Thursday, November 29, 2012

Monster Tubulum Doctor Who Cover

via I Have Seen The Whole Of The Internet

Always wanted one...

Today’s quote – “In the immortal words of Jean-Paul Sartre, ‘Au revoir, Gopher.’”

I've always found the feeling of "leave them wanting more" to be almost unbearably disappointing.  There are times when I'm talking with special friends and it makes me very sad because I know that it will be a long time before it happens again.  Not really a fan of being satisfied with what I'm offered.  I'd much prefer to be satiated than merely tantalized by a small portion of gopher.

 I seem to mourn the loss of any thing that I adore.  Take away my Doctor and I turn into the same Weeping Angel that just tried to send an entire village back in time.  When Buffy ended I actually went outside and cried. It's not like I was a teenager.  I wasn't even the same age as the Buffy characters.  The re-runs were on their way --syndication had already begun -- but it wasn't the same.

Nope. I want trivia nights with former co-workers to go on until the wee hours.  I want drinks with gossipy girlfriends to extend far past the end of a work day.  I want prolonged telephone calls filled with nonsense and silly jokes, just as if we were really together hanging out.  It doesn't happen, but it doesn't stop me from wanting it.  I am hopeful that I am able to hold my disappointment of "until we meet again" in check; that it's not as painfully obvious as it is inside my own head.

I'll try to pretend I'm content enough, but it's not really true.  Just let me be selfish.  I don't want a gopher sampling.  Find me a whole damn gopher village.

Monday, November 19, 2012

How shall Dr. SpaceTime and you be screwed on this adventure?

It appears as if I will be fighting off the Daleks with an iphone, a tile coaster and a bottle of Mexican Coke.  It shall be an old-fashioned record player that saves the Tardis.  The torn shirt I'm wearing and the shorts with a hole in the butt should make up for what's lacking, though.  Not screwed at all.  I believe in the MacGyvery power of minimal technology and a sonic screwdriver to survive any situation. (Unless emotions are involved.  In those situations the Doctor tends to pretty much screw everyone around him, either by killing them, obliterating their mind, or totally crushing their heart.  No iphone or record player's going to fix those issues.)

Contagion of Empathy.

"So there I was, killing them softly with my song.  Or rather being killed.  And not that softly either.  I was singing with my eyes closed.  Was I frightened?  I was petrified."

I love this scene.  It's from About a Boy, a film I was initially pretty lukewarm about.  I found Toni Collette and Nicholas Hoult to be too strange looking and Hugh Grant was too cloying.  (Yes, I know this was the point, but it was much like my hatred of Frank Burns on MASH when I was a kid.  You're supposed to hate him, but my hate for him made it impossible to see beyond it.)

When I saw the film again a few years later I found it quite charming.  I was able to overlook what I'd found vexing before and see how right the film makers had gotten it.  I love how the jaded Will somehow lets himself fall prey to a misfit kid.  I love how the suicidal mother that is supposed to be so self-aware and determined to take on the world is oblivious to the way that same world actually works.  And of course, what is there not to love about a clueless lost boy being the one to make the maladjusted fit for public consumption?

This scene is one where characters sacrifice the need to look cool.  They throw it out the window because it will please someone else.  It's masochistic, really.  Such an act would've been devastating for a kid like Marcus that was already a social pariah.  For Will, such an act could've made his mind explode with self revelation.  Because of the magic of movies, however, it all turns out just fine.  Marcus is not the biggest freak on the stage, so he wins a few points with the loser boys in the audience.  Will's willingness to drop all pretense makes his dream girl realize he's not such a shallow lost cause after all.  The mother in the Yeti jacket is left pretty much unchanged, but even cinematic efficacy can't win them all.

A variation of a theme.

People give Coldplay a lot of shit, and that's okay.  We all have our preferences.  These are most likely the same people that are terribly vexed by Morrissey, finding him to be a whining malcontent. 

For John Waynes out there, the concept of letting someone else protect and love you is just too foreign to bear.  For some of us, the desire to fix all of those we come across with secret pain is a pull we can't resist.

The truth of the matter is that at some point in life, all people will need someone to try to fix them. This isn't weakness.  Wise choices about those we love is a feat of great strength.  Trusting someone to assuage vulnerability isn't weakness.  Offering trust is a risk so intense that it is really one of the bravest things anyone can do.  Loving with a heart so big it can withstand someone else's heartache is the quietest form of fortitude.  

If you wish to neither be fixed nor fix someone else, that is up to you, but be aware that it doesn't make you an impervious hero.  Living a lonely life within an impenetrable fortress shows only that you need someone to fix you.

"Light will guide you home" - it takes on a whole new meaning when sung by an 83 year old man.

Equine Marmalade.

This horse can totally take on a unicorn any day.

As a kid I thought nothing could possibly be better than a dancing horse.  I'd heard about them but never seen any proof that they were real.  As one of the most amazing birthday gifts I've ever received my boyfriend surprised me by taking me to a Lippizzaner show.  As brilliant as that was I don't think anything could possibly top the horse here.

Saturday, November 17, 2012

Can love and joy be proven by experiment?

Mr. and Mrs. Feynman

I love the idea of this couple.  I love the way they choose to give one another the world.  Through science and reason they give one another love and beauty at every turn.  It is a tremendous treasure to be given an aurora.  

Lisa hearts Jeff. Jeff is pretty "meh" in return. A match made in cinematic heaven.

A most romantic film.  The main character chides a beautiful woman for being shallow and inept.  He falls in love with her after she is nearly murdered trying to win the attention he'd been paying to a neighbor's flowers.  He could be spending sensual evenings with this devoted woman but instead gives his focus to the newlyweds next door, the showgirl across the courtyard, and the desperately lonely wallflower that pines away in her basement apartment.  The loneliest person in the film is the girl that's supposed to have it all.  Fret not.  In the end all is well.  The beautiful socialite gets her man, knowing she can prove her love by risking her life to satisfy his whims or by tending to him as an invalid.  With his permission she is permitted to be smitten with this wonderful, wheelchair-bound voyeur. All that he asks in return is that she hide every part of her that he doesn't like.

This version appropriately shows the time it takes for the giddy magic of new love to become something sustainable:

Monday, November 5, 2012

A small huckleberry salute.

...And I was thinking about my river days 
I was thinking about me and Jim 
Passing Cairo on a getaway 
With every steamboat like a hymn 

Out on the desert now 
I'm feeling lost 
The bonnet wears a wire albatross 
Monster ballads and the stations of the cross 
Sighing just a little bit 
Smiling just a little bit...

A small Veteran's Day salute.

Blecch. (But in the most wonderful way.)

Pet Sounds

Ah, Snoopy.  One of the very finest sounds.  His "bleahs" and "blecchs" and giggles and groans fill me with a very peaceful sense of delight whenever I hear them.

(I used to watch Inside the Actor's Studio all the time.  You can't do this and not have a list of answers to the questions asked at the end of every show.

These 10 questions originally came from a French series, "Bouillon de Culture" hosted by Bernard Pivot. 

          1. What is your favorite word?  Recursive
          2. What is your least favorite word?  Lots of words are pretty vexing, but today I'll say it's "snot"
          3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?  Genuine, unsolicited positive attention
          4. What turns you off?  Being unkind
          5. What is your favorite curse word?  Motherfucker
          6. What sound or noise do you love?  There are two: 1)The sound of a doggy drinking water from her bowl; 2)The noises Snoopy makes
          7. What sound or noise do you hate? Female high pitched voices
          8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Arts critic
          9. What profession would you not like to do? Prostitute
          10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? "I'm sorry."
(I'm always very curious about others' responses, but most of the time when I've asked people to play the game they've declined.)


I ran into an old friend at work this weekend.  He was there with his six year old son.  He explained to his son that we'd gone to high school together and were friends a long time ago.  Appropriately, there was no mention of how this had become a much-more-than-friends situation, but this fact is important to this story, so I will mention it now to you, the invisible reader.

I ran into this old friend for the first time since high school about three years ago.  Because of some loose casual common circles, I've seen him a handful of times since then.  Each and every time he has offered up some memories of things we'd done together when we'd hung out as teenagers.  Each and every time now he has been incorrect.  These conversations have resulted in my saying things like:
"Maybe you're thinking of the time we were at the zoo.  We didn't ever go anyplace where there were ponies."
"We never went there together."
"No, you saw that film with Jennifer."
"It was Jeremy that gave you that.  He made it in art class and since he'd given me something the day before he gave you that one so you wouldn't feel left out."
"Um, no.  I'm quite sure that we had sex more than twice.  Glad it was as important to you as it was me."

Initially, I was really perturbed by these errors of memory. I took them really, really personally.  If I'd remembered all of these things with incredible ease, plus much, much more, then how was it he'd forgotten it all?  Or worse -- confused it with someone else?  Then I finally realized that my memory is simply different than that of others.  It's been pointed out to me that my memory is absurdly keen.  It was ridiculous to have ever felt hurt by any of his forgetfulness in the first place.  We'd not spoken for more than fifteen years, and there'd been no lamentation on my behalf over that.  Why would a few mis-remembrances affect me at all?  Feeling at all miffed is absurd as well.  I've learned that in the world of multiple-intelligences that I score highest on inter and intra-personal levels.  It should have occurred to me that my head being so full of specific memories about all the experiences I've had with people was a result of that.  (Perhaps this wasn't obvious to me because my Logic intelligence score was not all that hot...)   It freaks people out that I can tell them what they were wearing and where we were when a certain conversation was held.  I've got to bear that in mind and stop myself from saying things like:
"It was the art fair we went to.  It was raining and we were holding hands.  You kept your hand on my knee as we drove back to your house and we both knew your parents were out of town.  That's how it got started."
"Popcorn instead of cotton candy because you said all the sugar would make you throw up when we rode the Ferris Wheel."
"Your favorite dress was the vintage black linen with white piping.  I didn't own anything with a herringbone pattern."

It's quite funny to me now since I see it for what it is.  It's ridiculous on both sides, is all.  His memory is crap, and my memory is way beyond the normal realm. So now, it has become a funny game for me when I run into this old friend.  I like to see what detail he'll offer  up and marvel at how absurdly incorrect it is.
"Yep.  Still not me."

Useful information from unexpected places.

A few years ago I would have totally scoffed at looking at something like this seriously.  I'm by no means sold on this man.  I can't help but admire his work ethos and keen determination, though.  Inspiration comes from all of sorts of sources.

Someone is needed to water the plants.

Adventure vs. Normalcy.  Loss vs. Gain.  Life vs. Death.  Goodbyes vs. New Beginnings.

This offers all of these things at one time.  It's overwhelming, but as allegedly ridiculous as science-fiction is , when it captures genuine human moments it's also incredibly real.  Life truly is made up of all of these things.  They do frequently happen all at one time.  It is completely overwhelming.  At least in this case Rory was thoughtful enough to offer explanation.  He provided closure, often the most generous gift a person can give someone they love.

The Price is Righteous.

As long as we're on the topic...  I had this posted momentarily on fb.  An acquaintance almost instantly chastised me for it.  Political Correctness is highly over-rated.  Pfffft.


I think we all understand the importance of Price is Right.  This fellow's understanding is simply a little more intense than most.