting needles. It has become a part of me and I know, every now and then, my husband shakes his head at the true knowledge that, in a few years, he may have two more stuntmasters to worry about.
I come by my clumsiness naturally. That is to say, I wasn't graceful once. I've always been clumsy. And I inspire others. My dad dropped me when I was just a wee babe. He of the not dropping much of anything. My dad could walk with planks of wood without hurting himself or others. He could carry many building things in his hands and walk drop free. Me, on the other hand, the most precious of his acquired things, he dropped without even realizing that such a thing could happen. I'm sure he was shocked, and I'm sure my mom kept me far from him for a few months at least.. I credit Velcro Hands, that technology only mothers have, with not dropping me. However, if my hunch is right, and it normally is, she dropped me. It's just that noone ever saw her do it. It's a secret she will take to her grave.
Growing up didn't bring much success. I was coltish, with long awkward legs and arms, my elbows and knees huge knobs on my skinny frame. My head was over big, as if I were trying to retain the "big headed baby" cuteness from my infancy. It wasn't working. I was an awkward child and looked it. I could reach, but I wasn't allowed to carry. Papers would inevitably fall from my hands, outside on windy days. Balls would bounce from my grasp into busy streets. Erasers would slam, with a fuss and a cloud, to the ground if I but looked at them. And heaven forbid if it was my turn to wash the board. Floods of epic proportions my friends. Floods of epic proportions.
Believe me, it didn't get better. I guess my body did grow to fit my head... or, grow closer to the size my head was going for, but my look of awkward destruction did not leave. By this point, I am tripping myself and other people, dropping trays in the lunchroom, somehow getting food fights started. Once, a teacher was hit with blue mashed potatoes, potatoes I had dared someone to dye blue with their ink pen. It wasn't pretty.
Even now, as an adult, I trip over nothings on the floor. I hardly bother to look anymore. I am wary of high, narrow stairs and I've fallen up stairs at least twice. As we speak, my husband is waiting to hear the horrific news that I've somehow managed to stab myself with my knitting needles. It has become a part of me and I know, every now and then, my husband shakes his head at the true knowledge that, in a few years, he may have two more stuntmasters to worry about.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
The Lords of Narnia by Darth Angel (spoilers always possible)
I sat next to a Clone. Darth Vader was a girl. And somehow, normal looking people were there too. Yes, Episode III was more than I expected and less. Let's start with the more.
I felt like I was already watching the 3-D version with the first scene. In some parts, I felt like I was in the movie, especially during Obi Wan's fight scene with Grievous. Padme's outfits were just smashing, although, as a girl, I couldn't see how she slept in the nightgown with the pearls. Hayden Christenssen didn't bother me as much as he did in episode II and I even looked forward to scenes with him, watching the devolution of a Jedi. I liked seeing R2 having a bigger role and the laughs were good laughs. All of them were in the right places for releasing tension. The "moral" questions of the Force were right on, bringing about the clarity and clouding that comes when truths are mixed with untruths.
Now, the less. Darth Sidious. Chancellor Palpatine as a character, was a good character. He was a great embodiment of evil. He had a civil facade, doing an awesome job of playing good, but he had just the right amount of menace to make you edgy about him. Darth Sidious, with his many, many (sigh), many over-enunciations was not a great embodiment of evil. He did evil things. He made people bad, but he wasn't as scary as Palpatine. Darth Sidious literally destroyed the ending of the movie for me.
The best thing about watching Star Wars was definitely the standing in line part. Seeing the costumes, talking to the geeks and the wanna-bes (of which I am one), making new friends, scaring off the ones trying to flirt, helping your friends get in line with you then watching them get sent back, seeing the line wrap twice around the building... those are the things that make the show. And on top of that, the Chronicles of Narnia trailer. Did you see Aslan??? All desire to see any other movies pale in comparison to wanting to see this one. I'm more excited than I thought I would be even though it looked like Lord of the Rings was filming at the same time. And now, I must leave you, with many questions unanswered. Except my computer doesn't hate me anymore.
I felt like I was already watching the 3-D version with the first scene. In some parts, I felt like I was in the movie, especially during Obi Wan's fight scene with Grievous. Padme's outfits were just smashing, although, as a girl, I couldn't see how she slept in the nightgown with the pearls. Hayden Christenssen didn't bother me as much as he did in episode II and I even looked forward to scenes with him, watching the devolution of a Jedi. I liked seeing R2 having a bigger role and the laughs were good laughs. All of them were in the right places for releasing tension. The "moral" questions of the Force were right on, bringing about the clarity and clouding that comes when truths are mixed with untruths.
Now, the less. Darth Sidious. Chancellor Palpatine as a character, was a good character. He was a great embodiment of evil. He had a civil facade, doing an awesome job of playing good, but he had just the right amount of menace to make you edgy about him. Darth Sidious, with his many, many (sigh), many over-enunciations was not a great embodiment of evil. He did evil things. He made people bad, but he wasn't as scary as Palpatine. Darth Sidious literally destroyed the ending of the movie for me.
The best thing about watching Star Wars was definitely the standing in line part. Seeing the costumes, talking to the geeks and the wanna-bes (of which I am one), making new friends, scaring off the ones trying to flirt, helping your friends get in line with you then watching them get sent back, seeing the line wrap twice around the building... those are the things that make the show. And on top of that, the Chronicles of Narnia trailer. Did you see Aslan??? All desire to see any other movies pale in comparison to wanting to see this one. I'm more excited than I thought I would be even though it looked like Lord of the Rings was filming at the same time. And now, I must leave you, with many questions unanswered. Except my computer doesn't hate me anymore.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Don't hate me.
Cornfields don't have good reputations. When you think about them, you get images of crop circles, aliens, ghosts, or children (of the corn). The thought of walking through a cornfield doesn't inspire romantic thoughts. Instead you remember when Mel Gibson was looking for the sounds in the cornfield and saw an alien's foot. What cornfields need is the same marketing that sunflower fields get. Walking through a field of giant sunflowers is romantic. It inspires images of Italy, freshness as opposed to cornfield's images of farmers and flat, desolate places. If you get a bouquet of flowers and a giant sunflower is in it, you want to keep it forever. If you get a bouquet with a cornstalk in it, you may consider that your significant other is either insane or suggesting you should get to cooking. Many people like creamed corn, and eating sunflowers isn't the norm, but consider the popularity of sunflower seeds with its salty goodness and consider popped kernels of corn, whose disposition is to get stuck between your teeth. In the corn/sunflower war, corn always loses. And that's really sad.
P.S. Sorry I've been away, but you would too if your computer hated you.
P.S. Sorry I've been away, but you would too if your computer hated you.
Thursday, April 07, 2005
High Tide Update
As you may have read in the comments for this post, I was made aware of a director willing to tackle the great think piece that is High Tide. Recognizing the quality of my work, though not the content of my character, he agreed to make this work. However, I was made aware through courier that all of my hide tide of hopes would be helplessly dashed against the rocks. I will print the letter in its entirety.
Dear Mrs. This Girl,
I regret to inform you that I must opt out of directing your brilliant film about the certainly upcoming earthquakes that lead to whales being on the top of the food chain.
Though I am a fan of your work, I have been offered the chance to write, direct, and co-star in a similar film and do not wish to be typecast.
It is called "Killah Whales" and it's by the good people at Paramount, so it has a HUGE budget. In the film, a melting glacier causes the ocean to rise and flood an experimental nuclear facility during whale mating season. The result is a school of mutated whales that are no longer forced to reside in the ocean and have a blood lust against humanity. Some have legs but the deadliest is a Blue Whale who mutated wings and flys around like a dragon eating people and drowning whole towns in plankton rich ocean water. The only hope for humanity is a brilliant scientist (Will Smith) who now teaches math to inner city school kids after giving up on science after NASA used his work against his will to eliminate a race of Aliens living on the dark side of the moon. Can the only people that know the whale's secret, a lowly Coast Guard worker (Dennis Quaid) and his homosexual life partner (Ice Cube) convince the scientist to help? KILLAH WHALES: THIS SUMMER WE'RE THE ENDANGERED SPECIES.
Clearly I cannot turn this wonderful project down.
Best of Luck,
Great minds are thinking alike. Of course, I am terribly devastated that I will not get to make my movie, having no budget, no director, no actors, and no talent for special effects. I could have artful drawings for you to see, but I am not technologically advanced enough to show them to you. Maybe my next movie idea, a mocumentary of the Surreal Life, will come to fruition.
Dear Mrs. This Girl,
I regret to inform you that I must opt out of directing your brilliant film about the certainly upcoming earthquakes that lead to whales being on the top of the food chain.
Though I am a fan of your work, I have been offered the chance to write, direct, and co-star in a similar film and do not wish to be typecast.
It is called "Killah Whales" and it's by the good people at Paramount, so it has a HUGE budget. In the film, a melting glacier causes the ocean to rise and flood an experimental nuclear facility during whale mating season. The result is a school of mutated whales that are no longer forced to reside in the ocean and have a blood lust against humanity. Some have legs but the deadliest is a Blue Whale who mutated wings and flys around like a dragon eating people and drowning whole towns in plankton rich ocean water. The only hope for humanity is a brilliant scientist (Will Smith) who now teaches math to inner city school kids after giving up on science after NASA used his work against his will to eliminate a race of Aliens living on the dark side of the moon. Can the only people that know the whale's secret, a lowly Coast Guard worker (Dennis Quaid) and his homosexual life partner (Ice Cube) convince the scientist to help? KILLAH WHALES: THIS SUMMER WE'RE THE ENDANGERED SPECIES.
Clearly I cannot turn this wonderful project down.
Best of Luck,
Great minds are thinking alike. Of course, I am terribly devastated that I will not get to make my movie, having no budget, no director, no actors, and no talent for special effects. I could have artful drawings for you to see, but I am not technologically advanced enough to show them to you. Maybe my next movie idea, a mocumentary of the Surreal Life, will come to fruition.
Monday, April 04, 2005
High Tide
We watched 10.5, a made for TV movie about The Big One... errrr, well, how a series of faults, deeper than can be recorded, trigger earthquakes that could be big enough to sever the entire left coast from the rest of the united states while a crack group of seismologist go about trying to prevent The Big One. The good things? Bo Duke John Schneider. The bad things? Oh, the writing, the acting, the storyline, the fact that they declared Marshal Law (as opposed to martial law) as written on newscasts detailing the tragedies of the quakes, etc. This movies has inspired my own movie idea, co-created with my husband.
High Tide:
When Jupiter is smashed by the hand of God, pieces of it crash into the moon, knocking it slightly off course, causing the tides to come careening into large cities. Whales move to the top of the food chain and this new threat must be tackled by a crack group of marine biologist even as they figure out ways to live under water during half the day. The cast will include Chevy Chase, since he has some dealings with land water creatures who are at the top of the food chain and, of course, John Schneider. The movie is in development now as we continue to see what other ridiculous extremes we can take this movie to.
This is what happens when you don't have anything to do on a Saturday but be lazy and watch bad made for tv movies.
High Tide:
When Jupiter is smashed by the hand of God, pieces of it crash into the moon, knocking it slightly off course, causing the tides to come careening into large cities. Whales move to the top of the food chain and this new threat must be tackled by a crack group of marine biologist even as they figure out ways to live under water during half the day. The cast will include Chevy Chase, since he has some dealings with land water creatures who are at the top of the food chain and, of course, John Schneider. The movie is in development now as we continue to see what other ridiculous extremes we can take this movie to.
This is what happens when you don't have anything to do on a Saturday but be lazy and watch bad made for tv movies.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Such Great Heights
A good friend of mine died two Sundays ago. My tears were light because he'd had cancer for nearly two years and now he is no longer suffering. The majority of my tears were for me. Why does death bring out the most selfish desires and thoughts? I wanted him to be back to his original, pre cancer, body and days. I wanted him to meet my husband, whom he'd never had the pleasure of meeting. I wanted to talk to him about a couple of friends of ours who didn't seem to be doing well. I wanted his advice about a move we were going to make. I wanted to talk to him about the things God had been telling me and get his prayer and help concerning these very hard things. I missed him for me.
The viewing was the first I'd been to for someone other than family. The lines was somber and long, the mood quiet. There was the occasional sniff, the occasional loud cry choked back for modesty's sake, but overall, a sober crowd paying last respects. I went with my boss, who is also a friend of mine. We talked about him and most of the stories made us laugh, which was out of place in this crowd, but definitely on par for his life.
What is there about seeing the vacant house that once held the soul of my friend that brings others to tears? Seeing him there, vacant, caused the threat of tears to stop. This wasn't him. He was long gone, enjoying his present hope. I don't know why I paid so much attention to the look on his face. He had a slight smile on his face and I thought, "that's how I want to look when I go." There was a picture of him pre-cancer, and that picture made me cry. That was who I missed, not this guy. I couldn't find tears for his parents, but I found a smile and a word of encouragement.
The funeral brought together many old faces, people who had gone out of my life were back again, but in tears, not in joy. There was some joy, I guess, because we didn't relish the idea of more suffering, but there was much sadness because the clown we'd known and loved was gone. Two months before, he'd almost died from pneumonia. When he came through it, he started earnest preparations for his funeral. He knew his time was coming and he wasn't going to fight it. His brother said that, after he'd died, they left the room to call people and he came back thirty minutes later. Somehow, amazingly, there was a smile on his face. One of his last requests was that we release ballons at the burial site. The officiant at his funeral said it was because he'd always loved balloons, but I think there was another reason. I think that he wasn't sure how he would think about the things and people on earth when he was in heaven, but, if there was a chance he could see us, he'd know we were paying our respects to him when the first strain of balloons hit the sky.
Mine was yellow, Jeff. I love you.
The viewing was the first I'd been to for someone other than family. The lines was somber and long, the mood quiet. There was the occasional sniff, the occasional loud cry choked back for modesty's sake, but overall, a sober crowd paying last respects. I went with my boss, who is also a friend of mine. We talked about him and most of the stories made us laugh, which was out of place in this crowd, but definitely on par for his life.
What is there about seeing the vacant house that once held the soul of my friend that brings others to tears? Seeing him there, vacant, caused the threat of tears to stop. This wasn't him. He was long gone, enjoying his present hope. I don't know why I paid so much attention to the look on his face. He had a slight smile on his face and I thought, "that's how I want to look when I go." There was a picture of him pre-cancer, and that picture made me cry. That was who I missed, not this guy. I couldn't find tears for his parents, but I found a smile and a word of encouragement.
The funeral brought together many old faces, people who had gone out of my life were back again, but in tears, not in joy. There was some joy, I guess, because we didn't relish the idea of more suffering, but there was much sadness because the clown we'd known and loved was gone. Two months before, he'd almost died from pneumonia. When he came through it, he started earnest preparations for his funeral. He knew his time was coming and he wasn't going to fight it. His brother said that, after he'd died, they left the room to call people and he came back thirty minutes later. Somehow, amazingly, there was a smile on his face. One of his last requests was that we release ballons at the burial site. The officiant at his funeral said it was because he'd always loved balloons, but I think there was another reason. I think that he wasn't sure how he would think about the things and people on earth when he was in heaven, but, if there was a chance he could see us, he'd know we were paying our respects to him when the first strain of balloons hit the sky.
Mine was yellow, Jeff. I love you.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Knitting v. Writing
Writing is an obsession. Not the sneaky one that catches you unaware, like the time I was 30 bags into my cheetos obsession before I realized it, or the time I went through several *cough,cough* 1 pound bags of peanut butter M&Ms in a year. Writing is the kind of obsession I've lived with forever, stories filling my head, voices of strangers as familiar as the voices of my friends, and sometimes, the voices of my friends as they become characters, carrying on conversations they never remember in real life.
Knitting is my new past time, as well as crocheting. It is the most rewarding and most frustrating thing I've ever done. I can walk away from a well written work of fiction bothered by my inability to express the thought the way it deserves to be expressed, but when I finish a block of the baby blanket I'm knitting for my husband's sister, I feel the accomplishment that writing never gives me. Knitting (or crocheting) is great in that it is an instant gratification kind of thing, although when you make mistakes and have to undo hours of work because you inadvertently added a stitch or you missed a double crochet in the 3rd round, it can be kind of frustrating. The inability to adequately express myself is much more frustrating.
Knitting, however, doesn't give me the sense of purpose that writing gives me. In knitting, I am an imitator, since I don't know enough about the craft to be a creator. But in writing, I am a creator, crafting character traits from glances, conversations from single words. I do not know enough about the craft of writing to be a creator, but the craft itself compels me to create.
I took up knitting to lull my brain, to keep the thoughts from richocheting quite so painfully so that maybe I would be able to isolate the things I wanted to say from the things I would need to say later. It has turned into a fascinating hobby where I can spend hours searching for yarns, designs to try, magazines with designs that I actually think someone would wear, etc. In some ways, it has eclipsed writing. Maybe because it is easier, maybe because it doesn't require much thought. Maybe because I don't get quite as angry when I'm interrupted from knitting(crocheting) as when I'm interrupted from writing. It has been my blessing, a much needed rest as I get back on my writing track. The intricacies of teaching myself to knit and crochet has definitely sharpened the mind even as the ability to knit (once I learned) has given my mind the freedom to wander.
Knitting is my new past time, as well as crocheting. It is the most rewarding and most frustrating thing I've ever done. I can walk away from a well written work of fiction bothered by my inability to express the thought the way it deserves to be expressed, but when I finish a block of the baby blanket I'm knitting for my husband's sister, I feel the accomplishment that writing never gives me. Knitting (or crocheting) is great in that it is an instant gratification kind of thing, although when you make mistakes and have to undo hours of work because you inadvertently added a stitch or you missed a double crochet in the 3rd round, it can be kind of frustrating. The inability to adequately express myself is much more frustrating.
Knitting, however, doesn't give me the sense of purpose that writing gives me. In knitting, I am an imitator, since I don't know enough about the craft to be a creator. But in writing, I am a creator, crafting character traits from glances, conversations from single words. I do not know enough about the craft of writing to be a creator, but the craft itself compels me to create.
I took up knitting to lull my brain, to keep the thoughts from richocheting quite so painfully so that maybe I would be able to isolate the things I wanted to say from the things I would need to say later. It has turned into a fascinating hobby where I can spend hours searching for yarns, designs to try, magazines with designs that I actually think someone would wear, etc. In some ways, it has eclipsed writing. Maybe because it is easier, maybe because it doesn't require much thought. Maybe because I don't get quite as angry when I'm interrupted from knitting(crocheting) as when I'm interrupted from writing. It has been my blessing, a much needed rest as I get back on my writing track. The intricacies of teaching myself to knit and crochet has definitely sharpened the mind even as the ability to knit (once I learned) has given my mind the freedom to wander.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Does this make my butt look young?
My biggest pet peeve lately is wardrobe. Besides the fact that I work so much the only clothes that usually end up getting cleaned is my work uniform, I am struggling with this new situation I am encountering. That situation is being old enough to look ridiculous in young clothes while still being young enough to look ridiculous in old clothes. When I go shopping, which, fortunately, is not often, I find one of 3 things. Clothes that look really good on 18-22 year olds, clothes that look really good on the 30something mother of young children and clothes that look really good on my mother. I am exempt from all categories, but I find that the pair of pants I try on are too low, too skin tight, too Martha's Vineyard capri-ish, or contain too much elastic. There is no category for the young, no longer looking, but still want to be attractive woman. A plus for me is that I look younger than my 29 years so, to others, I don't look outlandish in 18-22 clothes, but I feel ridiculous. However, if I wear the 30something mother clothes, or my mother's clothes, I look ridiculous, because I look younger than my 29 years. Someone needs to do something. There needs to be a line of clothes for young, married, un-childrened women who want to be fashionable, not faddish, while still looking the part. I mean, if I wore the shirts and pants that my face dictates, my husband would wonder if I am actually looking to replace him. But I can't stand the dumpy looking clothes that is next in line for me. (No offense to the women who actually do look good in these clothes. It's just not me).
Is there help? Will someone show me the way? That is, if there's not much shopping involved.
Is there help? Will someone show me the way? That is, if there's not much shopping involved.
Writer's Block
So, to combat writer's block, I knit and write to my blog. It doesn't help me get anywhere with my other writing, but it certainly makes me feel productive.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Learning In Marriage
1. The right person will come along and you will know it when it happens. When I met my husband, it was as if everything was aligned to make sure we would not miss out on the chance to be together. I was about to move to California. I was not interested in having a long distance relationship. I thought I only had a crush on him. I was going to say goodbye and never talk to him again. But something wouldn't let me leave without telling him how I felt and I ended up having a long distance relationship. When I moved back, he asked me to marry him and I've been happy every since. Not fairy tale happy, but happy because I am with the person I know I'm supposed to be with. "Good for you", you might think, hating your single existence. I say this to the single, because now I understand. If you are single, enjoy it. If you believe in God and trust Him for yourself, you can trust Him to treat you right. He will not only let you know, but He will make sure that you don't miss out. If you do not believe in God or trust Him for yourself, I have no true words of consolations. I can only implore you to wait patiently. Do not be hasty in anything.
2. No one issue should be the main focus in your marriage. If sex, or cleaning, or anything becomes a source of contention, that thing has too big of a place in your relationship. Marriage is a mix of things. It's two people becoming one. It's taking all of the good and the crap from the accumulated years and pushing them so that they form the basis of one relationship. We all know that we carry everything that has, or has not, happened to us into our relationships. But we don't know how to make them all work together. We hear words like compromise and know it is right, but we want to win. And that is where the problems start. Compare the issue that is causing problems to the ones that aren't and if it looks much bigger, reduce it. Stop trying to win, or be the one that is right and the problem will grow smaller. It will take some introspection, but if we will stop trying to be our own person when we are half of a whole, we will find much peace and comfort in this. And by no means do I suggest that you lose your identity in marriage. Your identity if solidified in marriage. You just have to stop fighting the other half of yourself.
3. The man is not the only person who should be romantic. I have detested Valentine's Day for nearly 20 years. Most people think that it should excite me now that I'm married, but it hasn't. The only problem is that my 6 month anniversary fell on Valentine's day... so our half a year celebration, when done correctly, should be done on Valentine's Day. As I was planning the things that we would do this year, I kept thinking that I would get my husband to give me a massage for Valentine's Day. That was my plan the entire day. As it got closer to the time my husband was to come home from work, I remembered one of my objections to V-Day. It is that so much is expected of men on this particular day, if they don't meet it, they are not romantic, loving, or any of those things they really are. I chose to pamper him and it was the biggest surprise for both of us. He wasn't expecting it at all, and I wasn't expecting how pleased it would make him. I remembered when he gave me flowers out of nowhere, how surprising it was, how loved it made me feel and I realized that he could feel the same way. I'd never thought of my being romantic as a way to his heart or as a way to make him feel the way he makes me feel.
4. Don't sweat the small stuff. Really, don't.
5. Truthfully communicate. Before we got married, my husband said he would have no expectations of me. I said the same. However, I lied, but he didn't. If he wants me to do something, he asks. If I do something, I expect him to see it, understand what that means, then react towards me accordingly. The problem is, I think he is doing the same thing. We ended up having to talk about this because it was causing major problems for me, and major headache for him. If I'd just told him the truth, or if I had just talked to him the first time he didn't meet an expectation, some of the problems or headaches would have been avoided.
I wish I could say to you that these are the things I've gotten down. I relearn these things every day. What I do know is that when I do any of them, I find alot more peace than when I didn't do them.
2. No one issue should be the main focus in your marriage. If sex, or cleaning, or anything becomes a source of contention, that thing has too big of a place in your relationship. Marriage is a mix of things. It's two people becoming one. It's taking all of the good and the crap from the accumulated years and pushing them so that they form the basis of one relationship. We all know that we carry everything that has, or has not, happened to us into our relationships. But we don't know how to make them all work together. We hear words like compromise and know it is right, but we want to win. And that is where the problems start. Compare the issue that is causing problems to the ones that aren't and if it looks much bigger, reduce it. Stop trying to win, or be the one that is right and the problem will grow smaller. It will take some introspection, but if we will stop trying to be our own person when we are half of a whole, we will find much peace and comfort in this. And by no means do I suggest that you lose your identity in marriage. Your identity if solidified in marriage. You just have to stop fighting the other half of yourself.
3. The man is not the only person who should be romantic. I have detested Valentine's Day for nearly 20 years. Most people think that it should excite me now that I'm married, but it hasn't. The only problem is that my 6 month anniversary fell on Valentine's day... so our half a year celebration, when done correctly, should be done on Valentine's Day. As I was planning the things that we would do this year, I kept thinking that I would get my husband to give me a massage for Valentine's Day. That was my plan the entire day. As it got closer to the time my husband was to come home from work, I remembered one of my objections to V-Day. It is that so much is expected of men on this particular day, if they don't meet it, they are not romantic, loving, or any of those things they really are. I chose to pamper him and it was the biggest surprise for both of us. He wasn't expecting it at all, and I wasn't expecting how pleased it would make him. I remembered when he gave me flowers out of nowhere, how surprising it was, how loved it made me feel and I realized that he could feel the same way. I'd never thought of my being romantic as a way to his heart or as a way to make him feel the way he makes me feel.
4. Don't sweat the small stuff. Really, don't.
5. Truthfully communicate. Before we got married, my husband said he would have no expectations of me. I said the same. However, I lied, but he didn't. If he wants me to do something, he asks. If I do something, I expect him to see it, understand what that means, then react towards me accordingly. The problem is, I think he is doing the same thing. We ended up having to talk about this because it was causing major problems for me, and major headache for him. If I'd just told him the truth, or if I had just talked to him the first time he didn't meet an expectation, some of the problems or headaches would have been avoided.
I wish I could say to you that these are the things I've gotten down. I relearn these things every day. What I do know is that when I do any of them, I find alot more peace than when I didn't do them.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Is Anybody Out There?
Everybody thinks I'm f***in' crazy
!!!
I like this song, even though it took me a while to get used to the things that go on in the song. But that's not what this blog is about, even if I will occasionally talk incoherently about music. This is about unloading.
!!!
I like this song, even though it took me a while to get used to the things that go on in the song. But that's not what this blog is about, even if I will occasionally talk incoherently about music. This is about unloading.
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