The hope in the Hunger

I'm becoming rather excited at the prospect of this Hunger Games movie.  I'm also quite nervous.  It is a young adult novel.  Which means the film could quickly go the shrug-it-off-as-nothing-serious-we-only-need-to-entertain-stupid-kids route much like many before it.  When I saw the first trailer for Beastly, I almost laughed myself silly.  You call that ugly?  Since when do tattoos and a few scars indicate abominable?  Don't get me started on the horrific '07 adaptation of Nancy Drew.  Wasn't I just saying something about abominable?  And of course, I would be remiss if I did not mention Twilight which, had it actually been done tongue-in-cheek, could have been funny on purpose.

The Hunger Games trilogy has a love story in it but it is not a love story.  I hope that the screenplay writers are quite clear on this point.  The themes of political intrigue, government control, self-preservation, and loyalty are first of all, far more interesting and secondly, kind of the whole reason for the story at all.  Author, Suzanne Collins, says she got the idea for the plot while channel surfing.  She saw footage of a reality game show on one channel and coverage of Iraq on another.  They began to combine in an unsettling manner.  Thus, The Hunger Games were born.

The unfortunate thing about this series is that it does have one similarity to Twilight and it galls me to even admit it.  There is a love triangle.  Only this time, the protagonist (Katniss) at one of the vertices is likable and relatable merely because she was written as a specific character with specific characteristics.  Not as an "everyman" any such girl could paste her face on to feel important.  The other two vertices are Peeta and Gale.  Gale, especially early on, is somewhat transparent and vaguely expressed.  But I always got the impression that he got the short end of the stick, both in the novel and because of his absence of character elaboration.  Peeta is selfless and, although ostensibly naive, quite intelligent and almost makes you despise Katniss' indifference.  You want to scream, "LOVE HIM!  LOVE HIM, YOU DOLT!"

I should hope that when this film is released, I will be pleasantly surprised.  I don't expect every moment in the book to be played out on screen.  I don't expect everything to look as I imagined it while reading.  I also do not expect changes will not be made.  It is, after all, an adaptation; not a copy or a read-aloud, a fact that I'm perfectly at peace with.  What I do expect is for Collins' story to remain intact.  I would hate to discourage movie-goers from actually reading the books because they were unfairly and incorrectly represented.

I would dance in the streets if this turned out to be something in the same vein as V for Vendetta.  As I was reading the series, I imagined that if these books were to be brought to life, that's how they would look; how they would feel.  There's quite a bit of violence and brutality in the series and there is much talk on the message boards about possible ratings.  Yet this is a complete waste of time.  These movies will not ever be rated R.  They are based on young adult novels. And I'm not sure if any of these R-rating viers have been watching cable television lately but if they have been, they would see the kinds of allowances on shows like Bones, CSI, and Law & Order that cause me to second-guess how far PG-13 can go.  Believe me.  A PG-13 is more than enough to permit full-throttle Hunger Games madness.

My hope is that this series will be taken seriously.  By all involved so that the audience can then do the same.  These are the closest young adult novels I've thus found (in which children must act like adults and they actually do) that begin to compare with Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game.  I've become increasingly both angered and disgusted by media such as books, movies and especially television these days that indicate children having adult problems, adult conversations, and seemingly without any real and responsible adults around.  Stop it.

In The Hunger Games, I get a glimpse into a world. . .immersed, in fact, in a world where I find myself forgetting we're talking 12-16 year old children here.  Not because they're killing one another or kissing one another but because of the way in which they must conduct themselves in order to deal with it all!  Get a clue, producers of teenage crap!  It's not merely violence and sex that make you a grownup.  It's how you manage and control yourself in the face of such conceptions.

This film should not shy away from awkward or uncomfortable scenes.  I'm not much for nudity in films.  I don't really care to see anyone naked, no matter how good they look.  I always feel like an intruder.  However, I am not completely uninformed in the ways of cameramen.  I know there are numerous approaches to filming nudity in such a way that it is implied and not explicit.  Having re-read the first book just the other day, I had noticed much more foreshadowing and symbolism, now knowing how it all ends.  Whether these were done purposefully or stand as happy accidents, they are very cool.  When Katniss is stripped down by her stylists in order to ready her for her first public appearance as a tribute, it is extremely indicative of what she is to experience further on.  It's a very literal depiction of the route her life is about to take.

I hope they show Katniss as her rawest and least refined self; hairy, dirty, warts and all.  Her emergence as a tribute in the Capitol world will be so much more startling; her separation from her roots and the life she has become comfortable with and dependent upon that much more agonizing.

I hope they place emphasis on how normal the Games are.  This is the 74th Game.  Some of the citizens of Panem will be sending their children off to die but. . .it's to be expected.  Maybe even desired.

I hope that this movie is not a romantic one.  And that even the small amount of romance is unbearable.  Not because it is poorly written or unbelievable but because it is the very worst kind of love; the unrequited kind.  The kind that makes your heart tear in two; that puts that insufferable lump in your throat that only sobbing can remove.

I hope this is not an action movie.  I hope for the disquiet of moments in which I can see, hear, smell, taste and feel the fear inside that arena and within the tiny bodies of these children conditioned to destroy in the name of peace.

I hope Jennifer Lawrence and Josh Hutcherson rock my socks off.  They need to carry this movie with grace and innocence and heart.  I am not expecting everything but I am expecting that.

So Perfectly Silly

I'd promised myself, when I started this blog, that I would refrain from turning it into a "What Annoyed Beth Today?" montage.  So far, I think I'm doing quite well.  Considering a lot of things annoy me.

I've recently been able to (after plenty of cursing and a lot of frustratingly difficult clicking of 'Read More') copy, paste and save all of my old myspace blog entries.  Looking through them and reminiscing over the hours it took for me to establish the safety of each and every one, I began to realize that most of them were somewhat unworthy of the time, both of saving and of re-reading.  I won't say they were unworthy of my time back when I originally composed them.  They were obviously of an enormous help to me in releasing the pent-up steam that was probably a result of hanging out of a drive-thru window more than I was not.

I love to complain.  But it's a delicate effect to be angry and yet self-deprecating enough to compose a true piece of, not self-righteous whining, but relatable grievances.  Some of my older myspace entries could do with a little cheese with their whine. With the advent of this blog, I've tried to stick to simple reviews of my experience with various books, tv, movies, life.  What I would have done a few years ago might consist of negative ridiculing that would serve only to bring people together in the name of pessimism.  While that's all well and good for a 17 year old, or a 24 year old who works with 17 year olds, I've felt an increasing nudge to grow up; to refrain from taking out my aggressive reactions to unfortunate circumstances on my keyboard.

Hence, my last blog about the problem with message boards.  I've made a conscientious effort to keep away from emotionally debilitating triggers but with a sudden discovery about The Hunger Games movie, I felt it was super important to get myself over to imdb.  How hard should it be to keep my eyes above the danger line; that is, to stay far above the FAQs and the recommendations?  It's like I can't help myself.  I have to know what people are talking about.  I will admit that I do fall into that category of people who thrive on setting others aright.  It's not that I particularly love to find discrepancies with others' comments (I do) but I enjoy setting the record straight. However, I despise any follow-up sentence that starts with the long-drawn-out-in-a-tone-as-if-to-say-I'm-sorry-to-tell-you-this-even-though-I'm-relishing-every-moment, "Aaaactuallyyyyy. . ." so I'm definitely not "one of those."  Nobody likes a know-it-all.  Nobody likes a know-it-all who knows they are a know-it-all and doesn't apologize for it.  And there is no know-it-all who doesn't know they know-it-all.  That would be ludicrous.

I'm a trivia-hound.  I know so many things that don't matter.  It's embarrassing.  That doesn't mean that's all I am and all I have to share.  If it was, it'd be even more embarrassing.  Oh.  Was that a cruel and negative judgment?





In positive news, The Hunger Games is slowly being cast.  I've been keeping my eye on it.  Jennifer Lawrence from Winter's Bone has been cast as Katniss.  I didn't see Winter's Bone, unless you count the thousands of clips leading up to and played during the Academy Awards.  She's pretty good at mumbling through a face full of blood so. . .I'm sold.

Josh Hutcherson of Bridge to Terabithia, The Kids Are Alright, Zathura fame will be playing Peeta.  I can see it.  Of course, I couldn't keep away from the message boards.  There are some rousing threads both For and Against this poor young man.  Either For because some creep girls wanna jump his bones or Against because they've been dreaming, just DREAMING, of who would be the most perfect, greatest, nobody-else-can-do-it-or-I'll-just-DIE idea for how Peeta should appear on the big screen.  It's so perfectly silly.

Liam Hemsworth, who is basically an unknown other than his role in The Last Song with Miley Cyrus, will be Gale.  I have no opinion to offer here as I've only seen pictures of the dude.  Not exactly what I had in mind.  But I'm not tearing my hair out and threatening to boycott the movie.  I will see it.  I will pick it apart.  But I'm absolutely certain that I will enjoy it for what it will be, the translation of a written novel turned live moving picture.  It will be different.  And I will pay $9 to find out.  So will everyone else.  But I guess it's fun for awhile to rent a soap box and pretend to care about something that, in actuality, does not matter.  Like. . .at all.

The thing about message boards. . .

Every once in a moon of the blue persuasion, I will become a frequenter of the all-consuming message board. I have noticed that there are a few qualities of the message board that irk me quite vehemently.  I will attempt to discuss these issues with less complaining and more. . .informative dissatisfaction.  I am, however, not promising anything.

A.  Trolls.

The wondrous thing about this problem is that there are varying degrees of "the troll."  The troll is an individual or group of individuals who disguise themselves with a screen name and patronize message boards with their incessant need for attention.  Most, and I stress 'most', of us are able to recognize when an elementary troll infiltrates a board.  You will either see. . .

1.  . . .10 or more new posts by one screen name in a 5 minute period.

No normal person looking for good conversation and/or debate is this persistent or manic.  This troll is the easiest to ignore.  Literally.  If the option is available, you just click 'ignore' and you will be thankfully reprieved from feasting your eyes upon 30 messages that usually include a mess of repeated offensive titles or links to off-limits websites.  This troll is a clear spammer and is, more likely than not, easy to recognize and avoid.

2.  . . .a sudden message within a thread instigating trouble by bringing up a topic that will obviously push buttons.

I understand that this troll can be harder to ignore.  Some people, though they claim to despise trolling, will rise to the task of arguing with these people (loosely defined) until they are blue in the face.  It's okay if someone makes the mistake of responding because, after all, sometimes people are just oblivious to their reckless introduction of goading words.  Add in the problem with reading sarcasm and irony through the written word.  It does not take very long before it is obvious whether someone is interested in discussion or whether they are getting off on the fact that they've turned you into a frazzled and demented pile of adrenaline.

How to deal with these trolls?  Walk away.  The equivalent to 'walking away' in online cases?  Deal with the fact that you don't need to have the last word.  I know, I get it.  It's really hard to be the bigger person online.  Because it can appear that you have been bested; that you're out of comebacks.  Who cares?  Let these freaks have their tiny false victories.  In the grand scheme of things, they are in a gross old basement or will be called down to dinner by their moms pretty soon.

3.  . . .someone who plays the fool and refuses to understand your point of view.

If you've got the stamina, you will spend days and days and days back-and-forthing with this troll who pretends not to get it.  No matter how many veins you force to extrude from your neck as you explain your point of view from angles that don't even exist in the physical world, this person will come back with the same argumentative response.  Every.  Single.  Time.  Why do you bother with this person?  Why is it so important that this stranger see through your eyes?  Because.  You believe in your perspective so strongly; you know it's right, you know it makes sense, that you're willing to give up an entire Saturday afternoon pounding that truth into an unwilling and simple brain.  You know it would change this other person's world entirely if they could just see your side.

No.  You are totally being scammed.  This person is not an idiot.  Well.  That's debatable.  But they know exactly what you're talking about.  They're just in it for the challenge.  How many times can I get this sucker to reply to me.  How long will they go?  This guy either doesn't have a job or works from home through ads to his lame website or he fancies himself some kind of perpetual college student majoring in psych or English.  He gets his jollies from feeling superior.  And the only place he can do that is online.  Where he's miraculously taller, smarter, and more handsome than everyone else.

What can be done?  You're not responsible for some fraud of a decent human being.  It is not your job to offer these oddballs an education through distance learning.  State your case once.  Clarify once.  Agree to disagree.  Once.  There's nothing a troll hates worse than an "oh well" reply with a smiley face.  I bet it just makes their skin crawl.  You may have made an enemy.  But he's an impotent rage-monster who's probably wearing a shirt that says, "FBI: Female Body Inspector."  So, you need not worry.

B.  Anonymity.

This is a problem for the internet as a whole.  For some reason, people have this idea that if no one can see their face, their real name, or their address, they can do and say whatever they want, free of consequence.  While they may see themselves as a form of internet rebel who won't let 'the man' get them down, I prefer to see them through the spectacles of reality.  Cowards.  Absolute cowards.  With Myspace, Facebook, Twitter and so many other social networking inventions, it's a lot harder to hide your identity.  Especially considering that these networking sites inspire many a goober to relate every banal detail about their past, present and future lives.  However, instead of making people more accountable for their actions and words, it seems that what these social sites have done is allow persons to unfavorably become unashamed of themselves.  I should do an entire blog post on the First Amendment, making careful note of the gross misuse of this great addition to our Constitution.

For those who still rely on anonymity as an excuse to be a disgusting pile of immorality, I just. . .I just feel sad.  I remember being a youngin'.  I remember feeling invincible and completely uninhibited.  I remember thinking I had amazing ideas and world-changing philosophies.  I remember saying things I shouldn't have in the company of people who deserved better respect.  I remember desiring to be the center of attention, even if that focus came because I was being a total and complete ass.  I remember. And yet. . .I still don't get it.  It's the plight of the adult.  Adolescents think they have it bad?  Try being one for 7 years and then growing up and losing all comprehension of why, what, where, when, who. . .it's very disconcerting.

What digs into my spine is the fact that these supposed anonymous jerks are not always under the age of 19.  They are old enough to know better.   It's despicable.  Despicable and cowardly.  How do we avoid it?  'Ignore' if you can.  Do not respond in kind.  Don't respond at all.  You can not talk sense into someone hell-bent on ruining civil peace.  You can not help them to see the light; to realize the error of their ways.  The only thing that bugs me more than these little balls of sunshine are the polite and well-meaning individuals who attempt to get to the bottom of what the real problem is.  As if acting the friend by lending a hand of support; a word of kindness, an offer to help a grumpy demeanor will ever work.  The "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all" tactic will fall on deaf ears.  These people never have anything nice to say.  That is their M.O.

They are deliberately preying on the kind and loving hearts of the world because those are the compassionate kinds of people who will try to reach out and, therefore, become trapped in their web.  These are the very people the trolls want to catch losing their heads.  So that they can feel better about themselves because, if they can get a nice person to swear or get angry or lose it, then nobody is really as kind and sweet as they claim to be. These trolls are passive-aggressive and using the internet to spread contention so that they can feel like some kind of deity and watch their stage erupt in flames as all their players run amok, wondering how it all came to this.  These trolls have no power in their real lives, so they find it where they can.  Do not let them be a catalyst for your animosity.

3.  Repeat posts.

Riddle me this.  Someone has a question.  They post that question on a message board and patiently or impatiently, if you're me, await response.  One person replies.  A second replies.  A third, fourth, fifth, sixth.  I'll give you the benefit of the doubt if you're one of those first 5 or 6.  Especially if you have additional comments to make on those who have replied before you.  Or you have replied at around the same time as the others came in.  But then we get down to 2 or 3 days after the original posting has been made.  It's 58 hours after the initial question and there are dozens of replies that have ALREADY ANSWERED THE QUESTION and you feel the need to add your two cents?  Not even your two cents.  Word-for-word, you post the pat answer that, if you'd bothered to check at all, has already been indicated.  What is this about?  I feel like I'm the only one that even notices this!  No one else has a problem with sifting through 8 pages of repetitive nonsense?  Why don't the moderators get on and say enough is enough?  Why don't they lock the thread?  The question has been answered.  End of line.

It is not that hard to read farther than the first post to see if the question has been answered.  It's your duty to do so.  It's part of the unspoken, and sometimes spoken (or at least written), rules of the message board.  Don't be lazy.  Do not assume that, after 2 days, you are the savior of this original poster; you're the only one with the real and true answer.  No one else could possibly have the insight you have to offer.  If you know the answer to a question that has already been answered. . .I'm sorry.  You do not pass Go.  You do not collect $200.  You do not get credit.  Take solace in the fact that, if needed, you had the answer.  It was there, ready in your repertoire, to be doled out at a moment's notice.  But!  If someone got there before you (if many someones got there before you). . .let it go.  Just let it go.

My dearest message board - you are the salt of the earth when I need to get together with people who are as crazy fanatic about something as I am.  But I am so glad, so very glad that you have that little x in the top right hand corner.  Little x?  You are the best.  And you keep me from losing my mind.

*Comics supplied by Toothpaste for Dinner.

I do declare. . .

I finished The Host.  Now, I'm a sucker for a happy ending but I also appreciate a well-executed tragedy.  In books and other forms of entertainment, may I emphasize, not in real life.  If you have not read this book and would like to, turn back while you still can, for here there be spoilers.

Though, in this adult book, more well-known characters suffer death than in her young adult Twilight series, her main characters are warranted a safe and sunny close.  As safe and sunny as one can be in a post-plundered world where you're forced to live out your days in a cave.

I thought, for just one moment (okay, quite a few moments) that Wanderer would die.  I'm ecstatic that the humans whom she entrusted her life to would ignore her suicidal wishes.  I'm thrilled that both of our leading men got their respective girls and vice-a-versa.  But I figured that Meyer was doing something very clever with a little something called foreshadowing.  Maybe, maybe not.

There are at least two instances in which a captured soul has imploded its human host's brain, and in effect itself, rather than endure the fate of being extracted and killed.  Throughout the story, we learn about the self-preservation of our narrator, Wanderer, who comes from a place of uncontested honesty, selflessness, and supposed altruism.  As she is thrown into circumstances of forced union with those creatures she has always believed to be 100% cruel, untrustworthy and undeserving of consciousness, she begins to inspect and identify the character of human beings, both individually and as a whole.

She is confused that humans have been misrepresented.  That the rebels who hole up in caches together and leave only to steal what they need to survive are not criminals; rather they are survivors.  Especially considering that their knowledge of the alien offensive prevents them from becoming fully invaded by what they call the centipedes.  That knowledge allows their minds the capability to resist if they are captured.  Which is exactly the situation Wanderer finds herself in with her host body, Melanie.

When those souls destroyed their human hosts from the inside out to avoid withdrawal, I believed that it could have been foreshadowing for the ultimate decision of our protagonist, Wanderer.  That, when she chose to sacrifice herself for Melanie rather than for herself and her species, she would die.  Just as the centipedes who also chose self-destruction did, only in her case it would be because of an informed altruistic decision, not self-preservation or an incorrect assumption of magnanimity.  Not because she was told that what she was doing was benevolent and helpful but because she experienced for herself what the right thing to do would be.

No such luck.  Wanderer survives.  Which is fine.  Because, for all intents and purposes, she did follow through with her promise to forfeit her life for Melanie, for Jared, for Jamie.  Maybe I'm just one of those readers who's content with the idea that, sometimes, the main characters don't or can't survive but, even though it was all nice and bubbly that Wanderer was saved, I still think it would have been such a beautiful ending if she had been allowed her true sacrifice.  I understand why she wasn't.  Because we had to see a real change in her character in that she would be willing to give up the ghost for a human AND see a real change in the character of the humans in being willing to save a soul.

So I'm content and, to be honest, quite pleased with this story.  I enjoyed it.  And though, like Twilight in that it also dealt with a love triangle, I feel like the emphasized relationship was between Wanderer and Melanie.  Which is as it should have been.  It bugged me when Melanie and Jared embraced and kissed as soon as they met.  Even if you think another human of the opposite sex is the last of its kind, I should hope that a romance still takes more time to blossom.  This was the same formula she used in Twilight.  Bella and Edward supposedly fell into an unbreakable and eternal love based on. . .um. . .based on. . .oh, I know this.  Get back to me.  Then in comes Jacob, whose story of unrequited love for Bella seems real and, if not based on the charm and loveliness of Bella, at least based on the fact that we get a glimpse into how they spent their days together, getting to know one another.  As people who eventually fall in love do!  In The Host, Jared is Edward and Ian is Jacob.  We rooted for Jacob (if you rooted for Edward, you've got a real twisted idea of a proper relationship) and we rooted for Ian (if you rooted for Jared, you didn't learn your lesson.)

I wish Meyer would write her females as more than swooning damsels.  And that the romance between two individuals (or three or even four if you're Stephenie Meyer) would be better disclosed.  Maybe, if she spent less time talking about molten lava and the heat of Jared's lips and more about why Jared is such a freakin' great guy, I'd be more apt to believe Melanie's, and subsequently Wanderer's, desire for him.

Other than that and the 9 chagrins I counted, I'd read this again.  Especially considering a little bird told me that Meyer's in cahoots to bring it to the screen.  Commence the message board arguments about who should play whom!!  There's a fun topic for a blog.  Message boards.  And the idiots who patrol them.  Next time.

I'll Love You Forever, I'll Like You for Always

As long as I can remember, my Pop has called me various terms of endearment.  My very favorites were Sarah Beth Elizabeth and, of course, Shortcake.  Nostalgia has a weird habit of cropping up at the strangest times.  I was watching tv the other day - well, rather, I was working about the kitchen while the tv was on since I can not stand it when it's stark quiet.

Suddenly, I felt like I'd literally been whisked back to a memory of me sitting on that old oval braided rug in front of the tv, watching Batman or Alice in Wonderland or The Gods Must be Crazy II, eating pepperoni slices or pancakes or fish nuggets or oyster crackers slathered in butter.  Something about a commercial that was playing, maybe the sound quality, maybe something someone said, I don't know, something that sounded like it was an older commercial from the late 80's/early 90's. . .whatever it was, it struck my heart and I felt like a little girl again, waiting for my Pop to call from the kitchen to me inquiring about what shape I would like my next pancake to be.

The following is a poem by my Pop, displayed exactly as it was written, before he passed.  It is entitled "Shortcake Forever.  I miss you Pop.
In some way, every day.

"The little girl who once sat on my knee
         No words did she know but that didn't matter

  We would giggle and chatter and laugh with glee 
Of things of nonsense that were not there
         Or maybe a pooh bear sitting in the chair
The little girl who once sat on my knee

The little girl who once sat on my knee
        Has learned to talk and would
                    confide in me
The things of importance to a girl of three
         Diapers are gone now
                      "I go by myself"
         Isn't that nice and isn't that great
Then you get up one morning and the little girl's eight         
The little girl who once sat on my knee
         Likes to tell me of the now important matters
Of liking kittys and puppys  and going to the zoo
      And oh of so many thing to do
The little girl who once sat on my knee
                        Gee
                A teenager now
         But she still confides in me
      Of things at home or at school
           The kids that are nice
           the ones that are cruel
           What makes her happy
              and makes her mad
      Some would pull at my heart strings
                and make me sad
      But she stayed on top and always
              took pride of the person
                   she was inside
The little girl who once sat on my knee

      The little girl who once sat on my knee

            The quiet times we shared

                     on that knee

                        I hope              

             Has helped to set her free    

               Of any fears or doubts

     the things of life and world are about

The little girl who once sat on my knee

           

              now says that she wants

                         to leave me

             And that is as it should be

XOXOXOXOXPOPOPOPOPXOXOXOXO"

Sorry Pat, love is not a battlefield

385 pages into The Host and only 3 "chagrins".  Not bad, Stephenie Meyer.  Not too shabby.  I know the letters of the alphabet that make up this woman's name are a true bane to readers across the universe.  We're all gagging as witnesses of the birth of a new reading category entitled, "Teen Paranormal Romance."  I'm not kidding.  Of course, we can't blame Meyer for her success.  We can not fault her for having a dream.  Then again, it is another animal to write that dream down and sell it.  So. . .maybe we can lay the complaint at her feet.

I'll admit, for me, Twilight may just be one of those things people call a guilty pleasure.  I believe, as a new writer, Meyer exemplified some real creativity and a quick knack for storytelling.  Unfortunately, it was very hit and miss.  Not a good sign when the protagonist is as flat as cardboard and completely unlikeable.  Unless they are supposed to be unlikeable.  The latter being a case I've yet to come across in my literary adventures.  Even if a protagonist is seemingly disagreeable, there is always something appealing, something charming that reels you in.  You're either able to love-to-hate or you fall in love with the eccentricities and general standoffishness.  Bella was not written this way.  I'm actually quite certain she was barely written at all.

To this day, since reading the entire Twilight "saga" (gag) I still can't decipher what it was about Bella that had two men vying for her love and attention.  She had absolutely no redeemable qualities until, perhaps, the very last book and even then, it was too little, too late.  I may understand Jacob's interest.  Attractive young boy.  Spending a lot of time with attractive young girl.  As if that's not enough for a recipe for young love, they are in an environment where I can only be certain one must get tired of seeing the same faces every day.  Bella is fresh meat.  In some cases, literally.

Throughout the series, I began to find intrigue and wonder at everyone else.  Everyone other than our main characters.  The origin stories of each of the Cullens.  The legend of the Quileute shapeshifters and the disturbing idea of imprinting.  Even the useless and everyday banter of the human kids at school.  Poor Mike.  Poor, poor Mike.  As a flesh-and-blood, regular old boring human, he didn't have a chance with our magnet for danger, Bella Swan.  Of course, if killing's what you're into, Bella, the actor who played Mike murdered a guy with a ride-on lawnmower on Bones last night.

Maybe it's because I'm not a lonely love-starved teen, lying in bed wishing for my first real kiss, that these books don't genuinely speak to me.  I found Bella and Edward's 5 seconds of falling-in-love completely devoid of reality.  And I know, I know.  A series about vampires and werewolves. . .what's the need for an emphasis on reality?  Oh I don't know.  Because vampires and werewolves aren't real but love IS?  Not something to muck around with, Meyer.

There are now real essays and graduate theses on why Edward Cullen is an abusive boyfriend.  There are internet message boards and lunch room tables across the world where people are discussing how imprinting is really pedophilia and child grooming.  These are some serious issues raised in your lovely little book about true love, Meyer.  And it would have been a thousand times more interesting to read if these issues hadn't been ignored but embraced as true problems and dealt with accordingly.

Instead, we've got an entire generation of young girls clamoring to find a kind of love that does not exist or, at the very least, should not.  Yes, yes, Edward was able to relinquish some control in the end and learn respect and trust for his girlfriend, that's all rainbows and sherbet.  But what does that teach?  All this accomplishes is to encourage a little girl to stay in a controlling relationship believing that, at any moment, he just might change for her.  That she'll ever be enough for a serious psychological wound to just up and heal.

That is much too dangerous ground.  For anyone, let alone an impressionable adolescent whose idea of love is entirely shaped by culture and media.  Yes, I'm talking to you, too, "16 and Pregnant" and "Secrets of the American Teenager."  We now live in a world where even the negative consequences of making the wrong choice are glorified.

End of line for rant.

The Host is quite good.  In fact, most of the time, I forget I'm reading something written by Stephenie Meyer.  Until I hit a chagrin.  Or until last night when the story became about 2 men vying for the love and attention of our young female protagonist.  I suppose I should give Meyer a little credit.  After all, this time, the girl is the creature and the boys are plain, boring humans.

Nothing to be ashamed of if you stub your toe on the moon.

I believe it's time for me to concede the fact that I am, indeed, a klutz.

I thought it was just a phase.  Apparently, that was an incorrect assumption on my part. Cheers for the day when you realize you are not impervious.

Those days are becoming more frequent.

A few months ago, I decided it was safe to walk down my hallway.  I came around the corner from the office, seemingly on good terms with both gravity and centrifugal force, and busted my foot off of the door jamb of the bathroom entryway, opposite me.

I didn't think I even knew some of those swear words.

As usual, I'm wondering if I'm just a huge wuss and milking it because I was angry that it even happened.

Many years ago, I sliced my right-hand pointer finger on the metal edge of a vent plate that was dangerously jutting out from the wall in my college dorm room.  Flicked a lightswitch with a bit too much flare and needed 6 stitches.  First trip to the emergency room sans parents.  The weird thing is that, even though it hurt like all get-out, I was focused more on:

1.  My complete reluctance to admit it was worthy of medical attention. . .

2.  The inconvenience of finding a ride to the hospital and. . .

3.  Overwhelmingly trying to figure out what an art major without a functioning right hand was supposed to do for the rest of the semester.

As I hopped up and down in the kitchen ( I don't remember how I got there ) recreating those last few moments before the toe-stub of the century, I wondered why Adam wasn't responding to my stream of expletives that was quickly transforming into pathetic weeping.  I somehow managed to grab whatever frozen bag of vegetables I could get my hands on, not really concerned with the idea of putting, on my feet, something I would be putting in my mouth later.

I'm not sure why I felt I needed numbing.  I was already experiencing that strange half-numb, half-excruciating pain thing that occurs sometimes when you happen to shuffle off a bit of your mortal coil.  I was partially worried that, instead of stubbing my toe, it had actually been amputated to a stub.  That, were I to look back the way I came, I would find that I had literally left part of myself behind.  At least Adam could follow the blood spore.

You know when you hurt yourself something fierce and you grab whatever is in pain and you hop up and down or fall to the earth or whatever your cup of tea is in that regard?  Then, you start to calm down?  But. . .you're afraid to look?  Not that it matters whether you look or not.  The damage is done; might as well take care of it as quickly as possible.  There's just something about that moment.  The fear, the trepidation.  The worry.  What did I do to myself?  What's missing?  What does it look like?  Is it reparable?  Can I fix it?  Do I need immediate medical attention from some sort of professional?  How long will I be put up for?  Can I drive?  Man, we're out of milk.  How am I gonna drive to the store?  Crap!  I've got a meeting tomorrow.  WHY CAN I FEEL MY HEART IN MY TOE?!

Turns out Adam was playing a computer game with headphones on.  He was spared my embarrassing outburst and came out just in time to find me curled up in a sorry and huddled mess on the kitchen floor, tears streaming down my face, with a bag of part of our dinner wrapped around my left foot.

He wouldn't say so, but I'm sure he thought I was just being a baby.  We all stub our toes.  It hurts.

Yeah.  I'm a baby.

I'm all healed up now.  It took a while.  And I missed out on committing to some Zumba and getting back into running with Adam.  But at least I didn't break my toe.

More recently, Adam and I made a trek back to Idaho to visit family and enjoy an extended weekend.  We stop off at the Ellensburg McDonald's to use their fine facilities and grab some delicious McFlurries.  First of all, tell me what a coat hook is doing located at just above elbow height ( Am I really a giant and no one told me? ) and then tell me what it was doing gouging itself into my right bicep.  It was like being stabbed with a spoon.  Again, one of those numbly painful things.  I actually felt nauseous and had to gather myself together before exiting back into humanity.

Shrugged it off.  These things happen.  I joked to Adam when I came back out that, although I was having trouble moving my arm immediately and assuming that was just nervular shock, I was probably going to have quite a bruise.

 I was kidding!

Yeah.

What is up with me?  It's like I don't know where I begin or end anymore.  My balance is shot.  I have no control over my flailing body parts.  For the first few weeks after injuring my toe, I walked down my hallway and through doorways with my arms flat at my sides, my shoulders held up just below my ears, my feet face-forward and shuffling.  Paranoid much?

I don't think it's all my fault.  There is some universal Murphy's Law that is coming after me exclusively for circumstances in which I leave a cupboard door open at head height, try to get a candle lit before my extra-long matches burn down, or slice a tomato.  If I can find some way to injure myself on a blade of grass (fishing with my dad as a kid ), I'll julienne those fingers.  If I can get a brush burn from opening up a bag of sugar  ( yesterday, making dessert ), I will brand that hand.  If I can poke myself in the eye brushing my teeth ( this morning ), "Aye, Aye Cap'n."

♫ ♪ But who cares? No big deal. I want more. ♪ ♫

Is Disney making homage to itself?  This is not an assumed contempt, just an observation.  Because I kind of like it.  It's like they're tipping their hats to the humble past from whence they came; offering up little easter eggs for observant fans to gleefully point out to their annoyed friends who just want to watch the movie.  I am one of those annoying and observant fans.

Having recently watched Tangled, Disney's newest foray into fairytaledom, I was actually delighted to experience a few recognizable moments.  I know full well that Alan Menken is a brilliant song-writer who is surrounded by a team of people aiding him in creating the memorable songs of Disney animated features.  Therefore, I don't think it's a mistake when, in the performance of "I See the Light," Flynn Rider sings the words "crystal clear" in almost the exact same fashion as Jasmine in Aladdin's "A Whole New World."

"If she's here, it's crystal clear."

"When I'm way up here, it's crystal clear."

An Oscar-winning composer and musician does not make that kind of mistake unless it's on purpose.

I know there are many who have compared the lantern scene to the ballroom of Beauty & the Beast.  And I didn't, for once, feel drawn away by the fact that this was CGI and not the cell animation that Disney monopolized the world with for so many decades.  It was a beautiful compromise.  CGI, yet hearkening back to the kind of grittier, richer atmospheres of hand-drawn characters and environments.  Nothing was too smooth, too real.

I'm not exactly certain why the soundtrack, albeit popular anyway, is getting thrashed by critics for having unmemorable songs.  I LOVED that the songs were not catchy!  Love, love, loved it!  I am so tired of being spoon fed marketable crap.  Children should be exposed to more than a catchy chorus.  How about some songs with depth?

After seeing this movie in the theatre on a date with Adam, I remember discussing, on the way home, that the songs felt so intrinsic to the film.  Many animated musicals come off as contrived.  "Alright, this moment could do with a song so let's stick one in."  Oh, no no no.  In Tangled, the music numbers were exactly where they should be.  They happened as if the moment required nothing more or less.  It was seamless.  In a world where people burst into song, this is how it would happen.

There was a sense of Broadway involved.  I think that was the difference.  Instead of some catchy tunes kids can learn for dull talent shows, we've got a full score where each song depends on the other.  The songs aren't just for the sake of songs because this is a Disney movie and we've just gotta have 'em!  They tell the story.  It's like an opera.  Only, good.

I also enjoy how there were critics from the get-go who announced it was stupid to change the name to Tangled from the well-known Rapunzel.  I believe there is a quote saying something about how it's like, "changing The Little Mermaid to Beached."  Um.  Okay.  Is it just as blasphemous to change the entire ending of the original tale of The Little Mermaid in which she throws herself into the sea out of heartbreak and sacrifice and turns into foam on the waves?  Not exactly a Disney classic if they had gone that route.  Tangled was a fantastic name for a fantastically altered revision of the story of Rapunzel.  Fair enough.

I really enjoyed the movie.  I bought it, in fact.  Maybe it's just me but I tend to shy away from "classics" like Snow White and "Pinocchio" because I find them boring and completely devoid of character depth.  I didn't even like them as a child.  How wonderful that there are filmmakers who are awakening to the idea that children deserve a whole lot more than evil witches, fair princesses, and dashing princes?  Children deserve to know why witches are evil.  What princesses are capable of.  And that sometimes, the dashing guy isn't a prince at all.

Why should animated films cater to simplicity?  Children are incredibly smart.  Of course they can believe in magic and true love's kiss.  They should just be given the opportunity to see where that magic comes from.  How a kiss is won.  In a created world of personified animals and furniture, give us something real to bite into!  No matter what the universe of an animated film, the characters, the relationships should denote reality.  That way, we can all escape into a fantastical dream of adventure and seemingly impossible developments but still learn something about people, about ourselves.  Whether we're children in age or at heart.

Speaking of Disney homages, however, is it just me or is there an almost-missed allegiance in Toy Story 3?  When Andy opens up his old toy chest to reminisce or whatever he does, I could swear the score indicates, "Look at this stuff, isn't it neat?"