Life Through the Eyes of the Endangered Fufu

Bad thing: Thanksgiving day making me want to sit alone in my room with my guitar and a sketchbook. *sigh* Parents will not be pleased.

I burned the hell out of the roof of my mouth two days ago (but that pizza was SO GOOD), and it still hurts like a motherfucker. Awesome.

Logic class in about two minutes. Yippee.

Glee makes me so happy.

In other news, it is that time of year again: the one where I make to-do lists every day in the mad hope that one or more things will vanish from it every time I do so. Right now, I'm looking at approximately six more papers, five more exams (including finals), and four more books. Awesome.

Been trying to get back into the swing of writing lately, and it hasn't been easy. For some reason, my mind has developed quite the block on the end of the first half of my current story and the beginning of the second. The disconnected nature of what is currently on the page (just short of 40,000 words at recent count) is finally getting to me, I guess. I know I can go back and edit at any time; right now, I just want to get the story out of me, and then I can do touch up work from there.

Except my brain is being foolish and not cooperating.

So here, a few words to my characters.

Dear Abigail: Develop. I think I lost interest in you in favor of fleshing out Lizzy (albeit sporadically), and for that I apologize, but...seriously, I need you to speak to me again. The cold shoulder is not working for either of us. Wake up and stop being a cliche.

Dear Lizzy: I don't quite know what I want to do with your history, but I have the clearest image ever of you in the present. Tell Abigail to stop bitching out and let me past her so I can put that image to paper.

Dear Abigail: ...more apologies for wanting you to get out of the way...but get out of the frickin' way. I can make you interesting again, I promise...help me help you.

Dear Other House Girls: I'll give you personalities. I think. I just need to figure out who the rest of you are first...sorry about that.

Dear Undergrounders: DUUUUDE. I so look forward to creating you. (Psst, tell Abigail to work with me so I can get to you...)

Dear Abigail: SERIOUSLY. WHAT THE HELL. I NEED TO GET PAST YOU.

...so, as you can tell, Abigail is bitching out my life. Damn her. I really do have semi-concrete plot plans, I promise, I just am having one hell of a time figuring out how to get her to seem more human. That's step one. I very much dislike step one, but eh.

Hopefully, this is what I will be doing with the majority of my day. Well, this and rereading HBP. I dunno if I'll have the patience to get it all digested again before I see the movie a second time on Saturday. We'll see. Right now, this writing thing feels more important to me. I really want to get into the second half before I go back up to MP, because I usually don't get much writing time when I'm up there. Too many other things call for my attention, and my artistic flow tends to dry right up. Unless, of course, I already have ideas. So I need ideas. On paper. Now.

Last night was pretty sweet. Kind of reminded me of high school, in a nice way. Jason, Rob, Christine, Tara, and I went to see the sixth Harry Potter film at midnight (yes, at twenty years old, we are still attending HP functions with all the giddiness of the fifth graders we once were). It was a pretty solid evening. Christine and I got to make fun of Twilight until we were blue in the face. Following this, we made a friend: the eight-year-old kid in front of me who wouldn't stop bouncing his chair violently back and forth (so we helped him out by jamming our feet into his chair and preventing any motion at all). We sat through what was probably the best HP movie to date, and when it was over, we went on an epic adventure in search of a Big Boy on Gratiot, or possibly Van Dyke, neither of which appeared to exist. We ended up at Linda's, where we died of laughter due to general four-AM ridiculousness. I was in bed by five, and I would like to remain asleep now, but I feel guilty sleeping past noon here.

Anyway. Here be minor spoilers (though if you've read the books, nothing jarring). Things I liked about the movie are as follows:

-Ginny being taller than Harry. And having some actual lines/purpose. The actress doesn't totally suck (though I really wish they'd flamed up her hair a little more; I can't get over a barely-redheaded Ginny Weasley when my mental picture of her practically has her head on fire), which makes me happy, since Ginny is one of my favorite characters.
-Everyone being taller then Harry. Hee. I'm pretty sure that isn't canon, but it made me chuckle.
-The return of Quidditch. Even in small doses, it's always fun to see.
-Hermione and Ron being...um. Them? I like Emma Watson and Rupert Grint in their roles, though they are nowhere near perfect. They've still improved massively since they were eleven.
-Speeeecial efffecccccts. The cave was bitchin'. And Katie's free-float after the necklace was beautifully disturbing.
-Michael Gambon improving like woah. No one will never replace Richard Harris, but I've finally eased into Gambon. Possibly because he chilled the fuck out in this one. Not once did he give Harry the hippy-hippy shake/scream combo. Brava.
-Dan Radcliffe actually being somewhat witty. I don't particularly like him in general (he is far too stiff and his hair is crappy for the role), but I giggled at a few lines this time around.
-The outlay of the Burrow. I think it's changed in every film, but this one may have been my favorite. Y'know, except for the compulsively-placed wheat field.
-Slughorn being played by Jim Broadbent. Oh, Zidler. You are madness.
-Helena Bonham Carter. I just love the lady. She's fiery and spastic and perfect for Bellatrix. Exactly the right mix of Marla Singer batshit crazy and the belovedly homicial quirk of Mrs. Lovett. Le sigh. She's going to kick ass in Burton's Alice in Wonderland project.
-Luna Lovegood is PERFECT. I can't get over how perfect she is in this role. I think she may be the only actress (aside from the aforementioned HBC) whom I was perfectly content with in terms of casting.
-Perfectly lovely cinematography. Beautiful work there, and not in the overly-elaborate annoyingly-unnecessary Alfonso Cuaron sort of way.
-Little!Riddle was magificently creeptastic. Love the casting of Ralph Fiennes nephew, it was a great idea, and the kid was actually pretty eerie.

Things I didn't love so much:

-Lupin's itty-bitty role. I still say he should've been played by a scruffy Ewan McGregor, but at least David Thewlis has lost the pencil mustache. I wish he'd been more prominent, but I guess I understand them needing to keep him at his usual level of scenes. Still. Meh. Lupin deserves more love.
-Fenrir. ...yeeeah. Didn't really work for me. I wanted more action there.
-The actress who plays Tonks just bugs me. I picture a wacky, awesome woman, and I get...dullness. Duuuullllllnesss. Come on, people try a little.
-The loss of Bill and Fleur. They had so much potential. And the decision to leave out the funeral scene.
-Why does every single child actor in these films seem so stiff? It bothers me how they never, over six films, have managed to stop walking like they have sticks in their asses. They have improved, don't get me wrong, but I'm not sure I have any intention of ever seeing Watson, Grint, or that chick playing Ginny in anything non-HP again, since they just seem so...cold.
-The scar. And Harry's glasses. Does it bother no one else that the glasses always look uber-fake and the scar is visible maybe once per movie? It's important, children. Keep it in.
-Minimal Snape. Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't he kind of key in this one? Where was he?
-Malfoy. Well. I mean, I was kind of halfsies on him. Tom Felton is just as awkward as the rest of the kids, he just does so in a suit coat and tie all movie long. I kind of got emotion off of him, but it was muted by him being him. Jury's still out, I guess.
-Tiniest, awkwardest H/G situations ever. They really screwed themselves on that one.
-Harry knowing he's the chosen one when no one ever told him in the fifth film. Erm. Failboat.

Really, it was a good movie. I haven't read the book in ages (I'm actually going to start it again today), so I can't recall everything they cut out. I think that was nicer than nit-picking it all (although when I see it a second time with my family, I'm sure I'll mourn the things they chose not to include more). Overall, I was pleased.

I went to sleep at about 5:30 this morning. Birds were also awake at that time. It was aggravating. The main problem lay in the fact that I was exhausted by 2, dead-on-my-ass by 3:30, and just really, really not wanting to have my eyes open for all the time after. I have a dentist appointment in an hour, so sleeping the way certain tiny blonde people do regularly is not an option either. Great.

We suffered through S. Darko last night, and let me take a moment to profess the obvious: It was quite possibly the most heinous thing ever to touch a screen. Now, let me be clear about this. I knew the movie would suck way before we put it in the DVD player. I didn't suspect this fact--I knew it. There was no question there. The question lay in whether or not a sane human being (specifically one who rates Donnie Darko as one of the top five movies of all time) could sit through the obvious travesty of a film without wanting to take every individual who greenlit, wrote, directed, produced, "acted" in, and generally was involved in some way with the movie, placing them all atop a windmill-like contraption, and aiming a flaming meteor of alien metal their way.

Within the first few moments, it became painfully clear that this was not going to be the case. I had been all set for shock, disappointment,  and horror, and had even left myself a tiny nugget of optimistic space in case this movie actually did wind up being somehow stunning. I was still completely and utterly amazed at the atrocious quality of just about everything happening on Rob's television screen.

For all those looking to get involved with the film, novel, television, or entertainment industry as a whole, here's a back-to-basics, 101-esque tip for you. You want to give to your audience. You want to lead them to a place that is engaging, possibly thought-provoking, hopefully life-changing. At the very least, you want them to think their time was well-enough spent to not scream for their four-dollars in movie rental back. The makers of S. Darko, apparently, never learned this life lesson, because the film completely ignores the golden truth of "give." Contrarily, it asks so very much of the people on the other side of the screen that the mind boggles--and the only thing it offers in return is the intense desire to find a wormhole and get back the lost 103 minutes of your life.

The whole time the film was on, I tried to find a reason not to burn it. The acting certainly couldn't fit the bill; S. Darko boasts such "stars" as half of the One Tree Hill duo (probably because he looks the most like Jake Gyllenhaal), a girl from Step Up 2 (which I'm assuming is about as eye-bleedingly-bad as Step Up), and one of the Sparkle Motion vampires in Twilight. Even Daveigh Chase, who pretended to have some talent as the ten-year-old climbing out of wells and lending her voice to Hawaiian Disney characters, could not have put on a worse performance (though she did channel her Ring-self a bit, which was...um, repetitive). I'm inclined to split the blame neatly down the middle, placing half on the actors and half on the dreadful script. Nothing was okay about that script. Honestly. Who greenlit that script? Not only was the dialogue beyond cheesy (factoring in half-assed attempts to throw-back to DD and such gem banter clips as the banal delivery of, "We're still perfect." "Immaculate"--about twelve times), but the plot made no sense. And not even in the way DD made no sense. They did not even try to make sense. I think they really just sat down at a table with their LSD (which might explain the out-of-nowhere tirade the guy from Gossip Girl, who was so unmemorable that we forgot his name halfway through the movie, goes on about acid trips) and just chose elements of potential interest. These elements didn't have to lock together in any way, mind you. They just had to look pretty. (Not that the cinematography was anything special either.)

For all those three people debating this film, here be spoilers. Feel free to stop following the rant now.

Not only did they not try to make any kind of logical sense, they also did not find it necessary to follow the mythology laid down by the marvelous Richard Kelly (who, PS, really really did not back this film). Liquid spears become convienent blobs that don't really lead anywhere half the time, Living Recievers and Manipulated Dead are tossed in willy-nilly, and really, by the end of the movie, you can't figure out why anything happened to begin with.At least with Donnie Darko, you could get to the end and find a solid "Ohhh, I GET IT" moment waiting for you, tying everything together and at least sort of making sense of the purpose behind each of the events. S. Darko doesn't bother with this. It hurts to even try to figure out where the feather came from, or why it was pulled from a George Foreman commercial, or why the girl is so foolish that she places the life of her friend and a mermaid-scale dress on the same level.

When I got home, I looked up the IMDB page in the hopes that something would make sense. And it does try--more than the film does, anyway. But the thing I have to point out is, all of the "answers" to the questions left in the movie (If Donnie is dead, how on earth did Sam get ahold of the Philosophy of Time Travel? Why is there a sketch of Frank in the book if Frank never existed? How could they possibly justify Roberta Sparrow having a grandson, and why was his name in the old story about the unicorn--the one that Sam probably would never have written, since her happy-go-lucky self appeared to have died with her brother?) are either contrived like hell, or found in the depths of the DVD commentary.

A moment to ask the real question: who in God's name was so bored that they sat through the movie twice?

It irritates me to think that the makers of this movie didn't care enough to explain anything at all, and thought that the audience would be placated by buried mentions of various script drafts and "oh, by the way" comments on what actually happened on that screen. It irritates me even more to read that the writers believe this was "the fans' movie", made by and for the fans--when any fan of the movie would A) know to leave well enough alone and B) would never desecrate the original story arc/mythology quite so horribly. It just makes me sad.

(We won't even talk about how they're planning a third installment...the idea makes me want an Artifact to fall through my ceiling.)

For the record:

-Roberta Sparrow lived alone. She did not have a family. She had money, and she had her toaster-in-bathtub hair, and that was about all.
-Sam's hallucinations of unicorns in the clouds? Not cute.
-Sam's best friend inexplicably being a lying bitch and then paying for it by saving the life of the girl who was meant to die eventually anyway, only to be saved at the very beginning by the guy who made the mask that concussed her? ...What? Sorry, why did this movie take place? If Iraq Jack only moved because DeadFish!Sam told him to, and his moving caused DeadFish!Sam to exist in the first place, and DeadFish!SAm didn't WANT to exist (because, of course, in the first movie, Frank came to Donnie to rewrite the path that would destroy the lives of everyone around him, including Frank himself--an ultimately purposeful and selfless journey that, yes, had its loopholes because if Frank never came, then Donnie might have died and solved the whole problem, except Donnie was always sleepwalking anyway, so it was kind of a grab-bag to see if he'd stick around that night...time travel is effed up)...Okay, look, the whole concept of both Frank and DeadFish!Sam was kind of touch-and-go, but the difference is that DeadFish!Sam had nothing to do with regular Sam. It wasn't her sleepwalking. It would have done more good not to save Iraq Jack to begin with. BAH.
-A character named Iraq Jack--whose actual name is Justin Sparrow--who is the batty grandson of Roberta Sparrow--who, it is assumed, never left Middlesex in her whole damn reclusive life...no.
-The feather. And George Foreman. Fuck the what?
-Why was there an alien metal cube? What did it matter? WHAT THE HELL WAS ITS PURPOSE?
-Little boy. In cave. ...who is never saved. And beyond that, never really matters. The town cares more about stringing up Jack than anything else.

Long story short, godawful movie. The only good thing about it was the score, and it didn't even come close to that of DD. Truly appalling.

Step 1: Wake up at roughly 11 AM from a dream in which my bedroom was a rocket being prepped for going to the moon. Kristina and I, being NASA-trained technicians (clearly), were doing the prepping, and my main concern fluctuated between having enough food and whether or not the sun was going to be at the right angle roast us alive through the window. Yep.

Step 2: Wander downstairs to see a second-cousin and her nephew, neither of whom I have seen in quite some time. The kid, Gavin, fell slightly in love with me across the table and kept bringing me toys. My second-cousin talked a bit about how she still can't find a job. I was awash in a sea of comfort.

Step 3: Shower while singing "Mama Who Bore Me" happily to myself.

Step 4: Read old journals and laugh at myself. Also, cringe. Occasionally pause to text Kat/Kristina about life problems.

Step 5: Go to eye doctor. Get stinging drops put into eyes. Get told that my eyesight is still getting worse. Sit for twelve years while they scramble around deciding if my insurance covers all the right things. Feel eyes burn horribly due to dilation.

Step 6: Drag self around Target/Sports Authority after mother and brother with eyes still burning. As added bonus, get to wear Mom's oh-so-stylish eyewear. Momentarily substitute brother's new sunglasses until he snatches them off my face. Brat. (Heh.)

Step 7: Fight with Mom about stupid things (namely her deciding what I do and do not think or feel about things for me).

Step 8: Make up with Mom by making a pizza to share.

Step 9: Boredom.

What a life I lead.

Last night, I got myself on a music high and did a Facebook note about it. Today, I'm still riding the high. I keep finding the most beautiful voices, and then just basking in the shivers. Sara Bareilles, Joshua Radin, Donna Vivino, A Fine Frenzy...mostly, it's been people with really gorgeous, smooth tones, very calm or jazzy song-types, and relatively deep lyrics. I've been so in the mood lately (with the exception of my Green Day fixation) for the chill-indie sound, acoustic stuff, things that aren't really paraded all over the radio.

For example, Lea Michele. If you don't know Broadway (specifically, Spring Awakening), you probably don't know the name. However, if you--as I just did an hour ago--chose to watch the pilot of the new Fox show Glee, you know who I'm talking about. The show itself isn't overly WOWing just yet. It's cute, kind of amusing, but very high-school-cliche predictable. Nothing stunning there. I don't expect it to last longer than a few episodes (which is sad, since Kristin Chenoweth is supposed to be on it--whee!)

However. This girl. Holy hell, does she have a voice. I mean, I've known that for a few years now, thanks to my long-standing love for the sheer bout of depression that is SA. But it was this show, oddly, that punched it home. Not even all of the episode, either, but rather the very end of it. The kids (all six of them in the oh-so-massive club) put on a performance of Journey's "Don't Stop Believing", headed up by leads Michele and Monteith (who is, in his own right, a decent singer, though nothing to be blown away by).

The original song has never been that great in my book. I know; Journey should be the be-all, end-all of eighties bands, but I just can't get into this one. Except this version? Holy shiiiit. His voice, eh, okay. Her voice--gorgeous. Something she does with it, I don't even know, she's just...you know she's been on Broadway. There's no denying it. And it's enough to make me look forward to this show's likely-short run.

So, there, music is monopolizing my life again. As for other elements of media, I haven't read much. Finished the one John Green book (Paper Towns), and thought it was pretty okay. On par with Looking for Alaska, but not worthy of multiple reads. This other one, An Abundance of Katherines, kind of makes me sad. It's just so...dull. I was hoping for more quirk. The lead character falls in love with nineteen consecutive Katherines, all of them spelled the same way, none of them with nicknames--and every single one dumps him. I was kind of hoping there would be a little more...I dunno, more story there. But all it really is is his futile attempt to reach genius status based on how much he gets dumped. Meh. Not impressed.

And with movies, well...I watched a string of Lena Headey movies (very British, every one, and she was really the only quality portion of each one), and then I sort of just stopped. My typical distractions are dwindling with my interests, and it makes me a little unhappy. But at least I sitll have music.

I actually agreed with something in church today. Heard and clicked with and felt was important, for the first time in years. And, ironically, it has not to do with the faith of that place, but exactly the opposite.

The priest, Fr. Ron, was telling a joke. Not an oddity there, he does that a lot. Possibly too often. Anyway, it had to do with a man getting to Heaven after living a good life. St. Peter met him at the gate and asked what faith he was a part of. The man said he was a Baptist in life, but what did that have to do with anything? He obviously made it in, so it couldn't have mattered much. St. Peter agreed, said he was just asking. Began to give the man a tour. Everything was nice, pretty, and then they came to a wall. Whispers could be heard from the other side, and the man, curious, asked what was behind it. "Shh," Peter replied. "Those are the Catholics. They don't think anyone else is here."

The point, of course, was simple: Why do Catholics operate under the impression that they are the only ones going to paradise after they die? They say the opposite, that they believe God loves everyone, does not discriminate, yet they behave and speak and judge as though they are the only ones whose opinion counts.

It was funny. The words he was saying during this homily, this "everyone is welcome, God does not put people into categories of any kind" monologue...that's what sounds right to me. That's what sounds befitting of the God I was taught to believe in. And, funnily enough, that sentiment, the one he spent all mass trying to jam through our heads? Completely and utterly clashes with most of the sermons I've heard over the years. Hell, it even clashes with the arguments Catholics (my parents included) use to keep their kind coming to mass ever Sunday: "You have to go. I want you to get into Heaven. That's what Catholics do."

...kind of makes me feel affirmed, but I have no idea how to use it against my folks the next time they try to tell me church is necessary for me.

I've had "Think of Me"--yes, from Phantom--stuck in my head all day...and by that, I mean a lovely medley of the Emmy Rossum version and Christine's various homemade verses. It's impressive. And now I really want to watch the movie.

Had my exam today. Really, the only purpose of this entry is the following:

NO MORE SCIENCE FOR ME EVAHHH!!!!

The end.

Just got back from the protest. It was freezing out, and my hands are still kinda frostbitey, but it was worth it. The group was much bigger than I had expected, and we got both newspaper coverage and the support of many passing cars. Overall, it was pretty awesome.

Talked to some people today, cleared some issues. Now have issues with more people. Why can't everyone just be cool all at once? It'd be nice.

Have a paper due on Friday that I've barely started. Go figure. I want sleep instead.

All of my work seems to be looming. Makes me nervous. Hope I make it through.

Am I Jenny?

Don't let me be Jenny.

PLEASE.


....*ahem* Too much L Word will rot the brain. I have three episodes left. And I hate Jenny as much as ever.

I need cookies.

Every night is like this. Every time. I'm so tired of it.

must be really annoyed with the recent mortgage issues. He's said derivatives of "fuck" at least four times in five minutes. Heh.

Dr. Eke knows her GLBT shit. And references Buffy. Badass.

Went and saw The Last Five Years with the girl, "Mom" and "Dad" this afternoon (or, I suppose, yesterday). It was not nearly as good as i wanted it to be, but I enjoyed parts of it. The acting and music were both a little...uncertain. I'll have to see it again some time with stronger singers.

Came back and had a great dinner, prepared mostly by the beautiful girl, with small helping hands--ish--tossed in here and there from myself. I can actually cook, but not in an unfamiliar setting, with no step by step guide, and apparently salad-making escapes me. In other words, I was a little useless. But the food was good.

In other news, I have three papers to write this week. I may have said that in an earlier post. No way of recalling. But one is five pages long, one is for Freed, and one is just this 201 edit thing. Hopefully I can finish it all before Tuesday is through.

Also, I am bound and determined to get the last cat in this house to like me. Or at least not run from me. I'm not sure I'll be successful; I'm not exactly Dr. Ddolittle, but it's fun to try.

And Bones is still cool.

All you ever wanted, but I could never rescue you, no matter how I tried...

I love that song. Depressing as it is.

Anyway. This may be the first Valentine's Day in history that doesn't suck. I mean, it's only been going on for two hours, but so far, so good. Hopefully it'll remain so.

Pretty necklaces for the win. :)

I figured out how to change my icons n' stuff.

Notice and be entertained.

(Pssst. This one is my favorite. *points*)

If you haven't figured it out yet:

I have pride.

I am stubborn.

I am a very proud, stubborn person.

I won't let you carry me.

I won't let you kick me.

I want to take care of myself.

And I am done apologizing for everything.

Odds are, I'm guilty. Odds are, I am sorry.

But I'm done saying it.

That probably doesn't help anything either.

Went to see Wicked with Michelle, Laura, and Zac tonight. It was absolutely phenominal. Blew me away, and I had been expecting a lot. The scenery, the lighting, the singing--brilliant.

There were, of course, some flaws. Glinda was an understudy, but for being one, she was pretty sweet. Incredibly involved in her role, for sure; I haven't seen that much spaz in one character in a long time. Boq was probably the weakest performance, but he wasn't all that prominent, so it was all right. Fieyro came and went, but was mostly impressive. Overall, even the flubs weren't bad at all.

And Elphaba. Holy hell. Donna Vivino was absolutely incredible. Beyond Idina, even. The line deliveries were good; the singing was awesome. If I could get her version of every song in the play, I would do it in a heartbeat.

I had known the entire story (both the play and the book, actually) going in, so I had a good idea of what was coming each time, but there were still some surprises just in the way things played out. The monkeys, for one major thing. Those little fuckers used to scare the hell out of me when I watched the movie as a kid; they were the main reason I wasn't a big Wizard of Oz fan, actually. By now I'm way too old to be scared by such things, but the physical acting was so profound in this cast that I still found myself majorly creeped by them. That impresses me. Very cool.

I love the high I get from live plays. I got them in Stratford, for (good) Lakeview plays. When I saw RENT, I was on cloud nine for hours (PS, if we could sneak into the theater in Feb and see Adam Pascal and Anthony Rapp--it would rock). And this is at least on par with how I felt that day. Totally awesome.

When I'm older and more financially secure, I will make it a point to go and see many more musicals. They're pretty good on Youtube, but nothing beats seeing them live.

I am capable of having periods of calm in all this craziness.

Case in point: I'm sitting and talking over Pride and Prejudice with my brother. Which is incredibly entertaining, turns out, because he's only read 3/4s of the book (for his upcoming AP English course with Burnett, hee) and I've only seen the movie once. And I didn't really pay attention. So debating whether or not Jane was a static character--quite funny.

I'm basically just waiting for Chels to wake up and call me. I plan on blowing more of my money today on DVDs. I get a kick out of that.

Speaking of, I found Mulholland Dr. for 8 bucks last night. It was amazing. I rarely find it anywhere, and never for under 20 bucks. Used DVD shops are golden.