tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66369570563658265202024-02-21T00:17:23.431-08:00hello wallUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger51125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-58042647100503411812014-01-24T17:56:00.001-08:002014-01-24T19:12:44.575-08:00The War on Moms<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I haven't blogged since September 2012 but it's only natural that I would make a comeback poking some serious anger-fueled fun at someone else's work.<br />
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This has to be a joke. It can not be real. Do women like this exist? Are there people who think this way? This has to be tongue-in-cheek, right? These questions are a rhetorical tool through which I am compelled to introduce to you a blog shared on Facebook, entitled:<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">"I Look Down On Young Women With Husbands And Kids And I'm Not Sorry"*</span></div>
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I mean, right off the bat. . .with a title like that, it makes me wonder what would happen if you threw a bag of feces into one of those<a href="http://www.dyson.com/fans-and-heaters/cooling-fans.aspx"> Dyson bladeless fans</a>. . .would the expression still hold true?<br />
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Let me take you through this precept by ludicrous precept. My comments are in italics and much of it is, in fact, tongue-in-cheek, thank you very much.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Every time I hear someone say that feminism is about validating every choice a woman makes I have to fight back vomit.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Bulimia's a serious issue, Amy. Do you want to talk about it? I've got like 3 boxes of donuts and a 6-pack Dew in my car. Like, right now. We could do this.</i></b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Do you really think that a stay at home mom is really on equal footing with a woman who works and takes care of herself? There's no way those two things are the same.</span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>No. They are not the same. If they were, anybody could be a mom.</i></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Define "work." I know, I know. . .you're probably operating under the trivial notion that work equates to some kind of compensation of monetary value. That's a fair assessment. But it's interesting because. . .I teach physics. Work is done when a force that is applied to an object moves that object. So, let's say the poor choice-less unfulfilled mommy is the force.</i></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Work is also all about the transfer of energy from one object to another. I'm not going to list the myriad jobs that a mother does. Go find the t-shirt. We've heard it all before and it is exhaustively admirable. To ignore a mother's efforts, even from the perspective of believing they have no place in the progression of feminism, implies that there is no associated intrinsic value at all. Which means moms are pointless and, therefore, should probably be done away with. Good luck with that soapbox. And the same luck with getting anything to move ever again.<br /><br />I'm wondering, Amy, who your mother is. And what kind of person and mother she has been to you. Because if her sacrificial choices aided you in becoming the free, independent, feminist spirit that you are, what kinds of steps are you taking to cover up that fact? It would be seriously embarrassing if other lady-power fascists found out you were birthed and raised by a female who should have had the opportunity to make a better choice with her body.</i></span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It's hard for me to believe it's not just verbally placating these people so they don't get in trouble with the mommy bloggers.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ouAPHTbLHW1sDs2-8YtFwQYkdyN0UwL0saKY-TyA4HRRKMviEGfAqr_Emly24loQmNsAkRvY8s-KK3x2xNOBby7dCP9ksVU9lHwNLGh4Gg-QkkeA_yS0F_ruBzBV2778KQAtULQrpwM/s1600/lovemoms.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ouAPHTbLHW1sDs2-8YtFwQYkdyN0UwL0saKY-TyA4HRRKMviEGfAqr_Emly24loQmNsAkRvY8s-KK3x2xNOBby7dCP9ksVU9lHwNLGh4Gg-QkkeA_yS0F_ruBzBV2778KQAtULQrpwM/s1600/lovemoms.png" height="290" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Mad props to mommy bloggers. If you can raise upstanding citizens who can't wipe their own bums and also find the time to write up a report for the rest of us on the tried and true failures and successes of potty training, pre-school registration, and dangerous<a href="http://pinstrosity.blogspot.com/2014/01/marshmallow-roll-revamp.html"> pinstrosities</a>, you deserve every accolade. Which will probably come to you in the form of soggy toast in bed on Mother's Day or a sticky hug, but. . .whatever.</i></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Having kids and getting married are considered life milestones. We have baby showers and wedding parties as if it's a huge accomplishment and cause for celebration to be able to get knocked up or find someone to walk down the aisle with. These aren't accomplishments, they are actually super easy tasks, literally anyone can do them. They are the most common thing, ever, in the history of the world. They are, by definition, average. And here's the thing, why on earth are we settling for average?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>I take it you are not married. Because your comprehension of marriage is severely distorted. Last time I checked. . .marriage didn't begin and end with a walk down an aisle. Not to mention all the legless or paralyzed folk you just insulted.</i></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Super easy tasks, eh? I am grossed out. Literally. Not a gross to be found. One-hundred forty-four ews. . .vanished. Allow me to play devil's advocate here. . .why don't you go ahead and stake yourself a little spot outside a fertility clinic and say what you just said to the 11% of women and 7.5% of men who just couldn't muster the energy for this super easy task.</b></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Be cautious with your language. The idea of commonality as average is blurred. Y'know, cancer is common. Yeah. People just keep getting it. Like, every day. Golly, what a bunch of lame-os. Average much?</b></span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">If women can do anything, why are we still content with applauding them for doing nothing?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>*uncomfortable laughter* Ok.</i></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>This. This is verbal placating. *whispers* If you were wondering.</b></span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I want to have a shower for a woman when she backpacks on her own through Asia, gets a promotion, or lands a dream job <b><i>(Great! I think that's awesome, a marvelous idea!! Any excuse for a celebration of our successes and the goals we accomplish and the adversity we overcome!! Here, have some of my exclamation points to decorate!!)</i></b> not when she stays inside the box and does the house and kids thing which is the path of least resistance<b> <i>(Doh! You started off so well.)</i></b> The dominate <i><b>(dominant?)</b> </i>cultural voice will tell you these are things you can do with a husband and kids, but as I've written before, that's a lie. It's just not reality.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.birthtakesavillage.com/backpacking-with-a-baby/"><i>You're wrong. Click me!</i></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Wronger. Look at this gal:</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://wusfnews.wusf.usf.edu/post/st-pete-mom-lands-disney-dream-job"><i>Wrongest! Click me, too!</i></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">You will never have the time, energy, freedom or mobility to be exceptional if you have a husband and kids.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpG3IbC8fnx3enVaiXWBQrbp1dtxFuLekOAiEPhaNq8sxAW8nBkK3hjeKsfVnPZdRKYjBgrh9J_SsENNBCUQs1YhxTxdW3fK5voafdN5thTLKLFKDMPkZZzsG55L0tsU-oCxhHfGp3rIU/s1600/jackie-chan-meme1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpG3IbC8fnx3enVaiXWBQrbp1dtxFuLekOAiEPhaNq8sxAW8nBkK3hjeKsfVnPZdRKYjBgrh9J_SsENNBCUQs1YhxTxdW3fK5voafdN5thTLKLFKDMPkZZzsG55L0tsU-oCxhHfGp3rIU/s1600/jackie-chan-meme1.jpg" height="218" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>I don't look for excuses to be offended. This comment offends me to my core. My absolute core. My mother is exceptional. I know too many extraordinary women who chose motherhood as their adventure, their path, their dream job. I know several glorious women whom motherhood chose, women who grew into a role they never imagined they could fill. And there are dozens and dozens of children who are the better for it. I only leave the daddies out during this discourse because the attack is on women.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I hear women talk about how "hard" it is to raise kids and manage a household all the time. I never hear men talk about this. It's because women secretly like to talk about how hard managing a household is so they don't have to explain their lack of real accomplishments. Men don't care to "manage a household." They aren't conditioned to think stupid things like that are "important."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Amy. . .quotes? Come oooon. You're better than this. It's interesting, though, to "hear" that "stupid things" like raising "the" next generation "aren't" impor"tant." Nice job calling men out as part of some kind of oh-that's-women's-work stereotype, though.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Women will be equal with men when we stop demanding that it be considered equally important to do housework and real work. They are not equal. Doing laundry will never be as important as being a doctor or an engineer or building a business. This word play is holding us back.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>I can not count the number of times I have physically cringed while reading this. I'm fairly certain that the previous paragraph reeks of the kind of archaic mindset that most men and many women adhered to not so very long ago when feminism had hardly begun to burgeon. Amy, this is backwards thinking. And you discredit the home environment as a legitimate contribution to family and society as a whole.</i></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>"Real work."<br /><br />Oh, Amy, Amy, Amy. If laundry is your arguing point, I find myself feeling pity. Not patronizing pity. Like, I honestly feel bad that you just don't get it. As if all that a mother is and does can be simplified down to menial tasks and thankless chores. When I think about my childhood and my mother, I don't see laundry. *insert scoff here* I see a strong woman, a wise woman, an industrious woman who made her dreams comes true by becoming a mom to 3 daughters who owe far more than they can ever repay in the way of love, devotion, and literal blood, sweat, and tears.</b></span></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKjffyPnsR5nA7T-axWRE0z6GJdVFnZ6SITCu22HCg8Ib3kPqzelaYPMK0EBjXEdwwflVfh_DHZTedXiB8vS4VbcLafX4yhpCtVlXU4VnmkXCgS7wOvl6okRUVFLVwxs4fxiXimsi-LzI/s1600/228544_515274654340_5587498_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKjffyPnsR5nA7T-axWRE0z6GJdVFnZ6SITCu22HCg8Ib3kPqzelaYPMK0EBjXEdwwflVfh_DHZTedXiB8vS4VbcLafX4yhpCtVlXU4VnmkXCgS7wOvl6okRUVFLVwxs4fxiXimsi-LzI/s1600/228544_515274654340_5587498_n.jpg" height="390" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Maybe I'm more fortunate than most to have had that experience; one that indicates to me that honest, hard-working, compassionate children are a far better legacy than common work. Obviously, I'm exaggerating to make my point because I find women in the economic workforce to be integral to feminism, something about glass ceilings, blah, blah, blah. . .</i></b></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Word play isn't holding anyone back. Telling women that feminism isn't really about choice, it's about swinging the equality pendulum so far the other way that we forget women as a species are different from even one another and suited for/interested in differing objectives. . .that's what's killing us. Infighting. Stop it.</b></span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Want more articles on the female experience?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>No.</i></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>*Jan. 15, 2014 by AMY GLASS</b></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-92169953530135558922012-09-01T18:38:00.002-07:002012-09-03T09:41:51.239-07:00I would never write something like that, by the way!There has yet to come a time when I've said to myself, "Boy,this Cosmo article speaks the eloquent truth."<br />
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Case in point. . .(my comments are in italics)<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>8 Words that Most Liars Use</u></span><br />
by Cosmopolitan.com<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr4IEGIefZfVp5anZXEwNCvnwUmUBmaZOADcSxmGnjQmKvwcaDHw-KtM8cXi13JyOgyxaBlPGb9QmfR1MVsHBVYVswhsVnk7DDdfvZmi8OAG6jjeKkYRUDZ971FVpkAwqm_STNSNS8Nyw/s1600/liar_guy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr4IEGIefZfVp5anZXEwNCvnwUmUBmaZOADcSxmGnjQmKvwcaDHw-KtM8cXi13JyOgyxaBlPGb9QmfR1MVsHBVYVswhsVnk7DDdfvZmi8OAG6jjeKkYRUDZ971FVpkAwqm_STNSNS8Nyw/s320/liar_guy.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the picture from the article. Look at this liar.<br />
He's lying right now. Probably.</td></tr>
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Odds are, you and your guy have a great relationship, and the only lies he tells are little fibs. But it's good to know how to spot the signs he could be telling a whopper. Lie detection expert Janine Driver, author of the new book, You Can't Lie to Me, fills us in on the words that give away a liar.<br />
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By Korin Miller<br />
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<b><u>"Left" </u></b><br />
Sure, sometimes 'left' is the only word you can use in a situation, but there's some kind of drama involved when he uses it in place of another word that will do (think: "I left the bar at six" vs. "I went home at six"). It could be due to his desire to "leave" the lie behind.<br />
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<i>Because, obviously, we're always searching through the excuse files in our heads for "another word that will do." Most people aren't like me in that they are constantly sifting through a biologically grown thesaurus that sits just to the right of her left temporal lobe. Most people just say stuff. And, call me crazy, but the example given? "I left the bar" indicates a far more specific answer than "I went home." You went home? From where? Tell me or I swear I'll never forgive you. I'm going to stay at my mother's!!!</i><br />
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<u><b>"Never" </b></u><br />
The big thing to look out for is when he says "never" when "no" will do. It's a sign he's overcompensating. For example, if you ask, "Did you just look at that girl's butt?" and he says, "Never!"<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Obama may not have been looking at her bum.<br />
But now you are.</td></tr>
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<i>This one might be legitimately correct. But, ladies. Just stop asking him if he looked at that girl's butt and he doesn't have to say anything. Trust first. Every time you are together doesn't have to be a constant validation of your overwhelming importance over another.</i><br />
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<i>I recall a time when Adam caught himself checking out a girl from behind at The Home Depot when he was working there. Unbeknownst to either of us at the time, it was me. I'd stopped by with my father-in-law to get some-such-thing-or-whatever. I remember wondering if it was supposed to be funny or infuriating. Turns out it was funny. Because we're in love and trust one another and it was actually nice to know he'd choose me again if he had to. :)</i><br />
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<u><b>"That" </b></u><br />
Like never, it depends on how he uses it. If he puts "that" in front of a noun, like "that woman" or "that money," it's a subconscious attempt for him to distance himself from the word. This is a common trick of manipulators.<br />
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<i>This isn't fair. Distancing yourself is a defense tool of the innocent as well as the liar. This goes for girl "liars," too. If you're caught between a rock and a hard place that is not of your doing, "that" is less manipulative and more of a frenzied reactionary word. "Me thinks the lady doth protest too much" is not really a thing. When we protest and are still not to be believed, it is dang frustrating as all get out!! And if it's something important or severe, you better be sure we're gonna argue until we're blue in the face because no one likes to be mistrusted.</i><br />
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<u><b>"Would" </b></u><br />
If he skips "no" and goes straight to "I would never do something like that!" when talking about a past event, be wary. For example, "Are you still talking to your ex?" "I would never do that to you!" "Would never" suggests that he plans to do it in the future.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkm6ca1AZL_cGck_iG09NB_zZjfp0QpEiGzraLPskjD_VghunpyZdTxLzYmSrjwD0TL1lFm1C3fnjcmvFIPcE6MGVrPXXkdsOdBids0wTh8VBHoNfEuwg2zWE5sGopKF6HnpzetmIVp4k/s1600/cumberdude.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkm6ca1AZL_cGck_iG09NB_zZjfp0QpEiGzraLPskjD_VghunpyZdTxLzYmSrjwD0TL1lFm1C3fnjcmvFIPcE6MGVrPXXkdsOdBids0wTh8VBHoNfEuwg2zWE5sGopKF6HnpzetmIVp4k/s320/cumberdude.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Southern Gentleman?<br />
Brought to you by the Cumberbatch<br />
Should Be Pendergast Foundation</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<i>I'm a bit confused. Doesn't this fit under "never?" I'm thinking this should really be titled "7 Phrases That Most Liars Use.</i><br />
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<u><b>"Yes, ma'am" </b></u><br />
If your guy is a Southern gentleman, then this doesn't apply. But if he suddenly says "ma'am" to you out of nowhere, be cautious. It's a sign that he feels like he's feeling stressed and knows he's in trouble.<br />
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<i>For lying, specifically? Or just because he forgot to take the garbage out and you berated him in front of his friends and he's being sarcastically nasty?<br /><br />"He feels like he's feeling"??? Okay.</i><br />
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<u><b>"By the way…" </b></u><br />
Liars use phrases like this to try to minimize what they say next-but usually it's what's most important to the story. Pay extra attention to what he says afterward.<br />
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<i>Really? "By the way?" So, when I tell Adam, "By the way, I'll get the mail today," I must make like a Weasley twin and solemnly swear that I am up to no good. If we're being honest, I think this phrase is, more often than not, used to preface a sentence or idea that a woman probably doesn't want to hear but is not necessarily a lie. As in, "By the way, honey, I'm going golfing with the boys this Saturday."</i><br />
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<u><b>"But" </b></u><br />
Liars usually try to downplay what they say with this word, so pay attention when he says something like, "I know this is going to sound strange, but…" or "I know you think I'm lying, but…"<br />
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<i>Let's not go off on a tangent about ifs, ands, and buts. "But" is obviously a word that often negates what came before it but tries to soften what comes after. It's not used just for lying. It's used in any uncomfortable situation where we're trying to be thoughtful and compassionate, yet honest!</i><br />
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<u><b>"Why would I do that?" </b></u><br />
It's a favorite stalling line of liars, so they can buy a little time to work out what to say next. These phrases also fit the bill: "What kind of person do you think I am?", "Are you calling me a liar?", and "I knew this was going to happen to me!"<br />
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<i>Ok, this is a pretty good one. BUT (hehehe) it's also unfair considering the number of untrusting, broken, and ridiculously unhealthy baggage-riddled relationships we have out there. The person reading this article who will absolutely take it to heart is probably the person who needs to hear it the least. Because they already mistrust their partner. And they've already confronted them on a number of occasions. Possible warranted. Perhaps not. Either way, anyone's reaction after constantly being bombarded with accusations is going to be the aforementioned questions.</i><br />
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<a name='more'></a>***************************************<br />
<i>Seeing as how this is one of the rare Cosmo articles NOT about how to be naked the right way, I thought I'd give it a chance. But do we really need more reasons to not trust one another? Should we be listening for clue words which I, as a teacher, can tell you are on the <u>Fry High Frequency Word List </u>and are named such because they are the words you will see and hear most often in both reading and conversation?</i><br />
<i>While a few of these might be spot on if you're already concerned and have a habitual liar on your hands, this article should be entitled 8 Ways We Can Be More Paranoid and, Therefore, Naggy and Unreasonable.</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-18784450619040087272012-07-23T14:27:00.000-07:002012-07-23T14:55:51.321-07:00If they only had a brain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am saddened. This whole living-in-the-fulness-of-times thing has its upsetting angles. I'm sure that you could check the news everyday and find something awful and disheartening. That's why I don't watch the news. Not because I'm callous. And most certainly not because I choose to be ignorant. But because a human being can only take so much before hope seems impossible and spirits are dashed.<br />
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Two such news stories have come to my attention (and how could they not?) One, a calculated crime of seeming obsession. The other, a hate crime of cowardice.<br />
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There was a time when I thought the the term "hate crime" was ludicrous. Aren't all crimes done out of hate? There's revenge, passion (love and hate <u><b>are</b></u> on the same side of a spectrum with indifference on the other end), and desperation (the hatred of being poor?) But, in recent years, it has been made more clear to me.<br />
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There are crimes of necessity, crimes of opportunity, crimes of negligence. A hate crime is designated separately because, no matter what your excuse for criminal behavior, committing criminal acts strictly based on the victims' race, creed, color, sexual orientation, gender identity, or disability is motivated by bias. It is merely semantics some may argue with when they announce, "Well, aren't all crimes about hate?"<br />
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With that said, this James Holmes business. . .<br />
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Unless you live in Holmes' closet which has been booby-trapped with explosives, ready to detonate at the slightest movement, you've heard this story. He opened fire on a Colorado theatre showing the midnight release of The Dark Knight Rises, killing 12 and wounding 58.<br />
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The released video of an 18-year old Holmes shows him as an intelligent, capable if but shy young man. And yet, his major interests in neuroscience were temporal illusions and subjective experience. This guy had a thing for fantasy vs. reality and where those two intercept. He was denied membership at a shooting range because the owner found him "creepy." When this man called Holmes, he got a "Batman-inspired message." The police, upon searching his home, found items and materials that they are referring to as related to Batman although I wonder if this is incidental as the shooting took place at the movie opening or if they truly are Batman-affiliated. He also had dyed his hair orange and told police he was Joker (which is confusing as Joker has green hair.) What is this guy playing at?<br />
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Was this shooting an experiment in the illusion to change the past? Was he attempting to experience a subjective fantasy that somehow intertwined with a Batman obsession? What makes people like this tick?<br />
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I am forever fascinated by the power of the brain. Our minds are so fragile and delicate while simultaneously filling the most important job of our bodies. One tweak here, a little pinch there, a little less of this chemical, a tad more of that hormone and we could become completely unrecognizable from a mental standpoint. There are parts of our brain that don't just remind us how to breathe or help us remember our own names or file away a telephone number or what time The Office comes on. . .they keep us from doing terrible, terrible things.<br />
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I am a Mormon. I believe in free agency, that we live in a world where we have both the opportunity and the ability to make choices. I also believe in humanity and imperfection. I believe that there are instances where something goes wrong, sometimes the fault of an individual or individuals and often through no human error but through the consequences of living in a physical and imperfect world. Some people's brains are wired either incorrectly or there's the possibility they don't even have access to those connections at all.<br />
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I know I'm not alone in saying that, from time to time, a less-than-savory thought has entered my head. It could happen when I'm driving down the street and I think to myself, "What would happen if I just. . .swerved left? If I just turned this wheel, ran into oncoming traffic or straight through that guardrail and into that gulch?"<br />
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I know what would happen. Essentially. I'm not a moron. But that morbid curiosity. What would happen? What EXACTLY would happen? What would it feel like? Would people miss me? What would they say, what would they do? What if I was responsible for the death of another? What would I do if I survived? And all of this is imagined in literally seconds! It's that quick! And then. . .it passes. Because I'm never going to actually DO IT! Why? A little thing called the the prefrontal cortex among other regions of our brain.<br />
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It would seem that poor Mr. Holmes (and I say poor because he is a child of God and just because his brain is messed up doesn't mean there aren't people who care or love this young man despite his choices) has some trouble with this cortex. Not saying he's legally insane which is what he seems to be trying to imply through his courtroom appearances with his glazed and vacant, nodding-off expression (trying to get Scarecrow to take you to Arkham, Holmes?)<br />
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But what's this, you say? What Holmes did wasn't a sudden and impulsive thought like the one I described? Yes, this crime was calculated. He spent months gathering the materials he needed to carry out the deed and to booby trap his home against the aftermath of investigative measures. The prefrontal cortex is responsible for executive functions, namely inhibitions AND planning. Strange that the same part of the brain meant to keep Mr. Holmes from acting out this awful fantasy is the same part that helped him strategize for it.<br />
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The other crime in the news was perpetrated upon a woman who was assaulted and set on fire. The word "dyke" was carved into her stomach. She is a lesbian so this would absolutely constitute as a hate crime. While seemingly random acts of crime like the one James Holmes perpetrated are frightening, these kinds of prejudiced, hateful crimes are scary in their own right. Because we're talking about a mentality that goes far beyond a broken brain. We're dealing with a mind. And a mind made up, at that. A mind that has decided for itself through experience, education, what-have-you that some people are better than others for no reason other than that they just are. A true example of begging the question. And, too often, these exaggerated understandings are based on a belief system of some kind, namely a religion that tries to resemble Christianity but IS NOT, I repeat IS NOT, based on the teachings of Jesus Christ.<br />
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Three disguised men (cowards) broke into this woman's home (so it was calculated) carved the word into her stomach (knew she was a homosexual) and set her on fire (intent to harm and/or kill.) She survived by making her way to a neighbor's, naked, bound, and near death.<br />
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It makes sense that we have people whose brains don't quite work right. Brain damage is a very real thing and is not altogether avoidable so long as we live in a physical world where things like that can happen. But WHY DO WE STILL HAVE PEOPLE LIKE THIS!? Why the ignorance? Why the hate? How do <b><u>these</u></b> people's brains work?<br />
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What has happened to them, what have they been taught, how do they see themselves and the world around them? I don't get it.<br />
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Maybe. . .if I try really hard. . .if I look at it like I'm looking at <u><b>them</b></u> and into <u><b>their</b></u> eyes and I'm seeing someone who is making all the wrong choices, choices that I can't stop. . .and it makes me angry. . .maybe then.. .maybe then I can see what causes them to take such drastic measures to get their point across. Because don't we all just want to tie these people to the ground and yell in their ears, "What do you think you are doing!?" But there's still that one huge difference. I am NOT going to break into their houses, tie them up, set them on fire and carve BIGOT into their stomachs.<br />
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Why are the people who are wrong always the loudest?<br />
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These zealots must have some crazy imbalanced mix of norepinephrine and seratonin that results in them feeling pleasure when indulging in compulsions to be missionaries for evil. What is their payoff for treating another human being like that? Do they honestly feel better; feel good about themselves? Honest-to-goodness warm fuzzies? Is there a part of their brain that justifies their actions because they don't even see this woman as a human being or at least not on equal footing as they? Do they really believe they're on a mission to strike out the infidels or pervert Old-Testament teachings?<br />
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It doesn't just make me angry that these men did this. What makes me more angry is that they did this and refuse to account for it. If you are so justified. If you are so righteous. If you are so happy with your actions, wouldn't you want to come forward and claim your good, hard work?<br />
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There is an article about this crime that states:<br />
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"Perhaps if her rights as a person were equal to those of straight or heterosexual people, this incident might not have taken place."<br />
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Not to play the defeatist but. . .nope. I really don't think so. The men who did this are obviously not interested in following the law. Their minds have been made. They have been twisted, shaped, and conditioned by lies and fear. And, as evidenced by Batman's Scarecrow, fear does funny things to the brain.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-68692122044088642612012-06-30T23:18:00.002-07:002012-07-02T10:26:27.046-07:00Ever so much more than twenty<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Happy 30th Birthday to Me</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Thanks to <span style="font-size: large;">my mum</span> for these awesome totes and bags</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">from thirtyone. Couldn't wait <span style="font-size: large;">one more year</span>, eh Mum?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">No complaints here. I was definitely in need. <3</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYRjEW-eCa5NFEeaJNtwAzVaVHRx4N7n4XX5IqCAs4dJk9dZbSftsnRyOxmEZppAYuOa734uiWx3WY8269scQOogsgWA8ZYa5IuIFjHQbkmsMPiUw3Ia4wgu7LKW5bKmt2BMRAwTbZ458/s1600/IMG_1401.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYRjEW-eCa5NFEeaJNtwAzVaVHRx4N7n4XX5IqCAs4dJk9dZbSftsnRyOxmEZppAYuOa734uiWx3WY8269scQOogsgWA8ZYa5IuIFjHQbkmsMPiUw3Ia4wgu7LKW5bKmt2BMRAwTbZ458/s200/IMG_1401.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEKUvBf3YKSAU8PAYwEyYv6UCvHYdf2YAD5aR-Ml-E-DXJWQfjsT1Cojff8cJ-Df7gUcrbGxIDJ4tAFTFLZd-WyOkWro-1dTA0ABwYsqKp5E22JqgG32gwU7VSA9ie4Rx48AaEo5t6lZY/s1600/IMG_1395.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEKUvBf3YKSAU8PAYwEyYv6UCvHYdf2YAD5aR-Ml-E-DXJWQfjsT1Cojff8cJ-Df7gUcrbGxIDJ4tAFTFLZd-WyOkWro-1dTA0ABwYsqKp5E22JqgG32gwU7VSA9ie4Rx48AaEo5t6lZY/s200/IMG_1395.JPG" width="200" /></a>A new place to keep my <span style="font-size: large;">kindle <span style="font-size: small;">and a fancy little <span style="font-size: large;">lunch <span style="font-size: small;">bag as well as a loverly HUGE tote so I can quit using my $60 <span style="font-size: large;">fossil</span> bag to carry </span></span></span></span>children's math problems home.</div>
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I can't wait to start using them.<br />
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As a <span style="font-size: large;">pocket fiend</span>, I find myself extremely satisfied with these gifts.</div>
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Thanks to <span style="font-size: large;">Kristie</span> and the <span style="font-size: large;">Fujiyama Steakhouse</span> for these delicious desserts. So sweet of Fuji to include a candle even after I denied them their obligatory honor to <span style="font-size: large;">sing loudly</span> to me while banging on a gong.<br />
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You're <span style="font-size: large;">welcome</span>, staff of Fujiyama. :D<br />
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You might be asking yourself why this <span style="font-size: large;">obviously friendly</span> and unimposing girl is taking a picture of herself blowing out her <span style="font-size: large;">birthday candle. </span></div>
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Since Adam was out of town for work and I unfortunately developed the <span style="font-size: large;">massive tummy rumblings</span>
that can only occur from eating too many garlic shrimp. . .I had to put
off my cake for another day.<br />
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So, while I was alone when I blew out my
candle, I implore you to save your tears for <span style="font-size: large;">the birds</span>. I was surrounded by my best friends. . .<span style="font-size: large;">cake and cupcake.</span> </div>
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I have really <span style="font-size: large;">delicious friends</span>.</div>
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With the house to myself, I threw on some <span style="font-size: large;">Modern Family</span> and painted to my heart's content. A pretty good birthday gift from me if I do say so myself.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">50 points</span> to Gryffindor (and Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and YES, even Slytherin because I really think Rowling <span style="font-size: large;">missed the boat</span> on that one since she should have taken a cue from her own characters in that we all have <span style="font-size: small;">light and dark</span> within us and it's <span style="font-size: large;">what we do that matters</span> and some of the Slytherins should have risen to the task and shown everyone that they're not one dimensional) if you can guess which <span style="font-size: large;">album cover</span> I'm currently working on, shown above.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Thanks</span> to my Nana, my Mum, my sisters Keeks and Mollie Squallie, the ever-awesome Kristie, and my Meems for <span style="font-size: large;">the cards</span> and <span style="font-size: large;">your love</span>!!<br />
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I also appreciate all of the birthday wishes on <span style="font-size: large;">Facebook</span> from my friends and family.<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">You guys</span> all rock super hard!! </div>
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This card,<span style="font-size: large;"> in particular</span>, truly spoke to me. I wonder why. <span style="font-size: large;">;)</span></div>
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Thanks, <span style="font-size: large;">Melissa & Jon.</span></div>
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And <span style="font-size: large;">Adam's gift</span> to me (so far) are these <span style="font-size: large;">awesome curtains</span> from<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">World Market.</span></div>
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I <span style="font-size: large;">love</span> them!!</div>
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With Adam home, a trip to Goodwill was <span style="font-size: large;">immediately necessary.</span></div>
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I was able to pick up 3 new pairs of pants (2 of them actually new with tags and never worn) all in all <span style="font-size: large;">probably</span> a $140 value for just $65.</div>
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"<span style="font-size: large;">Not too shabby</span> of a birthday week," she says as she blows on her knuckles and polishes them on her new pants that she just realized are <span style="font-size: large;">dry clean only.</span></div>
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Although it's not supposed to be an actual birthday gift (says the great and powerful Adam), we're supposed get me a<span style="font-size: large;"> new vacuum</span> since the one that was a <span style="font-size: large;">hand-me-down </span>when we got it from my in-laws has been broken down for weeks (and these floors can only be cleaned with <span style="font-size: large;">packing tape shoes</span> for so long). . .I am <b><u>not</u></b> above practical and somewhat domestic presents.</div>
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Bring on the <span style="font-size: large;">Dyson</span>!!!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-78693653569912904752012-06-22T00:08:00.000-07:002012-06-26T15:19:47.506-07:00October LastEver since I can remember and even before that, according to videos of a naked baby eating sand, I have lived the 11 months and 25 days of the rest of the year just for that one October week in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Oh, for the wistful days of waking up at 5am to make the zombified walk to the van. The anticipatory goosebumps that weren't only the result of the early morning chill. That ordinary pillow which suddenly seemed like a cloud sent straight from the heavens, propped up against the cold window. Knowing that, when I finally reawoken, we'd be quite a ways into the 12 hour journey and it'd be time to stop for pancakes and corned beef hash.<br />
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Apart from our final destination, the beach, the dunes, the kites, the ice cream, the jumping in the surf with all your clothes on, the whining about hurrying up with dumb grown up relaxing stuff so we could get back to the pool again, that car ride was always such a huge part of the trip. You couldn't have one without the other. Nothing to bring you closer as a family than 12 hours in a tiny room you can't leave until it's come to a complete stop.<br />
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Now, a venture back to the Banks takes hours of scouring Orbitz only to click on a good deal and have a message pop up telling you that it no longer exists and that, for some reason in this fast paced highly technologically advanced world, taking down consumable items that are no longer consumable is just too complicated an algorithm. It takes coordinating driving 2 hours to the airport and paying 80 bucks just to park your car. It takes finding out your seats aren't together even though you specifically chose seats together back when you bought your tickets 5 months ago and the entire seating chart was up for grabs.<br />
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It now takes paying a ridiculous sum to check bags that will be meticulously tagged and yet somehow become lost between ONE change of flights. It takes arriving too late to get a seat next to an outlet so you have to decide if the boredom outweighs using up batteries on any number of ennui-reducing gizmos. It takes experimentation with special ear plugs so your face doesn't cave in on itself during descent. It takes getting the window seat in a 3-seater section and watching as each fellow traveler makes his or her way down the center aisle, thinking to yourself, "Keep walking, keep walking. . ."<br />
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If it hasn't been made quite clear as of yet. . .I'm not a big fan of flying. It's just so torpid and boring. I'm not a control freak in the least, but there is something to be said when you have no option but to stay seated because standing during a 30,000ft free fall is exactly 1,000% the difference between life and death when compared to sitting with your tray table in its upright position. But I won't go on about that. You could just watch Jerry Seinfeld.<br />
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I also have this irrational fear of using the airplane bathrooms. It has nothing to do with worrying about being in there if the plane goes out of control. I'm also not even close to claustrophobic. I just really hate knowing that everyone else knows what I'm doing in there. Especially if I take even just a moment longer than is normal for a regular pee. Or, everyone's fear, that the odoriferous gift left behind by the guy before you will somehow be attributed to you. There should be some universally recognized sign for, "Seriously, that was not me." Maybe I should just make it a game and always claim it was. It's like I want to come back out, raise my hands in supplication, and announce, "That's right, everyone! I have just relieved myself, it is a true statement. Just a Code 3 7 4 B, that's all." Would the Ace Ventura "Do NOT go in there. WOO!" thing be cool? Has it been long enough that it's retro?<br />
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Then there's that situation where you get up to use the bathroom because you've been eyeing that general area for practically 30 to 35 minutes and you've finally both mustered the courage to rise and ask the aisle guy to awkwardly move his abnormally long legs without actually having to get up AND you've noticed no one has headed there for the last 10 minutes. Up you go and no sooner you do than someone 8 rows up has got the same idea precisely 4 seconds after you have and, without even knowing it, cuts right in front of you, so you have to stand up there like a dolt feeling uncomfortable yourself because everyone is surely looking at you and wondering how many sodas you've had and most definitely making the person now coming out of the tiny water closet uncomfortable because they're having all the same feelings and is wondering how long they were really in there and how long you've been impatiently waiting. Not to mention, the guy before them had airport Taco Bell before he boarded and now I'm attributing that smell to Mr. McCutterPants.<br />
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All of this is really leading up to all of the impossible trouble I went to in order to visit the Outer Banks as a surprise trip to my mum. So, I certainly hope she appreciates all my sacrifices in the way of comfort and convenience. I might even prefer a wagon train so long as we could stop off at 7 Elevens along the way for Reese's Cups and Lays Classic. Even a dumb bag of circus peanuts would be better than that weird chunk of smelly cheese that came with my $10 boxed assortment of "snacks." But man, those complimentary Biscoff biscuits are goooood. Can I get those in bulk for just me?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB-1ndjE_LCjnZasuTQ5Ft6Hn1rtYeRMo81JSnIIf4xlvfRows9xABw7uWLO4PneAxYUnldEJGyf9EdgJVuHfO4NmQ6B8ICiwTpPLdU4T1Gr168d9-txz0CJ4pzhyphenhyphenXe5Me2re5VHcZUcQ/s1600/IMAG0067.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB-1ndjE_LCjnZasuTQ5Ft6Hn1rtYeRMo81JSnIIf4xlvfRows9xABw7uWLO4PneAxYUnldEJGyf9EdgJVuHfO4NmQ6B8ICiwTpPLdU4T1Gr168d9-txz0CJ4pzhyphenhyphenXe5Me2re5VHcZUcQ/s400/IMAG0067.jpg" width="400" /></a>Last October, Adam and I boarded one of these hellish nightmare sky cabs to Norfolk, Virginia. Where we rented an enormously expensive car (almost got a Crown Vic but alas) and embarked on a 2 hour trek to Ocean Pines in Duck, NC. We arrived on Ocean Pines Drive at around 2am. I'd been calling my sister, who was in on the charade, since our layover earlier that day. With no response yet. So, I was getting rather concerned. We pull up and every light is, of course, extinguished. I keep calling my sister to no avail. I think she might be an Animorph with the cat-like tendencies to sleep uninterrupted for nigh on to 16 hours.<br />
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I eventually had to resort to banging on the door, worried about frightening my mum and my Mimi half to death. But I was cold and in fear of having to sleep in the car. We eventually saw lights turn on and the sound of raised and questioning voices floated down to us. I could hear my mum. "Don't open the door!!!"<br />
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The door swung inward and there was my sister, not at all surprised to see us. But, behind her were my mum and Mimi whom, I swear, stood there for minutes in shock and awe. It was several moments before recognition took the place of fear and surprise. It was an awesome moment. One of which I wish I'd gotten a picture or video. But I was quite fed up with the whole no-contact-for-hours-having-to-knock-on-the-door-in-the-cold-where-are-we-gonna-sleep-tonight thing. Naturally. Adam did catch me on one of my many unanswered calls to my cat, read: sister.<br />
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But what am I complaining about? Adam was the real accursed creature on this trip. The poor man had a lost bag (returned the next day when the airline found it who knows where?), barely survived a torrid 7-day attack by mosquitoes (the barely touched me), and then proceeded to top it all off with a nasty little cold which laid him up for a couple days.<br />
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Other than that, in the words of a tiger I once knew rather well, it was great!!!<br />
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<span id="goog_2022161362"></span><span id="goog_2022161363"></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-76893778451495127132012-06-20T00:40:00.001-07:002012-06-20T00:45:03.233-07:00Fifty Shades of Nay<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is the part where I tell you why I am not, have not, and will not be interested in reading the confusingly popular Fifty Shades of Grey by E.L. James.<br />
<br />
Now I am not a prude. Neither do I find issue with romantic eroticism in books. So, stop right there if you think that I'll have anything to do with a stay-away-from-this-unChristian-like-mess-of-smut soapbox. I get that this kind of. . .literary device. . .is one that many people quite enjoy.<br />
<br />
I remember the literacy class I took with Claire Davis at LC many years ago. What I learned in 4 months is that life boils down to sex and poop. Eloquent, I know, and it's something that has been reiterated to me each and every time I watch the Scrubs musical episode. Everything truly does come down to poo.<br />
<br />
So, okay. . .lonely housewives and curious teenagers aside. . .what does a book like Fifty Shades have to offer the rest of us? An intriguing plot? A bevy of characters whom you learn to care for and long to be among? People you love? People you love to hate? People you hate to love? Interesting wordplay? Riveting dialogue?<br />
<br />
After having read a few samples of James' no-pictures-porn, the answer, I am afraid, is nay.<br />
<br />
When the book first began blowing up and I couldn't even go to Costco without seeing a huge beckoning pile, my interest was piqued if only because it sounded like some sort of awesome 1920's affair that Baz Luhrmann would direct if given the chance.<br />
<br />
Then I began to get snippets of what it was really about and, as it's just not my kind of material, I dismissed it. Not a bad thing. Just. . .no, not for me.<br />
<br />
But now it has become hugely successful.<br />
<br />
And I.<br />
<br />
Don't.<br />
<br />
Get it.<br />
<br />
What is so marvelously ridiculous about it is not that people love it but that people will defend it as something that is more than just a sexually charged read-it-alone fest. I don't buy, for a second, that the majority of readers are interested in the "emotional relationship" over 500 pages of freaky freak. And I mean. . .FREAKY freak. This may rival Palahniuk.<br />
<br />
When I found out the novel was spawned from a Twilight fan fiction, I nearly choked on my own gag. I realize that the first thing people like to do when they really love and admire something or someone is write a super raunchy fan fiction involving two unlikely-to-be-in-love characters or photoshop them kissing. I mean, really. . .that seems about right. Good way to show favor.<br />
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Deviantart, especially, is full of such. Some of these are downright hilarious but I would advise, for the faint of heart, to refrain from traveling down that horrible, horrible, horrible road. You <b><u>can not unsee</u></b> some of the literary world's most beloved and classic characters in such compromising positions. Just. Just don't. You'll never be the same.<br />
<br />
Look, I love Twilight. It's a fun read. I think Meyer touches upon some really interesting topics, themes and mores. She's managed to build up some fascinating characters. She just somehow missed that mark with her two main personas. If James' favorite author (or even one of them) is Meyer, then we should have known what was coming.<br />
<br />
Prose. Believable dialogue. Are these that unattainable? Is it so much to ask for? I'm having a very difficult time with understanding how James was on Time Magazine's 100 Most Influential People in the World. IN THE WORLD. Only 100 to choose and the author of a sexually disturbing romance novel makes the cut? Am I missing something? Does this story of painful adult life choices due to child abuse have some kind of happy and remarkably life-altering ending? Or did it just help spice up some boring people's lives? I'm at a complete loss.<br />
<br />
I've heard that a few libraries in Florida have taken the book off their shelves and refuse to stock it. I would hope so. This is not the kind of book I want to borrow. Someone else had it? No thanks. For some inexplicable reason, I find myself wondering if I'd feel dirty reading it after someone else. If I do, is it like I've been with every other book they've read?<br />
<br />
If you like this book, that's just fine. But like it for the right reasons. Do not sing its praises. Because it is not praiseworthy. It is mind-numbingly awful if but a guilty pleasure in every sense of the phrase. And if I have to hear about another first person narrative about a girl faintingly sighing the perfect praises of a broken man, I will have no choice but to. . .not read that book.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-89269911254914754652012-06-17T23:38:00.002-07:002012-06-17T23:50:23.565-07:00A Little Thirty Somethin' Somethin'<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSk7dxFNExeYX5yrMz1Ph0K-Fe1lfiZG6IUQf373wB61HorldLfTmTD7SDZ6XURV-uEF1lSIaPtm6HTrSre4TU5-4Ij8lXV9s28bi1n9EdotWOd6udvt8cOSGHH3kDf71H9exbAsjS8wY/s1600/IMG_1310.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSk7dxFNExeYX5yrMz1Ph0K-Fe1lfiZG6IUQf373wB61HorldLfTmTD7SDZ6XURV-uEF1lSIaPtm6HTrSre4TU5-4Ij8lXV9s28bi1n9EdotWOd6udvt8cOSGHH3kDf71H9exbAsjS8wY/s320/IMG_1310.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Some facts:</u></b></span><br />
<br />
I turn 30 this month.<br />
I've got a cold.<br />
I'm not really worried about it.<br />
Adam won't be here.<br />
He'll be away on a work trip.<br />
That kind of worries me.<br />
But that's because he'll be far, far away.<br />
Which would matter whether I was turning 30 or not.<br />
<br />
I googled 30 and thought I'd liken my last 3 decades to the top 4 suggestions. And as it's exactly 10 days from now. . .I did the same with 10.<br />
<br />
<u><b><span style="font-size: large;">30 rock</span></b></u><br />
<br />
Tina Fey is kind of my doppelganger. I feel confident saying we'd be best friends in high school and we'd borrow each other's homemade cable knit sweaters and hold fake wedding ceremonies with Teen Beat posters of Joey Lawrence.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>30 minutes or less</u></b></span><br />
<br />
I've got a torrid love affair thing going on with pizza. Adam knows and he's super cool with it.<br />
<br />
<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">30 seconds to mars</span></u></b><br />
<br />
Hello? Jared Leto? My So-Called Life? Only the biggest deal ever in the mid 90's! Every night, another "very special episode." Never mind the fact that it was supposed to take place in my home town!!<br />
<br />
<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">30 weeks pregnant</span></u></b><br />
<br />
This would have been cool if I had something to confess. Nope.<br />
<br />
*************************************************************************<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>10 day weather forecast</u></b></span><br />
<br />
When I was about 14, I was vehemently set on becoming a storm chaser. Obviously, that didn't really pan out as other dreams and aspirations of staying alive and having pocket change and not living in the midwest came into play. But I am unable to fall asleep at night without my rainstorm sounds. I am also a human barometer which sounds way cooler than it is. Pressure headaches and explosive sinuses are not cool. I assure you.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><u><b>10 days late</b></u></span><br />
<br />
Is this a hint?<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>10 illegal baby names</u></b></span><br />
<br />
Alright, I'm sensing a serious underhanded pattern here.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>10 days that unexpectedly changed America</u></b></span><br />
<br />
Among nuclear weaponry and the Gold Rush, one of these days was obviously June 27th, 1982. Seeing as I was not expected at that hour and day. But when your mum is picking strawberries and that is your most favorite food in the whole wide world, being born sounds like a pretty dang good idea.<br />
<br />
*************************************************************************<br />
<br />
And just for funzies. . .<br />
<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Glamour's "By 30, you should have/know. . ." list:</span></u></b><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">1. One old boyfriend you can imagine going back to and one who reminds you of how far you’ve come.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">2. A decent piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in your family.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">3. Something perfect to wear if the employer or man of your dreams wants to see you in an hour.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">4. A purse, a suitcase, and an umbrella you’re not ashamed to be seen carrying.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">5. A youth you’re content to move beyond.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">6. A past juicy enough that you’re looking forward to retelling it in your old age.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">7. The realization that you are actually going to have an old age -- and some money set aside to help fund it.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">8. An email address, a voice mailbox, and a bank account -- all of which nobody has access to but you.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">9. A résumé that is not even the slightest bit padded.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">10. One friend who always makes you laugh and one who lets you cry.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">11. A set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black lace bra.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">12. Something ridiculously expensive that you bought for yourself, just because you deserve it.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">13. The belief that you deserve it.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">14. A skin-care regimen, an exercise routine, and a plan for dealing with those few other facets of life that don’t get better after 30.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">15. A solid start on a satisfying career, a satisfying relationship, and all those other facets of life that do get better.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="border: none; display: block; list-style: none; margin: 0px 0px 4px; padding: 0px;" /><strong style="border: none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">By 30, you should know ...</strong></span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">1. How to fall in love without losing yourself.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">2. How you feel about having kids.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">3. How to quit a job, break up with a man, and confront a friend without ruining the friendship.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">4. When to try harder and when to walk away.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">5. How to kiss in a way that communicates perfectly what you would and wouldn’t like to happen next.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">6. The names of the secretary of state, your great-grandmothers, and the best tailor in town.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">7. How to live alone, even if you don’t like to.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">8. Where to go -- be it your best friend’s kitchen table or a yoga mat -- when your soul needs soothing.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">9. That you can’t change the length of your legs, the width of your hips, or the nature of your parents.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">10. That your childhood may not have been perfect, but it’s over.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">11. What you would and wouldn’t do for money or love.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">12. That nobody gets away with smoking, drinking, doing drugs, or not flossing for very long.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">13. Who you can trust, who you can’t, and why you shouldn’t take it personally.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">14. Not to apologize for something that isn’t your fault.</span></div>
<div style="border: none; line-height: 21px; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">15. Why they say life begins at 30</span></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-85493187806289890022012-03-22T15:27:00.002-07:002012-03-22T15:31:44.476-07:00May the odds of getting a theatre free of the loud whisperer be ever in your favor<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuipW4MABCMN8aoKhk7tnNxf8rlR3np90reHUCv8fo8vqqT9fAbotY8IHPWpZWcFzHbwHG1rq4m_KzT4iqSZnUJ0Kpasxg1gXjgsg0XE8UBw5-acE3iG61_LEOgwY7TutCc4CWoYiIhaA/s1600/1328770747609_8526924.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuipW4MABCMN8aoKhk7tnNxf8rlR3np90reHUCv8fo8vqqT9fAbotY8IHPWpZWcFzHbwHG1rq4m_KzT4iqSZnUJ0Kpasxg1gXjgsg0XE8UBw5-acE3iG61_LEOgwY7TutCc4CWoYiIhaA/s640/1328770747609_8526924.png" width="640" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>I have loved reading The Hunger Games series. And I'm super excited about the movie adaptation coming out this weekend. However, I will not be one of those suckers tenting it up outside the theatre to get a good seat on opening night. Or second night. Or third. Or fourth, fifth or sixth for that matter.<br />
<br />
I have been to one opening night release in my lifetime and that was quite enough just to say that I've had the experience. It was Harry Potter 5 and the first movie for which I'd read the book first. Expectations were guarded. But it was summer so I figured that if I had to stand outside, waiting in a line longer than Walgreen's during flu shot season, this was the right time to try that hat on.<br />
<br />
Had to get tickets early. . .which, if I'm remembering correctly, Adam purchased for my birthday the previous month. I also had to work that evening and my ol' stomping grounds closed at 10pm with at least 45 minutes to an hour of cleanup. If showtime was 12am and the line of nerds with their noses in giant blue books started at 1pm earlier that day. . .I was hoping to be lucky enough to get at least an aisle seat in the front row. On that note. . .why do they even make that front section? Sure, it's a myth that sitting too close to the television can damage your eyes, but it is a medical surety that it does no good for your neck.<br />
<br />
Even the advent of a new Harry Potter movie couldn't make me feel comfortable with standing and sitting that close to strangers smelling like fried chicken and sour milk so I absolutely had to go home and take a shower, put on a shirt that wasn't made out of denim and race to the end of the ever-growing line of bright-eyed humanity.<br />
<br />
Turns out they were showing the movie on several screens at once and were staggering the start times. Poo. We weren't all going to be in the same theatre. There was a touch-and-go moment when I was given the opportunity to switch tickets/theatres with someone I knew but did not plan to go with so that more of us could be together. But. . .here's the deal. I was in theatre 7. And if you haven't read the books, you just wouldn't understand that kind of magical significance. My geek cells refused to allow a trade with that kind of awesome on the line.<br />
<br />
Suffice it to say. . .it was worth the experience only because it was a dry, beautiful warm night. I did NOT have to sit in the front section. And even had a group of girls I did not know wave their hands and their Gryffindor scarves in welcome to the seats next to them to let me know they were available. How sad that this was a nice surprise! People being kind to strangers, all of us reveling in the excitement of this night together. . .as for one evening, we all knew we had at least one thing in common.<br />
<br />
Hunger Games comes out tomorrow. . .or rather later tonight, in about 9 hours. I'm sure all the girls in love with the boy with the bread are lined up already, wearing green jackets and combat boots, their hair braided on the side. At the ripe age of 29, I've come to realize it's definitely appropriate to get just as excited as I ever did about silly things like this. I just show my excitement in a different way. That way being waiting at least a week before I venture on to those sticky floors and fight for elbow room with the Big Gulp of the guy next to me who guffaws at all the worst jokes.<br />
<br />
I do, however, wish luck to all those who plan on fighting it out this weekend in procuring entertainment over comfort. Let's hope there are no bows or berries involved.<br />
<br />
----------------------------------------<br />
<br />
Completely off-topic - I like how the woman being handed the baton in the above image seems somewhat surprised if but a little perturbed. As if she was just running along on her own when this woman with a baton appeared out of nowhere. That is a hilarious practical joke and I kind of want to do it. Just look for people running and race up alongside them to pass a baton. Looks like there's no need for me to worry about missing out on HG this weekend at all. . .I've got plans.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-18095345725501189662011-12-01T00:12:00.000-08:002011-12-01T00:19:33.946-08:00Danger Gets Stranger<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirWUhHjjO_ZpIMtEhDunInGLu8HrUz8dfMMpJ10FymTM-2z-4-FVOjPtIRypJbkJflghOemlxnSx1jfZrGbpx2NWEET5spv4QJN8zVw8Jn2CAz35Ec4u0_ZAsp8MJeTIcSwgdeHd3RY3U/s1600/superboy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirWUhHjjO_ZpIMtEhDunInGLu8HrUz8dfMMpJ10FymTM-2z-4-FVOjPtIRypJbkJflghOemlxnSx1jfZrGbpx2NWEET5spv4QJN8zVw8Jn2CAz35Ec4u0_ZAsp8MJeTIcSwgdeHd3RY3U/s320/superboy.jpg" width="226" /></a></div>Once upon a time, I was fearless. I ran along the edge of sheer cliffs just to make my dad nervous. I splashed in puddles during thunderstorms. I climbed out onto house roofs to reach the good mulberries at the top of the tree. I raced my bike down steep fleets of stairs ending in busy streets. With no spotter.<br />
<br />
There's something about getting older that reminds you how much there is to be afraid of. You would think that, as you learn and grow. . .and survive each day. . .you would have a newfound respect for survival and a confidence in your ability to refrain from peril. But no. That's not how it works. Somehow, you realize how lucky you are. How endlessly insane it is that you are still alive. After all that you've done that would suggest the contrary.<br />
<br />
When I was locked in my parents' upstairs bathroom, I didn't give it a second's thought that the best way to solve my predicament should be to crawl out the window and use the drainpipe to obtain access to the open window one room over. That's the obvious solution.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgE6ccBLdn6SatZn9TOvqCrXZMeXbwakb_ugeLx_rrHeDaISTLaF9hebza-vyx5S6NB913nk6HBoA9qVYvRjOhqejIXlv2-her5WCNNPA2T0vmWWI1CLjP3WsyBMkWFBe4FN76sYW7j2I/s1600/164107_299532179986_5461604986_1108000_7237294_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgE6ccBLdn6SatZn9TOvqCrXZMeXbwakb_ugeLx_rrHeDaISTLaF9hebza-vyx5S6NB913nk6HBoA9qVYvRjOhqejIXlv2-her5WCNNPA2T0vmWWI1CLjP3WsyBMkWFBe4FN76sYW7j2I/s320/164107_299532179986_5461604986_1108000_7237294_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
While my problem wasn't self-made. . .I did not hesitate to use it as an excuse to do something thrilling and dangerous. Who did I think I was? I look back on that and I wonder. . ."[expletive]. . .What would have happened if I had fallen?"<br />
<br />
And yet, I did stupid tricks like that all the time. . .and often, I did fall. But I always got right back up again. Sure, I was a little worse for wear and lived, like almost everyone, my entire childhood with bumps, bruises and scrapes. Bandaids and Neosporin were my best friend. Along with my Johnny Switchblade Adventure Punk and my Bag-O-Glass (see video below.)<br />
<br />
<br />
I find myself increasingly fearful of 'getting back on the mountain goat' so to speak, however. When I fall [read: fail] I can't help but kick myself while I'm down and express some bizarre version of post-traumatic stress disorder.<br />
<br />
In January of 09, I was on my way to do some laundry at my in-laws' house. It had been snowy and icy lately but I knew how to handle myself. I mean. . .nothing had happened to me yet. . .so, obviously nothing COULD happen to me, right? Things just don't happen to you. I'm driving up the main thoroughfare. . .the road's rather clear since the sun is out and shining. . .and there is little to no traffic.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7XvhSpVM_-alTWEwLXLwTXrgkFU_NQQlrgxne6P9kVmBKkZTh8CthKEFrlbzVr6lMr_XesNeL2Vp7Wy3HXaIWFwhaQ6nL8UYNuBcYxUT8V_kQuPTMBR7TBcOsogWqStEHUT_3L2_uJGY/s1600/11jWg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7XvhSpVM_-alTWEwLXLwTXrgkFU_NQQlrgxne6P9kVmBKkZTh8CthKEFrlbzVr6lMr_XesNeL2Vp7Wy3HXaIWFwhaQ6nL8UYNuBcYxUT8V_kQuPTMBR7TBcOsogWqStEHUT_3L2_uJGY/s320/11jWg.jpg" width="245" /></a>Except this one guy. A honkin' red Ford 350 (Idaho, right?) who's having some difficulty remembering that there are two lanes and one of them is mine. Sure, the white lines are hard to see under some of the packed snow but really. You live in this town. We share the road 'round these parts. He's making me nervous. Alright, dude. If you really feel like purchasing your giant truck gives you entitlement to all of your lane and half of mine, I will be the bigger man (and on that note, please remove those ridiculously undersized truck nutz) and give YOU some room.<br />
<br />
Whoever said being kind and compassionate got you anywhere in life except last? As I slowly move my car towards the side of the road, I hit a patch of ice that unfortunately did not feel the inclination to melt in the glorious yet insufficient sunshine. Nothing matches that feeling of complete and total loss of control. My car began to turn into that weird rubber pencil trick.<br />
<br />
You could tell me over and over and over and over exactly what you're supposed to do in this situation. You could remind me time and again not to overcorrect. You could literally get inside of my brain and write all over my cortex, "Drive INTO the swerve!" It would not matter. Split second reaction does not equal the legitimacy of physics.<br />
<br />
All I could do was try to steer into NOT THAT RED TRUCK. I am the nicest person in the world. As I did everything in my power to keep from turning into him, he drove off into the sunset and probably made millions and bought a whole load of truck nutz for his entire family.<br />
<br />
I, on the other hand, realized that braking it wasn't working and that I just needed to get off the road. It was all a blur but I managed to see an open parking lot. I did not manage to stop short enough to make use of that empty parking lot. Instead, I am quickly heading towards a storefront ramp bordered by a beautiful clean parked truck on one side and a gleaming mailbox on the other.<br />
<br />
By some miracle upon miracles, I came to a sudden and crunching stop. Right here:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNi9DQ9zU1ylpuX946e_cySvDHaTQlbHaJIm8EhDgkOx5HAKh1FsIpJjhNunYMRa87VxAE6B1qPn4vtSXzZ06_ZxSb34T_ea5DInxZOP8_2IsbS_dncy5iXRyxJL2ZYSNuE9RouBVH-_E/s1600/p_00098.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNi9DQ9zU1ylpuX946e_cySvDHaTQlbHaJIm8EhDgkOx5HAKh1FsIpJjhNunYMRa87VxAE6B1qPn4vtSXzZ06_ZxSb34T_ea5DInxZOP8_2IsbS_dncy5iXRyxJL2ZYSNuE9RouBVH-_E/s640/p_00098.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The truck was fine. The mailbox. . .untouched. The building? Turns out it was an optometrist's office and this wide-eyed guy comes out because everyone inside thought the end of the world had come. My car was definitely the loser of that fight, though the corner of the office did lose some stucco. The guy catches my eye and I sheepishly wave from behind the wheel with a frightened grin on my face. His head swivels to the parked vehicle. . .then to the mailbox, then back to me. He says, "Boy howdy, I'm sure glad you missed my new truck." So was I.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">They invite me inside and call emergency and calm me down while I call Adam (who's stuck down at work because I'd dropped him off earlier since his truck stopped going into gear that very morning - WHY, I ask you, WHY does this always happen to us in twos??) After I stop shaking and crying, I muster the joke that I thought I was going through a drive-thru. I was due for a new pair of specs.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No severe damage. To my physical self or the car. No real blow to the building itself except for a small aesthetic fix. No deployment of airbags. All surface damage and a flat tire.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHjWyKcWBkMC8vU0lvIeKsui56b7qERILGCm5LoyEJkti41Y5Z-Ce83q-WV8mh3q2Z7LZ46TavNKO2Y9xWvy02h5dvrMecSNnycrbYxq1ZD5P3sjXQsLUaQ3unxT1hx6sR6xwT743AgpQ/s1600/p_00100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHjWyKcWBkMC8vU0lvIeKsui56b7qERILGCm5LoyEJkti41Y5Z-Ce83q-WV8mh3q2Z7LZ46TavNKO2Y9xWvy02h5dvrMecSNnycrbYxq1ZD5P3sjXQsLUaQ3unxT1hx6sR6xwT743AgpQ/s400/p_00100.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4plRrZVe4zd0Ld2cqz_Wmj5gUjkaZedsrXfETAw_Zilck5p_uZwalOge90L7w3eo4fPbzIVV1LLiUzIv-PIPFBnokA7phlvYWbkjzEE30diArATEFGxWA8EfN0rMVZg1OqTr_qJheU08/s1600/p_00096.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4plRrZVe4zd0Ld2cqz_Wmj5gUjkaZedsrXfETAw_Zilck5p_uZwalOge90L7w3eo4fPbzIVV1LLiUzIv-PIPFBnokA7phlvYWbkjzEE30diArATEFGxWA8EfN0rMVZg1OqTr_qJheU08/s400/p_00096.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I keep telling Adam he needs to take me to an empty snowy parking lot one of these days and just let me spin around and play, get comfortable. I realize that, from my comfy dry snow-and-ice free couch, it's much easier to imagine how much fun and games that would be. Twelve panic attacks later, I may be wondering why in the world I would ever make such an absurd suggestion.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gaMBt1z3Bj8" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinyqZhTTN2td4uFBCpt4MrskDgA1p7Sl3H1stc2TMqVe2lDBYE9Ekns8ycJYERp-MJV-_2DKcVBE1vyhNIEXWDh1Ywjc9juDdR4Qdu-dNNzo9UCyI5hBuAS0ypNvt6UoX2Q3qaoKQY5Ek/s400/bag+o%2527+glass.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gaMBt1z3Bj8">See Consumer Probe on Dangerous Toys like Bag-O-Glass</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-66977256936519868352011-09-22T23:50:00.000-07:002011-09-23T00:09:54.566-07:00This guy is tops<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">September 16th was a special day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My awesome rock-my-world husband turned 30 years of age.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I think he looks remarkably preserved.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUfIApK1T75_EkPcvUiKYR856inYIPJyQRaXSeJw_iu9OYiUHJFeeSurva-fej7ERdcQrqjinCsTMvf2UgF-hJhxt6KpudaCeew7fh_trIbog7dfhVqUka2cQA90uZYstln3zPuwuOJyg/s1600/IMG_0544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUfIApK1T75_EkPcvUiKYR856inYIPJyQRaXSeJw_iu9OYiUHJFeeSurva-fej7ERdcQrqjinCsTMvf2UgF-hJhxt6KpudaCeew7fh_trIbog7dfhVqUka2cQA90uZYstln3zPuwuOJyg/s640/IMG_0544.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I was so excited his b-day was going to fall on one of his Fridays off!! I had so many crazy ideas for what we could do. Rent an oceanside condo and hope it doesn't rain. Spend the weekend in the city in some crazy fancy hotel and laugh about how we shouldn't open or touch anything except the free ice. Or just toss a bunch of money in a pot and let him decide where to go or what to do.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Considering he ended up having to work some over time on the day of, I'm glad none of these plans worked out. There is a part of me that knows some crazy spontaneous surprise would be just the bees knees. But, then again, Adam's an old fart who is quite set in his ways. Plus, you need a credit card to do most of this stuff and we share one so a bunch of frivolous charges showing up might raise an eyebrow or two.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">So, I think I did the smart thing by leaving it up to Adam. Check out his gifts......</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQZ2to3r7Um_LHoQ3ZMfyGjxrlGeX-gghaMlwgWMtzaLAgkn1e_Tbm2EHs6P7VV_xs5JkUQOhnXhk2zhTIhhhw2fjVVm86u-NeMTX54NAnGds687KUUQQW2nycC89zXpEgtAncTP7n-0Q/s1600/IMG_0600.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQZ2to3r7Um_LHoQ3ZMfyGjxrlGeX-gghaMlwgWMtzaLAgkn1e_Tbm2EHs6P7VV_xs5JkUQOhnXhk2zhTIhhhw2fjVVm86u-NeMTX54NAnGds687KUUQQW2nycC89zXpEgtAncTP7n-0Q/s640/IMG_0600.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I got up as soon as I heard the door close on Friday morning @ around 7:30am.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">If there was one thing I knew I could do to make Adam's birthday 1000% awesome, it would be to get all the payday grocery shopping done before he got home.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I had my list ready, dinners lined up, even remembered to grab my grocery bags!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Got all the way down to my car (and if you have been up and down my steps, adding the flight to the garage, you'll know what I mean) when I realized uh. . .no monies in the bank.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Back up the stairs, shoved the key into my ridiculously sticky lock (hate you!) and made sure to transfer the money I would need. Man, I'm glad I realized that then instead of at the register with a shopping cart full of sundries.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Shopping at Wal*mart @ 8:30am was like the most blissful shopping experience ever.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It was like I was gliding through the aisles, no old ladies stopping to gab about sores and aching joints, no guttersnipes getting caught up in my wheels, no fiendish track-suit wearing mom grabbing the last bag of the good cinnamon bread!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">All the checkers were bright and early, starting their shifts and smiling as they waited for me at their registers. Oh, which lane to choose? Which lane to choose? Any will do, really.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Suffice it to say, it is totally worth getting up super early for that kind of shopping experience.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And it was probably the best birthday present ever. So says Adam. And well. . .that's who counts.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaGP84kHzdtnTHuVrWVAYBxeZd20l_rth51oVQOpMy52aiY47x9netfxLozR_eIT8knTKOVzoa_0G3zwHadcOhHbX_-h-WAP2AdzO5Vdk5o1518JfAHlBMS68FCHQaFnGWVqqioTjlim4/s1600/IMG_0547.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaGP84kHzdtnTHuVrWVAYBxeZd20l_rth51oVQOpMy52aiY47x9netfxLozR_eIT8knTKOVzoa_0G3zwHadcOhHbX_-h-WAP2AdzO5Vdk5o1518JfAHlBMS68FCHQaFnGWVqqioTjlim4/s320/IMG_0547.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUfPl3MWAcwFW9zBAhkUAD9NOGrKTy7cI1FwG-ClhXmHac_OM0OA-3CHZoWx4TS0lko45kouaOxBl6cdsC4SvkfqgLHqDOF9bZAlGrOHYWASlZPiPSR9Vs6XhHzCst_Fr8_8qSapGodo8/s1600/IMG_0549.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUfPl3MWAcwFW9zBAhkUAD9NOGrKTy7cI1FwG-ClhXmHac_OM0OA-3CHZoWx4TS0lko45kouaOxBl6cdsC4SvkfqgLHqDOF9bZAlGrOHYWASlZPiPSR9Vs6XhHzCst_Fr8_8qSapGodo8/s320/IMG_0549.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The day before, I found Adam's pocket knife which he'd been missing for a week or so.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Since I've got kind of a thing for wrapping anything and everything I can get my hands on (can't wait for you, Christmas!!!!) I just had to.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">He was pleasantly surprised, as evidenced by his face.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiEtWgf1DNOw44-r-d7zwGT2DBeLHaTNUiAXJxGnfULsVivsK8M4RCktgxHS0lmNT3WvT48IWsOv74a9VuZVqm7zTp0isTiYHheHj-x4RWrllHAtE84cz7TiQjbG_03K-yljB-dzz-lqY/s1600/IMG_0551.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiEtWgf1DNOw44-r-d7zwGT2DBeLHaTNUiAXJxGnfULsVivsK8M4RCktgxHS0lmNT3WvT48IWsOv74a9VuZVqm7zTp0isTiYHheHj-x4RWrllHAtE84cz7TiQjbG_03K-yljB-dzz-lqY/s640/IMG_0551.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I know it's super lame to get someone underwear or, if you're a guy and you didn't pick it out, any clothing at all for your birthday. But seriously. This boy needed some new church socks.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I believe I spent about an hour to an hour and 15 minutes in the JCPenney mens socks section.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It is super hard to pick out black socks, y'all.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Blast if I didn't just spend 1 minute too long because I got in line behind the ONLY other lady in the store and she had problem after question after coupon after penny.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Adam wore the socks on the following Sunday. He looked pretty dapper if I do say so myself. And I did.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGxdGsUomGQM_FL61fi9Yd1QTfGphTYDK-nITm9diPyuPBPdQUicu05176S_d4KIuC55nVieBTnwvkE-MojISL1_Gff9IDhRBST5PuVF_uraE4PnMbWmVuqqpRC3otMEDfXcV04Tq6eAQ/s1600/IMG_0552.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGxdGsUomGQM_FL61fi9Yd1QTfGphTYDK-nITm9diPyuPBPdQUicu05176S_d4KIuC55nVieBTnwvkE-MojISL1_Gff9IDhRBST5PuVF_uraE4PnMbWmVuqqpRC3otMEDfXcV04Tq6eAQ/s640/IMG_0552.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I like how this picture looks like he is posing for another camera. I am the only one there.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A few months ago, I had told Adam I was hoping to plan a little party for him. It wouldn't be a surprise time or location but I was hoping to have a surprise theme.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I figured since he was turning 30 and becoming a real man and. . .well, real men always have mustaches</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(see <a href="http://img2.timeinc.net/ew/dynamic/imgs/110120/park-recs-pyramid_1500.jpg">Ron Swanson</a>). . .a mustache party would be hilarious.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I just kept laughing about it so he says to me, "It isn't gonna be a mustache party, is it?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">.........crickets........</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Me: Haha. No.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A few days later, I couldn't hold it in anymore. Not because I can't keep secrets (I'm the best there is) but because I couldn't believe he'd guessed it. I thought for sure he'd found my secret notes!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I told him.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">His reply: "What? Really?! I didn't even know that was a thing! I was just making it up."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Yeah. That's why we're married. Only us.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And the coup de grace.......................</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQmEDM1i0Fjo8Oak-QJDR3Uf-EOHROK-BpAuEf5wKKSykg0DGUELfF-dnUXEL6zTomp5xKVgOjHBsssp6YoYOcQsSvx7b6VMWkvDY4eEUSNgWWdaU1HXCvPexHHJYiMKEGEBDEwkMMxDM/s1600/IMG_0553.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQmEDM1i0Fjo8Oak-QJDR3Uf-EOHROK-BpAuEf5wKKSykg0DGUELfF-dnUXEL6zTomp5xKVgOjHBsssp6YoYOcQsSvx7b6VMWkvDY4eEUSNgWWdaU1HXCvPexHHJYiMKEGEBDEwkMMxDM/s320/IMG_0553.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfAjd9Y4pUsbmCw3QhwXPZ4rE5_yPD4K9OvfXUTAp036WZEm72gbDsiEjWKdlOyF4RR_sgrSzHO52VWDZnJXMQCn6JLfR-rfvgbUSxIIOaDliMSRgctytiYZXiuPuFhbkTMzY5yT7ER4E/s1600/IMG_0557.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfAjd9Y4pUsbmCw3QhwXPZ4rE5_yPD4K9OvfXUTAp036WZEm72gbDsiEjWKdlOyF4RR_sgrSzHO52VWDZnJXMQCn6JLfR-rfvgbUSxIIOaDliMSRgctytiYZXiuPuFhbkTMzY5yT7ER4E/s320/IMG_0557.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYGJS9ypa1kTsMmetXUDJoFsKL9fXJF9Pt5R-5W2Vs6dUTdYnNL320DhscVPOLtMFkGx1RK96VJ5BJv9PghN_yNpmjiThuy4slPCEF2-pVcAqGAvMok3RLWgOlneGysCxiwlJG8g131Vs/s1600/IMG_0560.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYGJS9ypa1kTsMmetXUDJoFsKL9fXJF9Pt5R-5W2Vs6dUTdYnNL320DhscVPOLtMFkGx1RK96VJ5BJv9PghN_yNpmjiThuy4slPCEF2-pVcAqGAvMok3RLWgOlneGysCxiwlJG8g131Vs/s640/IMG_0560.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhckApPpRzMPLZMC2rKv6R4BSshb8ie6vm0YO0nNMJs0jDYUX3XBEBf7bikaMjjY2gf8lhUH4gU3LafsO3683zDq3xyiU8ng6jxN7DHbARU4NJSF8CXlIz52oelY_Fy0ASpdmVZ0kP1TiU/s1600/IMG_0561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhckApPpRzMPLZMC2rKv6R4BSshb8ie6vm0YO0nNMJs0jDYUX3XBEBf7bikaMjjY2gf8lhUH4gU3LafsO3683zDq3xyiU8ng6jxN7DHbARU4NJSF8CXlIz52oelY_Fy0ASpdmVZ0kP1TiU/s640/IMG_0561.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">He was so freaking excited about this tablet! This was his big expensive gift.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And he'd been waiting months and months to get it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It came in the mail on Tuesday but he had to wait until Friday to open it. It wasn't a serious rule and, in fact, was one that he came up with. If pressed, I probably would have let him check it out as soon as it came.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">He carefully sliced his knife through the packing tape and raised the lid and. . . . . . . .</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCF5XrVONPTpRxHl9V9pTNd4vNqWXTS0rEztQSSle2Fjg04Y0OhRT8bVP0WXlmr2_OV_5_D-DwE-IsHyVFYubPJ8KZNyC7wIwr4S9n4ySO20jaPbAHOyVh9gHbFXXfL_WtXAd2gXDcObE/s1600/IMG_0562.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCF5XrVONPTpRxHl9V9pTNd4vNqWXTS0rEztQSSle2Fjg04Y0OhRT8bVP0WXlmr2_OV_5_D-DwE-IsHyVFYubPJ8KZNyC7wIwr4S9n4ySO20jaPbAHOyVh9gHbFXXfL_WtXAd2gXDcObE/s640/IMG_0562.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Yeah.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Best. Birthday. Ever.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjALerYeILki6GhKnuQMM5Pejvl4yaANO4VcJ2OydctWCJC7Zo5ySsJOCEQ0wlRd6g-ztbTT3ZxKN2iIrcri9gOQt3bWPgSJZFtEAZeipMUcRZTf7rcSJt7DEm93L4DqXxpRqaUGnjfMfc/s1600/IMG_0564.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjALerYeILki6GhKnuQMM5Pejvl4yaANO4VcJ2OydctWCJC7Zo5ySsJOCEQ0wlRd6g-ztbTT3ZxKN2iIrcri9gOQt3bWPgSJZFtEAZeipMUcRZTf7rcSJt7DEm93L4DqXxpRqaUGnjfMfc/s640/IMG_0564.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">After some initial grumbling and crying into my shoulder (not really) it's off to the computer to complain and get a new one sent out right away!!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Though the mood had turned somewhat sour, we just couldn't stay upset for very long.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Not when there was birthday pie and mustache fun to be had!</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgksCzqjE5Kpcvjk7-zdDZD0jd4cZj8iP7UO6DHwiHKDlBZzm4-Fxha7oIH3whz0-bAlRKlt75zebit36oDsOuFZwsQi9YePiWM7FB9iBVjFaJqqYfQgjF2GFV8Vl18vrUds4uQ0uvej8M/s1600/IMG_0566.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgksCzqjE5Kpcvjk7-zdDZD0jd4cZj8iP7UO6DHwiHKDlBZzm4-Fxha7oIH3whz0-bAlRKlt75zebit36oDsOuFZwsQi9YePiWM7FB9iBVjFaJqqYfQgjF2GFV8Vl18vrUds4uQ0uvej8M/s320/IMG_0566.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzKKXfk4Jaw1qL1Ysxw4l9da22jBCmdliJ8BOZeBnKZOdGQryRzTARPNNzOzj5ICD00ra8gdCbSJBxUhmWZ7a0ShB1hCUt3x5eo5E-6MNB3Tc-UDWxBBmqr-2jtguRM6U7PVna8iKeeF4/s1600/IMG_0568.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzKKXfk4Jaw1qL1Ysxw4l9da22jBCmdliJ8BOZeBnKZOdGQryRzTARPNNzOzj5ICD00ra8gdCbSJBxUhmWZ7a0ShB1hCUt3x5eo5E-6MNB3Tc-UDWxBBmqr-2jtguRM6U7PVna8iKeeF4/s320/IMG_0568.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk1IsN5GN-T8E8sjB8fVA5VnQkwm2Bs5WxpGxJh2OVLK-QtPs5eCmnN5fPwIeFQ46UOQVDE90tveZcqVb2zByR4-kGnusOCz64BSoRfJBOlGsnXrCS79230L1fv0yy_3ViNjQfIJgqj8E/s1600/IMG_0571.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxHkwfeDsqOtGCcSQqPXgZJiic9pjqvXGWg4NgiDlKaPL-K_kadhpIXgkVArZXEA_XzYaaMICrJMlr_-1xXVM9X6Tc8M-8IUNS1aJgEERY8xrr4sZJb4hbFF0g_zE5ymeva0RKkBDCo-Q/s1600/IMG_0569.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxHkwfeDsqOtGCcSQqPXgZJiic9pjqvXGWg4NgiDlKaPL-K_kadhpIXgkVArZXEA_XzYaaMICrJMlr_-1xXVM9X6Tc8M-8IUNS1aJgEERY8xrr4sZJb4hbFF0g_zE5ymeva0RKkBDCo-Q/s320/IMG_0569.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Way back when I first got excited about actually planning a surprise mustache party with friends (before Adam decided he wanted it to be just him and me, aw how sweet) I ordered a chocolate mold for mustache lollies.<br />
<br />
They turned out amazingly! And were super delicious. I am not sorry I dished out $5.00 which was mostly shipping.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ebqUlF5UzwPCMSm7XMEaPto9UMkU-yezIcXVz2jUOQxak4t_5XO8Wnenyqyq3buO5EOQvYs1gDDZdgAZP00uvNpwQ_-G5WpIGvVMcxhsbxPmbu4jjXGnofeMwp0oxBtIGT54SV5n0w8/s1600/IMG_0570.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ebqUlF5UzwPCMSm7XMEaPto9UMkU-yezIcXVz2jUOQxak4t_5XO8Wnenyqyq3buO5EOQvYs1gDDZdgAZP00uvNpwQ_-G5WpIGvVMcxhsbxPmbu4jjXGnofeMwp0oxBtIGT54SV5n0w8/s320/IMG_0570.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk1IsN5GN-T8E8sjB8fVA5VnQkwm2Bs5WxpGxJh2OVLK-QtPs5eCmnN5fPwIeFQ46UOQVDE90tveZcqVb2zByR4-kGnusOCz64BSoRfJBOlGsnXrCS79230L1fv0yy_3ViNjQfIJgqj8E/s1600/IMG_0571.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk1IsN5GN-T8E8sjB8fVA5VnQkwm2Bs5WxpGxJh2OVLK-QtPs5eCmnN5fPwIeFQ46UOQVDE90tveZcqVb2zByR4-kGnusOCz64BSoRfJBOlGsnXrCS79230L1fv0yy_3ViNjQfIJgqj8E/s320/IMG_0571.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHn0kz3Y_5G5Cgb70y66Ydbaadi5Q9SyqyPG5ehv6srwlwm1v45bLBjkrlRIFSIO7vNZJYdtIAVv5Q7gk54s2OghB66kb8Rl9UbBfHmWclju5ozw34qWvNtFWl9LzaTmVVYBeGJQbGVao/s1600/IMG_0573.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHn0kz3Y_5G5Cgb70y66Ydbaadi5Q9SyqyPG5ehv6srwlwm1v45bLBjkrlRIFSIO7vNZJYdtIAVv5Q7gk54s2OghB66kb8Rl9UbBfHmWclju5ozw34qWvNtFWl9LzaTmVVYBeGJQbGVao/s640/IMG_0573.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I tried to get a picture of Adam with his birthday pie, candles lit, but he blinked! Then blew out the candles before I could check to make sure the picture came out right.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Always in a rush for pie, that kid.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">So, I had him re-light his own candles and go for take two.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCU7JabBFtq3GRH2DA-zIC8fE05nilRJsGYR0zKA_ZZb1vMBxixukYzlyK9NmyBwtwVY84-P14Fvo0mlVwRNJUkalYTbrQih4ZFT-OIWQrfrGGztaiA211n0mZ2fk9vZXfqr3RazboSpk/s1600/IMG_0574.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCU7JabBFtq3GRH2DA-zIC8fE05nilRJsGYR0zKA_ZZb1vMBxixukYzlyK9NmyBwtwVY84-P14Fvo0mlVwRNJUkalYTbrQih4ZFT-OIWQrfrGGztaiA211n0mZ2fk9vZXfqr3RazboSpk/s640/IMG_0574.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHyXwARiX-KHMu44lOcab58EYTqpXw7N3YYI4hTYOX-yHuVXvum4Ro7l_QrW6QbfaVLONfObIYUlWvyLo0UPVtXRqI9Py75s8Q4RVvxwLkWOX657x0ZjL6qhaKCowOx_qR5XC6ChimzeY/s1600/IMG_0575.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHyXwARiX-KHMu44lOcab58EYTqpXw7N3YYI4hTYOX-yHuVXvum4Ro7l_QrW6QbfaVLONfObIYUlWvyLo0UPVtXRqI9Py75s8Q4RVvxwLkWOX657x0ZjL6qhaKCowOx_qR5XC6ChimzeY/s640/IMG_0575.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And you can't even tell they're lit. Nice smile, though, Adam.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaMNkr0ygMcLpZlkKo9eP5iVOujOc1M8K4CRXQYMMPYRg9JZPvpNd7UcQLgog3chQO0MftU8_XTN5SLbX_peOT_pQX1AK5udJaUXB7sRZSFHJUg1adR2V7ZqAHvxw1PUqIDoHOfXTakI8/s1600/IMG_0577.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaMNkr0ygMcLpZlkKo9eP5iVOujOc1M8K4CRXQYMMPYRg9JZPvpNd7UcQLgog3chQO0MftU8_XTN5SLbX_peOT_pQX1AK5udJaUXB7sRZSFHJUg1adR2V7ZqAHvxw1PUqIDoHOfXTakI8/s640/IMG_0577.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Eating pie and consoling himself with his laptop; read not a tablet :(</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkwskOg32Mi1FLbgCcoIm8qI8wUZYfUFaaXhZ5ykEeh8WdzI6pbDNDUy2-swNY3U5txQiXMaNONS5wTyAu_z_oPy0mhaXpHb5YoblM1dw8nWw4A1fzY8eeluA87keT0PHMDSdvRBkyzEE/s1600/IMG_0580.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkwskOg32Mi1FLbgCcoIm8qI8wUZYfUFaaXhZ5ykEeh8WdzI6pbDNDUy2-swNY3U5txQiXMaNONS5wTyAu_z_oPy0mhaXpHb5YoblM1dw8nWw4A1fzY8eeluA87keT0PHMDSdvRBkyzEE/s640/IMG_0580.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">It was pretty good pie. Thanks Costco. And Dustin and Michael for dropping off one extra delicious piece with cinnamon on top, specially for the birthday guy.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And. . . .6 days later. . . .</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ZRCutuu6gJAACtyT1VQgPEXbs-_wL5kI-Bd_fz7d2hhBUE9uveppf6MCH6kLfRaZBS2CB4YTLAqxaCqjg7yWLNLwdFk4CHR6D6NeJtkSQG6d1UgEKsx4clei0kcP8jKXWWfNwlx0_b4/s1600/IMG_0595.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ZRCutuu6gJAACtyT1VQgPEXbs-_wL5kI-Bd_fz7d2hhBUE9uveppf6MCH6kLfRaZBS2CB4YTLAqxaCqjg7yWLNLwdFk4CHR6D6NeJtkSQG6d1UgEKsx4clei0kcP8jKXWWfNwlx0_b4/s640/IMG_0595.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Ah. Sweet unbroken and time-consuming tablet merriment.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I asked for a smile.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf5WuYYs8ES2aS-EwG6UGp4uMbkN6Qu18jw9cDAIhDt4iQTlgnCIGKcNV9Xpdd1UbEJ244FDFeH6TQNvxjkjj6rupeowTW9N8zooYlm1mK_tbN5jQOaxcALaA9eac2cesjTPeev5c5k0E/s1600/IMG_0597.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf5WuYYs8ES2aS-EwG6UGp4uMbkN6Qu18jw9cDAIhDt4iQTlgnCIGKcNV9Xpdd1UbEJ244FDFeH6TQNvxjkjj6rupeowTW9N8zooYlm1mK_tbN5jQOaxcALaA9eac2cesjTPeev5c5k0E/s640/IMG_0597.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Love my birthday boy.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiygrVmu2v_O93gYSACfIEvDRjpnaslTfxGYADTb9i7INjl2ZgTz1ssLQ-uZjX8BSfplwoyQvD2uwsL5wnYsSY-c6P0WpkK9SRdazWTbpAbHAVZ91iahpzb0naNKgQZr7xcJ-JBJzdod50/s1600/IMG_0605.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiygrVmu2v_O93gYSACfIEvDRjpnaslTfxGYADTb9i7INjl2ZgTz1ssLQ-uZjX8BSfplwoyQvD2uwsL5wnYsSY-c6P0WpkK9SRdazWTbpAbHAVZ91iahpzb0naNKgQZr7xcJ-JBJzdod50/s400/IMG_0605.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJXmvZe-ZO3MJyM8pmvFPVK_zgLbOvwBztwO4iWfiP37Mh3TSWyAvbMdQJA1DBYes72aQBNEWfxjIY34426ZsVJbhwDnihjXbU2YqseC_75H0liSvaChBcCP-SeCyYxmFmPjLNBGtI4HE/s1600/IMG_0607.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJXmvZe-ZO3MJyM8pmvFPVK_zgLbOvwBztwO4iWfiP37Mh3TSWyAvbMdQJA1DBYes72aQBNEWfxjIY34426ZsVJbhwDnihjXbU2YqseC_75H0liSvaChBcCP-SeCyYxmFmPjLNBGtI4HE/s640/IMG_0607.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-23362961144769458172011-09-14T12:43:00.000-07:002011-09-14T12:52:53.266-07:00Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdv27LCJ-cRUl3dRAp9QXm1v38PfsKe5-nYjW5JcIDwekjo42jJing3WNElU8x6EJ1HjtJ3ZM6Kjdi8EzOhcJsnYJ8Dz5N5VhEnDLIfxbht3j9PBtTuTW_D2zo9syU67t0mq5WgIEy3ac/s1600/meloncollie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdv27LCJ-cRUl3dRAp9QXm1v38PfsKe5-nYjW5JcIDwekjo42jJing3WNElU8x6EJ1HjtJ3ZM6Kjdi8EzOhcJsnYJ8Dz5N5VhEnDLIfxbht3j9PBtTuTW_D2zo9syU67t0mq5WgIEy3ac/s320/meloncollie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I miss my job at Sharp's. I miss the consistency of a schedule. I miss the people and the silly fun we had, especially after closing. Turning every chore into a game. Freezing people's keys in blocks of ice. Making instructional videos on how to mop a floor or properly cut an onion; complete with chef who wants to be left alone, annoying host lady who won't shut up and an already finished onion prepared and ready to show. <br />
<br />
I miss the regularity of customers I learned to recognize over 4 years. I miss greeting them by name and ringing up their order before they even approached the counter. I miss that 6th sense of knowing exactly what people wanted in drive-thru, even if they could never quite vocalize it correctly.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO64WPumKEHwjDucaT347xH6S5AiFmREUBEgiqsXSshapNLwezwJQ0qFjOShpx_ek-EGWE3bXrSjt8dJ8OWEXU8l2z-csQemF7I4PRBxLSVOLWkR4BcRg7TxGjr49YFtvTR7P37SWzx7Q/s1600/kissAshley_sharps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO64WPumKEHwjDucaT347xH6S5AiFmREUBEgiqsXSshapNLwezwJQ0qFjOShpx_ek-EGWE3bXrSjt8dJ8OWEXU8l2z-csQemF7I4PRBxLSVOLWkR4BcRg7TxGjr49YFtvTR7P37SWzx7Q/s320/kissAshley_sharps.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I miss a steady paycheck. I even miss the times I got all the way to the bank before realizing Bud or John didn't sign it. I miss knowing every conceivable in and out of a business. I miss training newbs, learning them up in the ways of the burger ranch. I miss hearkening back to my first few weeks and using that experience to remind myself how difficult and scary it was so I could make new employees feel more at ease.<br />
<br />
I miss Sundays alone, sliding my glasses down to the end of my nose as I added up the profits of the week and recorded them with precision in "the book," putting the ice cream machine back together and pretending like I was building some futuristic weapon that would change the world and singing sad country songs about missing dogs and forgiving wayward sons at the top of my lungs.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJFM6MQ_eINZ9I0SYScKaVkh4w_WEgWYfH_J_NBpcUJWLC_I7fg8W3YSqT5YbN68NgojNXLY7G_uzf0XIUr_9S9ygBsh7Fix5BK8Q0GRRLMZn7Wmr2zgh2km5Z7gvdEuYJXrXDFVzYgGg/s1600/animalface_sharps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJFM6MQ_eINZ9I0SYScKaVkh4w_WEgWYfH_J_NBpcUJWLC_I7fg8W3YSqT5YbN68NgojNXLY7G_uzf0XIUr_9S9ygBsh7Fix5BK8Q0GRRLMZn7Wmr2zgh2km5Z7gvdEuYJXrXDFVzYgGg/s400/animalface_sharps.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>I miss bad jokes and word games to pass the time on those slow nights. I miss being useful. Being counted upon. I miss the camaraderie when things just plain sucked. I may even miss screaming my entire way home when customers were mean. I miss the confidence, the independence and the accomplishment I felt with every task. That knowing smile or a "Good Job!" stamp on my bonus. I miss being recognized for my hard work.<br />
<br />
I miss the parking lot after close, whether it was throwing empty bottles over the roof into the garbage can or sharing our deepest thoughts about the world. I miss impromptu fashion shows with the Lost & Found drawer.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbylvVb0HTrAK-Y8McNBa7mSCea8gu58oPdgvOA9BmwkUK_KI1EP7FnmKTw2Q6W8EUzPHA90fxWaDqTTfJMlwelgLr2HqOES8VuR8knwJ97miHcBKp1gy1ieE0tV-5XSWIhL9S7f_oZcc/s1600/saladbar_sharps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbylvVb0HTrAK-Y8McNBa7mSCea8gu58oPdgvOA9BmwkUK_KI1EP7FnmKTw2Q6W8EUzPHA90fxWaDqTTfJMlwelgLr2HqOES8VuR8knwJ97miHcBKp1gy1ieE0tV-5XSWIhL9S7f_oZcc/s320/saladbar_sharps.jpg" width="238" /></a>I miss giving people rides home and trying to fit bicycles into the trunk of my Ford Escort. I miss the feeling of that shower after getting home, washing off the smell of grease or success or whatever it was. I miss watching new kids try to scoop fries as the bag keeps sliding off the handle - smiling to myself that one day. . .oh, one day, they'll get it. I miss doing inventory, ordering the produce, signing off on shipments, stacking the boxes of patties, making 3 lbs of bacon at 7am, filling the shake flavors, icing the salad bar, washing the windows, stocking the mini-fridge, and making bank runs with $2000 cash in my pocket. Especially when I got to take someone along and we could act paranoid as if the guy behind us was after that money and we had to make it through all the green lights before he caught up to us. <br />
<br />
I miss all of it. Not because it was anything special but because it was mine. It was my job. And I was amazing at it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-27262306179135256892011-09-08T16:04:00.000-07:002011-09-08T16:07:51.027-07:00Fear & Loathing Blogger.com<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTZhMhKUq3kU_4HTWKp0oRAVgVo4IK5esLhd4vJuQRLX9J6t56aKhWQHBszbMfq8T4Hed5lDto2xE4jJYcp_lIfnJR-49Xf9_Jv96NBFbz-ygGoYWGrufgfYtWiY-qlG6O3_pOM3Qi6HY/s1600/IMG_0507.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTZhMhKUq3kU_4HTWKp0oRAVgVo4IK5esLhd4vJuQRLX9J6t56aKhWQHBszbMfq8T4Hed5lDto2xE4jJYcp_lIfnJR-49Xf9_Jv96NBFbz-ygGoYWGrufgfYtWiY-qlG6O3_pOM3Qi6HY/s320/IMG_0507.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
I have spent two days composing the picture blog for the Anderson Family Reunion. I accidentally click the undo button and it wipes the entire entry clean? What is that about? Undo means undo EVERYTHING? Not just the last thing I did?<br />
<br />
And my mere human hands weren't fast enough to redo or undo the undo before it was autosaved. What kind of demented programmer allows someone to autosave a BLANK entry????Q!?!?!!??!/kl421jkjklwrejnfekjl;sfelj<br />
<br />
Anger doesn't begin to describe my hatred for you right now, blogger. Does not. Even. Come. CLOSE!<br />
<br />
By the way, thanks for autosaving this every 2 friggin' seconds. Wouldn't wanna lose these precious thoughts!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-4663779312150541292011-08-29T16:44:00.000-07:002011-08-29T16:47:58.330-07:00Employment Purgatory<span style="font-size: small;">When I was delightfully and obliviously acing my 4 year elementary education degree program, we were told that the average certified teacher right out of college will </span>have to suffer through 8 interviews before landing a job.<br />
<br />
I have had 5. However, it never got brought to our immediate attention that interviews aren't the end-all be-all of the job train. Or the only way in which one's self esteem and confidence can be built or dashed. I have applied and NOT received interviews (what were they thinking!?) for 18 positions in the past year.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-VO6DeEqZgYu9LXYowXJMUhy9ogB0TJfdWpV4TXRHEOUzzuJK2jneHliCYp9YN-y2ZaIgFoYs4H610tnv2np-DreuQ2uNKfP1uDrtZK0j3oAqObZKa9pbPpgxc0SVsRBRmZHOOEmGsY/s1600/IMG_0247.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-VO6DeEqZgYu9LXYowXJMUhy9ogB0TJfdWpV4TXRHEOUzzuJK2jneHliCYp9YN-y2ZaIgFoYs4H610tnv2np-DreuQ2uNKfP1uDrtZK0j3oAqObZKa9pbPpgxc0SVsRBRmZHOOEmGsY/s400/IMG_0247.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Except for a few bouts with disorganization and procrastination, elementary school was easy. High school was even easier. When college came around, and I got a taste of freedom, I learned nothing from my academic classes and everything from the life lessons associated with the consequences of slacking off. When I began to make real goals, it was challenging. . .but easy.<br />
<br />
Almost every job I've had before now has come to me without too much hard work or that go-getter attitude. I have been lucky enough to have connections which, while they did not GET me the job, certainly helped in getting me noticed in the first place. All I had to do was show up and be awesome. Which I am.<br />
<br />
And yet, I keep forgetting that. If I have to hear, "-Insert glowing praise here- BUT we decided to go with another candidate because -insert insider knowledge reason here-" I am going to curl up into a ball and become a fossil so that, one day, millions of years from now, a happy-go-lucky scientist can happen upon me and I can finally be worth something to somebody.<br />
<br />
Here is where those people in my life who truly love me pipe up, "Oh Beth, you are worth the world to us." I know. And that means the world to me. It still doesn't get me a job.<br />
<br />
This area is so weird. There are teachers who I subbed for last year who were not invited back due to budget restraints. Now, these people are out there looking for jobs, too! I'm on the same playing field as them and they've got the advantage because they've had their own classroom. Everywhere I go, I'm stuck in some kind of strange limbo between the experienced elementary school teachers and the pre-schools who claim they can't afford me because I'm overqualified.<br />
<br />
Nobody wants me. I'm too little or too much. Good but not good enough. Each "Sorry, but. . ." phone call gets harder and harder. I am running out of steam. I have my faith to keep reminding me that, if I continue to do my part, the way will be shown to me and I will receive the position I am supposed to have. Something about this experience is supposed to be teaching me something. And if there's anything I've learned about teaching throughout my career (or lack thereof) it's that learning is the greater portion.<br />
<br />
I am learning quite emphatically that I have had it way too easy for way too long.<br />
<br />
Ok. Lesson learned. Can I have a job now?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-77974252633881586892011-08-03T20:23:00.001-07:002011-08-03T20:23:14.978-07:00This Book Is Going Down!<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJg_l_mFT9gRKKYEYl6eHWIqnTMttA4fwLNNdIeR93JhQT1w-uiVAQEaHUFdNLu7ZefzUNYxQg10bWeJGGwQRZsuYZuGSLQzetG1je_9kPRZ8PeukjBD51oNor7U1FMhQbUbCoD2BQP2g/s1600/SSPX0722.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJg_l_mFT9gRKKYEYl6eHWIqnTMttA4fwLNNdIeR93JhQT1w-uiVAQEaHUFdNLu7ZefzUNYxQg10bWeJGGwQRZsuYZuGSLQzetG1je_9kPRZ8PeukjBD51oNor7U1FMhQbUbCoD2BQP2g/s640/SSPX0722.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And I shall be incommunicado for awhile.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-88397837749628362072011-08-03T00:16:00.000-07:002011-08-03T00:35:36.540-07:00Warning: Do not Google "Lost Camera"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVzWj3PblmtZ-hUOiBqVjCXAr0wA1AjSgHW1uQJny6MqRcGZyszriR58ehsu388e9mf1eCeuGHYpxAwNDjaduxY_pWVuBbSPDd04Z07GAwiO3VfHtOQAjvKajGpmiDs0x5nmgIgP3Q-TY/s1600/fullEmoBoy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVzWj3PblmtZ-hUOiBqVjCXAr0wA1AjSgHW1uQJny6MqRcGZyszriR58ehsu388e9mf1eCeuGHYpxAwNDjaduxY_pWVuBbSPDd04Z07GAwiO3VfHtOQAjvKajGpmiDs0x5nmgIgP3Q-TY/s320/fullEmoBoy.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Where, oh where, has my camera gone?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Adam and I actually had to sit down with the calendar a few days ago to figure out exactly when it was we last used the camera and when it was that we noticed it was missing. As we stood in the kitchen, glaring at the last weeks of July, rolling our eyes and screwing up our mouths into the telltale face of total recall, we began to realize two things:<br />
<br />
1. We have terrible memories.<br />
2. We are really boring.<br />
<br />
Thank goodness for timestamps. The last time we remember having the camera outside of this house was when we took a quick adventure trip up to Point No Point Beach & Lighthouse. With the posting of my blog entry three previous to this one, it's obvious that the camera made it back safely.<br />
<br />
Our miniscule place is 844 square feet. And yet, that 844 square feet seems to be very adept at swallowing up items, making them utterly impossible to find. Although, this is the first time that neither Adam nor I have been able to discover where this blasted thing is! Neither have we had an epiphany leading us to any idea of where it could have gone.<br />
<br />
I have done everything except literally tear this place apart. I'm thinking I might need to implement a CSI-type search. Not sure what a black light or powdered sugar may bring to light but I'm pretty sure it won't be the camera. I am completely at a loss. And totally frustrated. I mean, there are only so many places this thing COULD be! I've begun wandering around like an idiot, just calling out to it; willing it to suddenly appear in the gazillion spots I've already checked at least 3 or 4 times. I need to tape off sections and just go to town, moving and removing so there is no question. If I find myself staring at a spot, thinking to myself, "It couldn't possibly be there," I must check it out! Otherwise, it will eat at me all day that it could be there if only I had checked. By then, it would be too late, however. Seeing as the thing has definitely sprouted legs or wings or a slime trail or something.<br />
<br />
I have this feeling that it's sitting out in the open somewhere and, because it's been missing so long, I'm completely overlooking it. My brain is focused on the fact that it must be hidden. I've begun worrying about the following possibilities:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>One of us placed it on the shelf in the closet and it fell into the recyclables which have been tossed several times already.</li>
<li>It somehow got swept into the garbage. Maybe my hands were full of both garbage and non-garbage because I was trying to multi-task and it all went terrible wrong. Like that time I was eating a lollipop and writing on the chalkboard.</li>
<li>Someone took it. Maybe sweeping it into their bag by mistake and it's sitting somewhere on someone's floor with the unintentional thief none the wiser.</li>
<li>One of us has blocked out the memory of taking the camera out of the house and it fell out of our vehicle or was left on the roof.</li>
<li>It is somewhere in the nether regions of the 4th dimension where all the left socks go and we will not see again unless we purchase a new camera and we've had it just one day past its return date.</li>
<li>We never had a camera.</li>
<li>The super plush shag rug has a deeper pile than I thought.</li>
<li>For some reason, it was in my big ol' totey Fossil bag and it fell out as I was struggling with a bunch of crap. Sounds like me.</li>
<li>I am actually repelling technology now.</li>
<li>Adam or I cleaned up and put it in a spot that, at the time, we KNEW we'd forget but that we thought made enough sense to be rediscovered. This is hardly ever the case. Never change an item's home.</li>
<li>There is a secret extra room or closet somewhere in this apartment that I have never seen. Room of Requirement? Where are you when I need you?</li>
</ul><div>The saddest part of this story hearkens back to another time when I was so dependent on media that my entire concept of reality became skewed. It was around 9th or 10th grade and I had been playing way more video games than is normally healthy for someone under 40 who doesn't live in her mom's basement (it was the attic for me.) The following occurred as I was walking home from school, purely by subconscious memory, lost in my own thoughts. I don't remember what I was debating but I was trying to make an important real-life choice (important for a 15 year old, anyway) and get this. . .I genuinely thought to myself, "Well, Beth? You could save now! And if it doesn't work out, go back and try a different approach." Sad, right?</div><div><br />
</div><div>A week ago, after searching and searching and searching to no avail, I began to feel like, for the first time, the internet had failed me. Whenever I'm having trouble with anything, I can always "look it up!" I was legitimately saddened and disappointed by the fact that I couldn't just google "lost camera" and have my problem solved.</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaqyN9q1Zrdj7r9T54JQ-JVceeXE7IwOlPTMecPzeOU0NCToIeYf1yJTGgi_Xy2x6jqvQFpuZ2ZmStkwzdccJuyRfMfX26ufsMQ-yoe-I4A_2JMUwU7giuDaQ9NCu-JOXNP2VE6j7ZOME/s1600/cat-internet-failure.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaqyN9q1Zrdj7r9T54JQ-JVceeXE7IwOlPTMecPzeOU0NCToIeYf1yJTGgi_Xy2x6jqvQFpuZ2ZmStkwzdccJuyRfMfX26ufsMQ-yoe-I4A_2JMUwU7giuDaQ9NCu-JOXNP2VE6j7ZOME/s400/cat-internet-failure.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div><br />
</div><div>You never quite notice how many photo ops there are until you have no way of recording them. How will I chronicle the ever-anticipatory moment when my copy of Cold Vengeance by the brilliant horse-back rider Douglas Preston & lively banjo player Lincoln Child arrives? At least I have my Team Pendergast chums to fall back on. I can live through their photos. What did we do back when cameras were just a novelty? Or before there were any at all? Perhaps I may need to invest in a stone and chisel.</div><div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Camera come back! </div><div style="text-align: center;">You can blame it all on me.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I was wrong!</div><div style="text-align: center;">And I just can't live without you.<br />
<br />
You know you miss these faces.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbqduM3D1QhQdp_XSbF-iMZ7UNWLjotvI6H733T7sVbLoqJqWPmkm8kpEgO5HWm-pfCbI9Uz6KQqrvszeJ-q5Pp2zCPTaIZuG8Rw4u_VzU7WcgSwNEWZ97lOguIKkIr-6knNUHvBdgCfw/s1600/SSPX0627.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbqduM3D1QhQdp_XSbF-iMZ7UNWLjotvI6H733T7sVbLoqJqWPmkm8kpEgO5HWm-pfCbI9Uz6KQqrvszeJ-q5Pp2zCPTaIZuG8Rw4u_VzU7WcgSwNEWZ97lOguIKkIr-6knNUHvBdgCfw/s200/SSPX0627.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7F_f5sasknduz1SFL0i_rRqXgBYkUYIc6Fpxu0uZobT8ppyXQ2zItp_iANNN2F_1QfE23lBOFdRS7hmzvKwqMzoahbXT4sCozD12HZXu37kD99lASoBL5MadiggqW-S5io0lM-xVqrLY/s1600/SSPX0685.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7F_f5sasknduz1SFL0i_rRqXgBYkUYIc6Fpxu0uZobT8ppyXQ2zItp_iANNN2F_1QfE23lBOFdRS7hmzvKwqMzoahbXT4sCozD12HZXu37kD99lASoBL5MadiggqW-S5io0lM-xVqrLY/s200/SSPX0685.jpg" width="150" /></a></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-82368880285679589822011-07-27T17:15:00.000-07:002011-08-09T20:25:26.088-07:00Mischief Managed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQkgrM1JhOQyFcZ94sYIwcPhkRs2lHHVyEmT3Uzsd74PwNKSzWjVcUAHv7pvNnG4QpIY3Kb2Ut5i0hj2UDNnIPt2gBpEbdHelY1YPQpgQuRxtlhdfiMlKPz02kuhlN1xQJRbH22d-_FLU/s1600/harry-potter-and-the-deathly-hallows-part-2-20110523031600554_640w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQkgrM1JhOQyFcZ94sYIwcPhkRs2lHHVyEmT3Uzsd74PwNKSzWjVcUAHv7pvNnG4QpIY3Kb2Ut5i0hj2UDNnIPt2gBpEbdHelY1YPQpgQuRxtlhdfiMlKPz02kuhlN1xQJRbH22d-_FLU/s320/harry-potter-and-the-deathly-hallows-part-2-20110523031600554_640w.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="216" /></a></div>Roald Dahl once said that if you're going to write a villain, you may as well make them the most ruthless, poisonous and unchangeable of evils. Your heroic characters, on the other hand, should be the very essence of goodness. When I first read Harry Potter and the Philosopher's (Sorcerer's) Stone, it was reminiscent of a Roald Dahl story. The British undertones, the sparkling wit, and the introduction to some one-dimensionally good and villainous characters.<br />
<br />
Dahl's stories were short and simple; they involved good people, bad people and the rewards and punishments delivered respectively. Because Dahl, at least in his children's books, wrote such short linear tales, character development was often amiss. No one actually learned anything. You were either good to begin with and rewarded for it. Or evil to begin with and punished for it. Chock it up to Dahl's unpleasant experiences growing up in a boarding school.<br />
<br />
Throughout J.K. Rowling's tale of Harry Potter and pals, we are introduced to characters that begin as such but become something altogether very different and unique. Over 7 novels and 8 films, what began as a seemingly black and white tale of good and evil blossomed into a magical allegory of ideas and concepts part of and intrinsic to, but not fully only, good and evil. When you finish the series and reread the books, you notice things that were completely hidden before. Hints and foreshadowing, shades of meaning, clever nuances that were very easy to miss the first time through. These tidbits of ostensibly extraneous information or confusing subplot lines, the moments when you wondered, "What DOES this have to do with anything, Rowling!?" are always purposely and masterfully revealed at the right time. Every allusion is intended, either as a catalyst, a wink, or, at the very least, humour. Once you know Rowling has a penchant for Monty Python, certain things begin to fall into place.<br />
<br />
It's easy to fall in love with the characters of the Potterverse. Even the despicable ones whom you absolutely love to hate! Because they are all so good at what they do. Rowling is good at what she does. She planned this world and this epic from the very beginning of it all.<br />
<br />
The films, however, were not. And that's not entirely production's fault. While Rowling was conferred with, she did not have complete and final say. Not to mention that we were already into Order of the Phoenix, the 5th movie, when the 7th and final book was released. Nuances are tricky to come by when you don't exactly know the ending to the story.<br />
<br />
Let me preface what I am about to speak of by saying that I fully understand the need for and the right of film adaptations to be different from the original books they are based on. I completely get that a direct page to screen transfer would be impossibly boring and far too difficult; especially when the book in question is 759 pages. I am one of those rare individuals who recognizes and respects a film adaptation as a separate entity from the book and can enjoy both and either in their own right. Think of the book as supplemental material for the film's main idea.<br />
<br />
Last night, I finally went to see the final installment of the Harry Potter film series, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2. I enjoyed it. I was pleasantly surprised by quite a few moments. Disappointed with others. This did not ruin my good time, just left me wanting. Not because I'm some ridiculous fangirl who expects my imaginings to be made reality and definitely not because I have any quarrel with a director's need to rush a solid story to fit inside 2 hours and 10 minutes. My goodness, it must be done! If only, so that I don't need to squirm during rising action because I dared to drink a glass of water before arriving.<br />
<br />
I will attempt to discuss my faults and fancies, as follows, with <u style="font-weight: bold;">storyline and character development</u> for The Deathly Hallows. Not, I repeat NOT, with whether or not a specifically enjoyable canon scene or character was incorrectly manipulated or left out entirely. Although I may include a small list of grievances. Just for kicks. I mean, this is the end, right?<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Emendo: The Thing They Got Right!</u></b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiNvg6HG2Y5ZaYpVwpsdUyqjqFtCdHTudRcFF0zQT70oBiXii5qmERejlwgpFLT2_0doDjOz22sSVLfOtBSteD6eZIZ65IUCtItY_gUKFXhnhfa8RhQGW8aXb3u2Esds6HPbcVPl2IS3g/s1600/new-deathly-hallows-part-2-poster-greasy-haired-snape.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiNvg6HG2Y5ZaYpVwpsdUyqjqFtCdHTudRcFF0zQT70oBiXii5qmERejlwgpFLT2_0doDjOz22sSVLfOtBSteD6eZIZ65IUCtItY_gUKFXhnhfa8RhQGW8aXb3u2Esds6HPbcVPl2IS3g/s320/new-deathly-hallows-part-2-poster-greasy-haired-snape.jpg" width="216" /></a><b>Snape - </b>Never mention to me the horrifyingly anticlimactic Half-Blood Prince reveal in the 6th film. Deplorable. Utterly without emotion and just. . .no. However, Deathly Hallows Part 2 redeemed our bat-like professor in more ways than one. I especially enjoyed the Snape-shaped hole in the glass. Thank you for that one, Rowling!<br />
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Snape has always been one of my favorite Potter characters. I always knew, right from the start, that this man had a chip on his shoulder for sure. . .but he wasn't evil. I didn't know why yet. But I knew it had to be a terribly good reason. It was either Snape is good. . .good in parentheses maybe. . .or that this was merely a cautionary subplot in which Dumbledore is displayed as a human being who could make mistakes. However, I dismissed the latter because Dumbledore was not made out to be some naive, optimistic, ever-trusting fellow. He heavily mistrusted Tom Riddle, even as a child. So I knew that Dumbledore trusted Snape for a very real and considerable reason.<br />
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In the movie, Harry receives Snape's memories through his tears rather than through those odd wispy steam trails. . .so what? Was that canon? No. Was the scene effective? Absolutely! I completely loved the added line of "You have your mother's eyes." My heart just broke into a thousand pieces. Way to take a line that has been uttered since the beginning and give it new meaning. Excellent.<br />
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All this time, Alan Rickman's portrayal of Snape has been, in a way, comedic. He's an imposing and nasty man but his careful demeanor and slow, deliberate speech was easy to imitate and mock. Snape's memories are some of his best acting in these movies and actually serve to make his other scenes more believable. Here is a man whom we get to see as real. For a change. We discover that, not only is Rickman playing the part of Snape but, Snape is acting the part of lording it over Harry and his friends as recompense for the way Harry's father treated him. He is playing the role of authoritarian. Finally, he has power that he can use to his advantage!<br />
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Within Snape's memories, the charade is broken. We see him feeling. Suffering. Legitimately angry and with no holds barred. It is beautiful to watch. Most people, when they cry on film, scrunch up their face. . .try to squeeze some tears out. Real pain makes it so that you can hardly breathe. Rickman exemplified this so well. We get to see true vulnerability. Much of the time, we do not get to see this because Snape is constantly wearing a mask. A mask of shame, regret and, especially important, of camouflage. Really, behind the dark and blustery demeanor, Snape is a broken and hapless boy in wizard's clothing.<br />
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Of all of the storylines, I thought that this one would get swallowed up. I am so glad that it wasn't. Snape is not one-dimensional. Not even 2-dimensional as we go back and forth, trying to decide: Death Eater or Order? He is not evil. He is not good. He is a man with, as Sirius Black would say, both light and dark inside of him. And we find that love, the very power that Dumbledore is always going on about, is the one thing that convinced Snape to change his allegiance, ultimately resulting in aiding the downfall of Voldemort.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Oppugno: Thing They Missed That They Shouldn't Have!</u></b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVF1AjaK7m1iPcHieC9raFPDWklUzidvA7Pg0eFPV2vGlPYdA4N-fyJQIAtMM3yWCJ-9vRnrRO7cvI6ECwQaHxmgTluDJ12v4qD5r2lWR5eorLt_63VyAKUi-u72mD6RwzKFhF-2eEwjQ/s1600/Hpbookdh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVF1AjaK7m1iPcHieC9raFPDWklUzidvA7Pg0eFPV2vGlPYdA4N-fyJQIAtMM3yWCJ-9vRnrRO7cvI6ECwQaHxmgTluDJ12v4qD5r2lWR5eorLt_63VyAKUi-u72mD6RwzKFhF-2eEwjQ/s320/Hpbookdh.jpg" width="216" /></a><b>Dumbledore</b> - If I had watched the last two movies without having read the books, I would be thoroughly confused about all this wand and horcrux crap. I wouldn't have known who Gregorovitch was. Or Grindelwald. I wouldn't have any idea what the deal is with Albus and Aberforth? Who is Ariana and how did she die?<br />
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What's worse is that they approach these subjects but never quite reach an explanation that's worth anybody's time. We miss out on quite a bit of Dumbledore's back story. Which I find to be incredibly important to the main storyline. And I was doubly peeved because, from what was shared in Part 1, I thought we were going to get the rest of the story.<br />
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We never really do find out why Dumbledore didn't just tell Harry everything. Especially considering we find out that he KNEW he was going to die! There should be no excuse for his not using every moment he had left with Harry to prepare him. Not prepare him to die, of course, as that would come as quite a shock and may have ruined his well-laid plans but at least prepare him for the journey preceding that moment!<br />
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King's Cross would have been a perfect time to quickly bring some of these unanswered questions to light. How easy it would have been for Harry to simply ask, "Why, Professor? Why didn't you tell me all this from the beginning?" so that Dumbledore could reply, "Harry, I was a fool. More than once. I allowed the prospect of power and the greater good to destroy my family. I never wanted to see you make the same mistakes. And all along, I should have known you were the better man. I should have trusted you."<br />
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Easy as that! It would have taken barely a minute or two. No, we did not need the entire background of Dumbledore and his family - how his sister, Ariana, was caught doing magic by 3 young muggle boys who attacked her; how his father went after and killed these muggles and was sent to Azkaban; how Ariana never recovered and was kept hidden because of her instability and danger to others; how his mother was killed by Ariana in one of those unstable and dangerous accidents; how Ariana was accidentally killed in a confusing altercation between Albus, Aberforth and Grindelwald; how Grindelwald, the very dark wizard he defeated later in life had, until then, been Albus's best friend!<br />
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While that's all very interesting to read and would have been just as interesting to watch in a movie called Dumbledore and the Deathly Hallows, I understand the need to condense. We learned that Dumbledore lived in Godric's Hollow. We learned that he had a somewhat sordid past. And we learned that he cared for Harry enough to keep him in the dark about various epiphanies.<br />
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What we additionally needed was to understand what that aforementioned sordid past was about. That, at some time in Dumbledore's history, he was impulsive and power-hungry. <b><u>This</u></b> is why he never took the position as Minister of Magic. He knew he could not be trusted with that kind of power. <b><u>This</u></b> is why he did not trust Harry with all of the truth. He already knew the dangers posed by the desire and sacrifice for power and what that can do to a young and impressionable mind. <b><u>This</u></b> is why he did not want Harry to have the resurrection stone until his last moments. He already knew what Harry saw in the Mirror of Erised; he knew what harry would want to use it for under very different circumstances.<br />
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We needed to see that Dumbledore, as well as Snape, was not evil and was not good. He had a part to play on both sides of that coin. We would see how the power of love leads men just as the love of power does the same.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Nitpicks</u></b></span><br />
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<b><u>Mirror Shard</u></b> - Nowhere, in the movies, does Sirius give Harry that mirror (as he did in the books) and at no time is it ever explained why he has it. When we discover that Aberforth got the other one from Mundungus, it feels merely like an afterthought.<br />
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<b><u>No house elves</u></b> - One of my favorite little quirks of Hermione's is her passion for equality and her fierce fight for the freedom of house elves, even as they deny her the opportunity to help them. While I LOVED the Ron/Hermione kiss in the movie (comedic and romantic) it was quite wonderful in the book when Ron, in the midst of the battle of Hogwarts, piped up with, "Hang on a moment! We've forgotten someone! The house elves, they'll all be down in the kitchen, won't they?" Ron's sudden switch from his usual obliviousness to awareness is brilliant. I suppose they show this in the movie when Ron repeats something he remembered Hermione had said in the past and she is pleasantly surprised.<br />
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<b><u>Wormtail (Peter Pettigrew) is not Killed</u></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu2O4cAQknBofwn79GF-6MyqnWi6mvLB3GJ6NPosu07iS1kwTmOVrDopbmWcBcACQ1KGHlPIQyjAfvrpDQdM_MsizDHjVttW9goRvg7K5eoAWiKvdCfEr7QIBLcKuWf9bpTj223CewQL8/s1600/Peter-Pettigrew-prisoner-of-azkaban-6094735-320-240.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu2O4cAQknBofwn79GF-6MyqnWi6mvLB3GJ6NPosu07iS1kwTmOVrDopbmWcBcACQ1KGHlPIQyjAfvrpDQdM_MsizDHjVttW9goRvg7K5eoAWiKvdCfEr7QIBLcKuWf9bpTj223CewQL8/s1600/Peter-Pettigrew-prisoner-of-azkaban-6094735-320-240.gif" /></a>Though this omitted scene makes sense because it was never set up in a previous film, I still wish Pettigrew would have been defeated. I've always wondered why, with his wormy and cowardly ways, he was a member of the Gryffindor house. He must have, at some point, had the capacity to be brave and make a difficult but correct choice. When he hesitates as he is confronted by Harry and friends in the Malfoy mansion dungeon, it costs him his life at his own hand. Literally. That hesitation is probably the first decent thing he's ever done and makes him finally deserving of his place in the Gryffindor alma mater.<br />
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<b><u>Griphook and the Sword of Gryffindor</u></b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5DVxagIN9C-ez9nRAZIVzVnZohMNDq74tDaVr2j0jMxUJzwX4vxVvg_cI2QgVR6o5i8kvsD0Tfc7NIokeIllyvr4IUCzdWwvsGrjO_c4cii38hQrEdVMy9rys9CvcBHnYqy2jrxJLUhY/s1600/Goblin_Griphook_with_Ron_and_Hermione_in_the_bckgrnd_02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5DVxagIN9C-ez9nRAZIVzVnZohMNDq74tDaVr2j0jMxUJzwX4vxVvg_cI2QgVR6o5i8kvsD0Tfc7NIokeIllyvr4IUCzdWwvsGrjO_c4cii38hQrEdVMy9rys9CvcBHnYqy2jrxJLUhY/s320/Goblin_Griphook_with_Ron_and_Hermione_in_the_bckgrnd_02.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Warwick Davis was delightfully creepy and sinister as Griphook the Goblin. That guy is truly a great actor! My gripe is that he referred to the sword as the Sword of Gryffindor when, in reality (read: the books) he would never have called it by a name that implies it belongs to anyone other than the makers of the steel: The Goblins. I suppose it wasn't necessary to go into detail about why Griphook wanted the sword. It's obviously already regarded as a great and important historical treasure as well as being immeasurably powerful. Fair enough. Still. . .I would have liked to see a bit of Bill warning Harry about the goblin's understanding of value and property.<br />
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<b><u>No Phineas Nigellus</u></b> - When the trio are in Grimmauld Place, there is a portrait of the former Hogwarts headmaster which has a direct link to another portrait in the headmaster's office at the school. Hermione takes this portrait with them when they depart from #12 and into the many forests and swamps and glades, whathaveyou where they make their temporary hideouts. Phineas was a Slytherin headmaster and Hermione does not trust him. She keeps him hidden in her bag with a blindfold over his eyes.<br />
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However, when they arrive in the Forest of Dean where Harry sees the doe patronus which he follows to the hidden sword of Gryffindor in the frozen lake. . .we wonder how that doe appeared and who cast it? While we find out later that the doe patronus belongs to Snape. . .this still leaves a question unanswered. How was Snape able to find them through all of their protective enchantments and why is the sword at the bottom of a dangerous frozen lake? Never go swimming alone, Harry! Don't they teach you anything at Hogwarts?<br />
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In the book, Phineas may have a blindfold on but he HEARS Hermione tell Harry where they are so that Phineas can then inform Snape. Snape arrives, places the sword in the lake under what we find out later to be Dumbledore's instructions and calls Harry to it using his unfamiliar patronus.<br />
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Number 1 - There's no way Snape could have just appeared to Harry and given him the sword because Harry would not have hesitated to strike him down. Harry has no reason to trust Snape.<br />
Number 2 - The sword must be won in valor and must be deserved; not given or placed somewhere haphazardly.<br />
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My gripe is only that it was never explained in the movie how Snape found them.<br />
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<b><u>Voldemort Trace</u></b> - The reason why death eaters and snatchers keep showing up, even when the trio enact their protective enchantments, is because there is a spell that put a trace on Voldemort's name. Anyone using the name instead of saying You-Know-Who instantly reveals their whereabouts. In the movie, I'm not sure how they know. It's never explained for the diner scene but, I assume, with the snatchers, it is because Hermione left her scarf tied around a tree in case Ron returned. Not sure what this would do for Ron other than let him know that's where they WERE?? At any rate, the lead snatcher is seen wearing Hermione's scarf when they are all later caught.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWEh8F55cSnjurZw_bWTCvJnwr-3Cgr1UlfQbO2qpTD3I6RskomMjqvLwnKBgDfJZKqrOC3nX5zaOINFhBVfcCb8EAZ1dz4f5hCDRUmTFis7LqRhlqPAUQ6mYQr2YyxWIMrrhvgKhzkek/s1600/Fred-and-George-Weasley-in-Harry-Potter-and-the-Deathly-Hallows-Part-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWEh8F55cSnjurZw_bWTCvJnwr-3Cgr1UlfQbO2qpTD3I6RskomMjqvLwnKBgDfJZKqrOC3nX5zaOINFhBVfcCb8EAZ1dz4f5hCDRUmTFis7LqRhlqPAUQ6mYQr2YyxWIMrrhvgKhzkek/s320/Fred-and-George-Weasley-in-Harry-Potter-and-the-Deathly-Hallows-Part-2.jpg" width="216" /></a></div><b><u>Fred & Percy</u></b> - One of the biggest subplots and a major theme of the book is Voldemort's ability to create fissures in families; to separate and manipulate and destroy. Mainly because he does not take stock in relationships or love or any of that nonsense. This is very evident in Percy's abandonment of the Weasley family for his position at the Ministry. When Percy wises up and returns in the battle of Hogwarts, it is touching and, as always with the twins, humourous and loving. Almost immediately, we lose Fred. Instead of this climactic family reunion and subsequent loss, we get a sudden unexplained Percy appearance (if you were even paying attention) and a dead Fred on a stretcher.<br />
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<b><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Effective Non-Canon Additions</span></u></b><br />
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<b><u>Luna & Neville</u></b> - YAY! That's all I can say. *dee*<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoPky1OnVz5r9S3n33MFjH3tCpFGGczIEduWfGX3En96qlAGLcglPimnB19Fme0JnPCOMT5fHTI9qJZid52ge1ePhZgmXUiAbRTbLnrus7GZOgZEysp62HSVGfr5vPGsKzWduEp2MjYhk/s1600/harry-potter-deathly-hallows-movie-posters-06082011-07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoPky1OnVz5r9S3n33MFjH3tCpFGGczIEduWfGX3En96qlAGLcglPimnB19Fme0JnPCOMT5fHTI9qJZid52ge1ePhZgmXUiAbRTbLnrus7GZOgZEysp62HSVGfr5vPGsKzWduEp2MjYhk/s320/harry-potter-deathly-hallows-movie-posters-06082011-07.jpg" width="216" /></a><b><u>Harry Says Goodbye</u></b> - Instead of hiding under the Invisibility Cloak, he faces Ron & Hermione before heading off to his death. Something I think he should have done in the book. I don't remember now if he couldn't find them (because they were still in the Chamber of Secrets looking for basalisk fangs) or if he opted out of having to defend his decision to them. Although, they did omit the scene where he speaks to Neville about killing the snake<br />
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<b><u>Drawing Out the Killing of Nagini</u></b> - Even though I had to pee like the frikkin dickens at this point, I very much enjoyed that the trio tried to kill the snake several times with the ultimate conqueror coming out in the form of never-does-anything-right Neville Longbottom with the sword of Gryffindor. All this happening while Harry fought Voldemort alone. Loved it! Very good back and forth action.<br />
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<b><u>The Tale of the Three Brothers</u></b> - This animated scene is in the first half of Deathly Hallows. While the story is canon and is an awesome fairy tale (I do own a copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard) I just wanted to make mention of the brilliant idea to animate it and have it narrated by Hermione. Just. Plain. Cool.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWRBv_M_594oPh8EcEs9ldtzKb5VwRFq6kkeckPSAE3k00Cf-Aa-bRY5SdaPRbQb0lSZNkoIQXPEyV6x0CKkF44EbHm-HHMjsTe1ULn7EyfpCoLGga0-Si9Oz0bCnztTIqwDfMVeTeke4/s1600/harry-potter-deathly-hallows-2-movie-poster-mcgonagall-01-405x600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWRBv_M_594oPh8EcEs9ldtzKb5VwRFq6kkeckPSAE3k00Cf-Aa-bRY5SdaPRbQb0lSZNkoIQXPEyV6x0CKkF44EbHm-HHMjsTe1ULn7EyfpCoLGga0-Si9Oz0bCnztTIqwDfMVeTeke4/s320/harry-potter-deathly-hallows-2-movie-poster-mcgonagall-01-405x600.jpg" width="216" /></a></div><b><u>McGonagall</u> </b>- I was sad when my favorite Order of the Phoenix scene between Umbridge and McGonagall was condensed into a disappointing hallway quibble in which Minerva steps down. So, I was super tickled when she pronounced, after piertotum locomotor, that she had always wanted to try that spell.<br />
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<b><u>Harry & Hermione Dance</u></b> - This is in the first half of the Deathly Hallows movie. Lots of people found this scene to be odd and strangely in favor of shipping the two. However, I found it to be the very opposite. It was a quick and simple way of showing that their relationship was one of deep, platonic love. The scene was highly unromantic. It was a friend attempting to do the best he could to cheer up another friend within unusual circumstances. And, if anyone noticed, Hermione stopped smiling as soon as it was over and walked away, just as unhappy as she was before.<br />
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<b><u>Harry Snapping the Elder Wand</u></b> - "You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man."<br />
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While I did not appreciate the lady to my upper right who, after the scene went to black before the 19 years later scene, loudly proclaimed that it should have just ended there (this is not your living room) I very much enjoyed myself and I'm happy to report that I cheered and teared up at all the right parts. Here's to waiting for the thousand dollar wizard's chest 16 DVD collection of extras and extended scenes.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Nox</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-11297130994704856822011-07-15T14:42:00.000-07:002011-07-15T14:56:58.271-07:00A Rant in RetrospectDo you know why I have a blog? It's because, while I don't mind lending my handprint to the millions of others who have useless and superficial websites both personal and professional, I don't find the need to constantly express my opinion in a public forum for validation. Plus, I find my blog to be quite innocuous, comparatively, and I'm not sure people could handle the absence of a dozen porn ads or someone arguing about a Michael Bay movie.<br />
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Most of the time, I use this blog as a journal, reflecting on pleasant memories or things I find interesting. From time to time, however, I will lash out in what I believe to always be a well-stated and to-the-point complaint. One that I hope many might agree with. So, it's not to complain for complaining's sake. It's never something I can fix simply by making any kind of stand or, God forbid, starting an online petition that will only serve to clog the internet's throat with more pointless garbage. It's usually something that:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg45JCcDJvJmYMzapMvrDcA3KRgVbsEu6tgrAJa8tc_mDnCgXMJudaT8j0k3F3075ai53pEVwhDTG3j2GpSbWTpK5sCkXo6t_fM5clSJqVlrcDxVIVWIok8n3vNxp4sGW-Jb8u9W28mvyw/s1600/soapbox.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg45JCcDJvJmYMzapMvrDcA3KRgVbsEu6tgrAJa8tc_mDnCgXMJudaT8j0k3F3075ai53pEVwhDTG3j2GpSbWTpK5sCkXo6t_fM5clSJqVlrcDxVIVWIok8n3vNxp4sGW-Jb8u9W28mvyw/s200/soapbox.jpeg" width="143" /></a><br />
A. Happens to exist.<br />
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B. I don't like.<br />
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C. There's absolutely nothing I can do about.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Commence Well-Stated and To-the-Point Complaint:</span></div><br />
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I'm not one for critics. I enjoy a good judgment call here and there. In fact, I'm about to make several. Where would we be without some standard guide or set of rules for everything in the known universe? Most of the time, I rely on my own schema of understanding, experience and know-how to decide on what products, books, movies, restaurants, tv shows, department stores to participate in patronizing. Yet there are those rare moments when I am in unfamiliar territory and might need to entrust part of my decision on someone else.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_7G41UKzPF38uafSYy7zA9Qmp5pKTAI9wj93r-uE9w3gCK_xQh8354xlVzNFvmlMFYwYPOIzf35hP3oR8S06oOnDuEBMUGtcrpexeF_0_4TI6Ea9g2QMzOdKi3Qn4h69Xczvmwm59tQE/s1600/affiliate-marketing-forum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_7G41UKzPF38uafSYy7zA9Qmp5pKTAI9wj93r-uE9w3gCK_xQh8354xlVzNFvmlMFYwYPOIzf35hP3oR8S06oOnDuEBMUGtcrpexeF_0_4TI6Ea9g2QMzOdKi3Qn4h69Xczvmwm59tQE/s320/affiliate-marketing-forum.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>When I go in search of reviews for any of the aforementioned items, I'm looking for several things. Most websites, I've noticed, have built wonderful hold-my-hand forms for reviewers to fill out. Instead of presuming that a human being knows how to write a review (which will eventually become the purpose for this blog entry) they include points of interest to guide you along your way. They ask your age range, your occupation, your location, your frequency of purchasing similar products or from a similar company. They ask for both the pros and the cons of the product and often, they include a chart or survey for the most common questions or concerns such as, "Does this boot stretch to accommodate wide calves?" or "Do these jeans run large or small?"<br />
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This blog should serve as a review of reviews. But. . .not really because I'm pretty sure I'll be breaking a few of the "Review Rules" along the way. It is a "Rant Review" and is only permitted because it is tucked away in the recesses of the interwebs and should not be appearing on any informational sites where people are looking for the answer to their most pressing of questions. Will I like this product?<br />
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<u><span style="font-size: large;"><b>What a review IS:</b></span></u><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ZNE2OOQcstdFOWOB6ZaOqh9uRe3n8L-4J-seJydqNWpqVKaREa1u_-ShWmKnC2Tp60f2wR7jah5P_nJYV79sMJoYgDHeq6PdPoZMca8k3yDmzSpVawIhItk4nOR3YRdx2YPQUMv32BQ/s1600/ideas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ZNE2OOQcstdFOWOB6ZaOqh9uRe3n8L-4J-seJydqNWpqVKaREa1u_-ShWmKnC2Tp60f2wR7jah5P_nJYV79sMJoYgDHeq6PdPoZMca8k3yDmzSpVawIhItk4nOR3YRdx2YPQUMv32BQ/s200/ideas.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
1. <u>Know your product!</u> If there are directions, read them. Oh and also. . .follow them! A negative review due to your own negligence is both unfair and a waste of a researcher's time. Know what a product is supposed to do, when it is supposed to have done it, and what those results should look like.<br />
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2. <u>How long have you been using it?</u> Use common sense (I know. . .it's super hard) and know ahead of time how long a product must be in use before you see results.<br />
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3. <u>What about benefit of the doubt?</u> Every one has a bad day. If you decide to hit up a new restaurant and nothing goes your way - don't write them off like it's the end of the world and you've been personally offended. Jumping the gun by impulsively dragging someone's name through the muck is incredibly cruel. Reviews are not meant to be cruel, they are fair and meant to. . .<br />
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4. <u>Make comparisons</u>. Most company's review forms these days will not allow you to include another product or company by name. Bad for business. Do what the commercials do! Make a comment about a "leading brand." Just be sure to make it known that a comparison was made and whether the product in question was better, the same or worse.<br />
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5. <u>Be concise</u>. Nobody cares if you bought it for your daughter and she loves it because her friends think it looks cute! Your personal story has no relevance to what the product might do for me. If it was a pair of rain boots, tell me if your daughter used them in the rain and if they held up or leaked. Tell me if they looked the same or different from the provided photo. Tell me if they fit true to size.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPVsoYaUL-6qF0-6nFV3tkAUMJtNlcyTZA2md_ZcsYh4166W4xFNwEsPbjkIARkoPEguPRNcptzlEZ60PPxicSzMtvww0qgO5nNXm6zyZ5HbUDXC4Q1WDYI3Di6kvDWoXI2I1f0aIJNcA/s1600/TheOatmeal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPVsoYaUL-6qF0-6nFV3tkAUMJtNlcyTZA2md_ZcsYh4166W4xFNwEsPbjkIARkoPEguPRNcptzlEZ60PPxicSzMtvww0qgO5nNXm6zyZ5HbUDXC4Q1WDYI3Di6kvDWoXI2I1f0aIJNcA/s320/TheOatmeal.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div>6. <u><a href="http://theoatmeal.com/comics/misspelling"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Use correct grammar</span></a></u>. This is not some informal gab-session with your gal pals. You are participating on a professional website and someone's livelihood may depend on your contribution. Take it a little bit seriously. Spell check. Use complete sentences, punctuation, the whole 9 yards. Or at least 7 yards. If you want to be taken seriously, this is just a prerequisite. If English is not your first language. . .you'll probably do better than most.<br />
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7. <u>Read the other reviews!</u> Someone might have noted the same complaint or praise you are about to offer. See what other people are saying about the product and either concur or rebuff in your own review. And back it up! While a review is part personal opinion, you are also being depended upon to include facts about a real-life product.<br />
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8. <u> What about that personal opinion?</u> When you venture into reviews of media and entertainment, things can start to get really ugly. Reception to art is extremely subjective. We're not talking about a physical "does this fit a wide foot" or "how long are these pants and can I cuff them" item. We're talking about something emotional and based on personal experience and taste.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyyy4GBZe0-vCDcntOcm0A5yvoDL9sYUkVOSVJo16NVxlsty08TuIzosY-ejFjCw2J8vvdJVqisRzAHsQBYT1bC3MYhcS8Zptf3aGPtVxs9mCuApBSf6EOiqGxIURKcNHiqtiP-ZAJB5w/s1600/fri_116.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyyy4GBZe0-vCDcntOcm0A5yvoDL9sYUkVOSVJo16NVxlsty08TuIzosY-ejFjCw2J8vvdJVqisRzAHsQBYT1bC3MYhcS8Zptf3aGPtVxs9mCuApBSf6EOiqGxIURKcNHiqtiP-ZAJB5w/s320/fri_116.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>When reviewing for movies, tv shows, books, and music. . .one must tread lightly and yet, hardly anyone does. Because such things evoke an emotional and visceral reaction, one's review is sure to be tainted by bias. Yes, there is a specific formula for something to be good; if, by good, we mean it follows the rules!<br />
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If I were to ask you what the formula is for a book or a movie, I would hope that years and years of grade school would constitute an answer that combines words like plot, characters, protagonists and antagonists, voice and dialogue, rising and falling action, climax.<br />
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However, if I were to ask you what makes a book or movie good, I might get very different answers. You might mention an actor's or author's name. Or maybe a specific scene that made you laugh until you cried. Perhaps you enjoy loud noises, explosions and bright colors. Or you enjoy learning a lesson; seeing a mirror of reality or a society you can sympathize with. Some movies, books or music might just hold sentimental value because it reminds you of a specific time in your life.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkBL55pOg7T_A9V4hofJvHNwYPpwC5i4lV6vjlTUrUUq9QIv6e_tlcJQxGPBuy4tzqd-2ovEe1mylDCwTsEfSGLznLYboolMRZdG_Ntyyk9rI3LRpwjfNSuZfFfOQkaIIJfqqJRa3Axr4/s1600/the_art_of_charts_693695.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkBL55pOg7T_A9V4hofJvHNwYPpwC5i4lV6vjlTUrUUq9QIv6e_tlcJQxGPBuy4tzqd-2ovEe1mylDCwTsEfSGLznLYboolMRZdG_Ntyyk9rI3LRpwjfNSuZfFfOQkaIIJfqqJRa3Axr4/s400/the_art_of_charts_693695.jpg" width="308" /></a>The value of entertainment is completely arbitrary. Huge blockbusters make millions of dollars and yet they are often predictable, the very essence of what many movie snobs say is death to film. Indie Sundance films often get little recognition except from a small elite who are afraid to say they didn't like it. Don't even get me started on some of these supposed genius gems.<br />
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In conclusion, when reviewing something as both important and unimportant as entertainment, your best bet is to refer to Number 1 of this list. Know your product! What is its intention? Is it obvious that it's supposed to be predictable? Is it meant to be tongue-in-cheek? Is it a parody? A satire? Is it intended to be an homage or copycat? Be cautious when reviewing art. Your review should NEVER be just what <u>you</u> thought. It should be directly connected to what was intended by the artist. Otherwise, you just look like a jackass.<br />
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/End of Tangent<br />
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<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">What a review is NOT:</span></u></b><br />
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1. <u>A description of what a product or company's intentions are</u>. I can read the back jacket of a book. Trailers already give me the tagline and plot of a movie. I can go to a company's website and read their mission statement or product guarantees. Your job is to let me know how they measured up to their advertising.<br />
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2. <u>A detailed summary of a film, book, or television program</u>. Biggest. Gripe. Ever. Do not exhaust a reader's patience with a huge unbroken, solid block of text, describing to me what the film, book, or tv show was about. This is supposed to be a review, not a retelling for your book club.<br />
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3. <u>An excuse to show the world how intelligent you are</u> because you took a year of film, culinary, or English Lit. and now know a few buzz words. If you want to show off because you're tops. . .do it! But you better know your business. Because, especially if it's a forum, you will get called out on it. Or you'll just look like an insufferable know-it-all who is more interested in technicality than enjoyment or satisfaction.<br />
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4. <u>Forgetting a character's name or other pertinent information</u>. I have actually seen this. No joke: I once read a review for a tanning lotion that claimed there was a specific chemical in the lotion that she had read was dangerous. But she couldn't remember what it was. You are writing this review online, correct? Which means you have an entire wealth, a cornucopia even. . .one might say a plethora. . .of facts about whatever you are reviewing at your fingertips. Use it! Do not expect your reader to have to do this on their own. This is why they came to your review.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCztXSyZ415eupjK8QgYioALndLOLDQ_fwp3BFqGoU6qVObDfG7txzYATffU3r-mdwZJ8P_qxAGZYdrayfXKb-ni7dkgg74ph8uc0qP2mi0t8OktGyMWiHiX5E3tWdqW3ge-EFl6x8VIo/s1600/original.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCztXSyZ415eupjK8QgYioALndLOLDQ_fwp3BFqGoU6qVObDfG7txzYATffU3r-mdwZJ8P_qxAGZYdrayfXKb-ni7dkgg74ph8uc0qP2mi0t8OktGyMWiHiX5E3tWdqW3ge-EFl6x8VIo/s320/original.jpg" width="320" /></a>5. <u>Going on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on</u>. I mentioned in the "do's" that you should be concise. I really mean it. Pick and choose your battles. What do you definitely want to include and what is just repetition? So you ate at a bad restaurant, had intolerable service & the bathrooms were gross. I don't need to hear every single detail about why it was bad, intolerable or gross. Give me a couple examples and get out! If you're looking to make mad bank on your excruciating experience, get a publisher.<br />
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If you follow these rules, chances are that the time and effort you put into your review will actually be beneficial for a reader/researcher. You might save someone from themselves. If you don't follow these rules, at the very least. . .be really, really, really funny about it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-90124054118890480222011-07-12T13:32:00.001-07:002011-07-18T17:28:59.939-07:00Point Yes Point<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbm1uTSe4NnPP9tOhyphenhyphenMw65oCmxXW5aCc9hNjRAcIgp_MqihEk_nywLnvbVd6N_E_EiNYHZaPbCquPE58g4o6PaoVVfJnwB3xNx7T2R2Mq6Rai7SwI5OJ47X1n5KJ8wbC2B-ETxxl0Bnsc/s1600/IMG_1970.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbm1uTSe4NnPP9tOhyphenhyphenMw65oCmxXW5aCc9hNjRAcIgp_MqihEk_nywLnvbVd6N_E_EiNYHZaPbCquPE58g4o6PaoVVfJnwB3xNx7T2R2Mq6Rai7SwI5OJ47X1n5KJ8wbC2B-ETxxl0Bnsc/s400/IMG_1970.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This past Sunday, Adam and I trekked out on an adventure to Point No Point Beach & Lighthouse. It was a gorgeous day, perfect for exfoliating feet in the sand and dipping toes in freezing cold Pacific Northwest ocean water.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvbdniA32kdg2AoT-oK_XBQQX2eGqnzrV06quH7KJKncLrXAQ4kOufec7WeJq_z25yb5cPVTZIEXU7Ksjyd77U5fHKaEpjV43RDd58nqgEjp0CNZor_vprddLS3Rg-W3SiXQHtranBfow/s1600/IMG_1938.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvbdniA32kdg2AoT-oK_XBQQX2eGqnzrV06quH7KJKncLrXAQ4kOufec7WeJq_z25yb5cPVTZIEXU7Ksjyd77U5fHKaEpjV43RDd58nqgEjp0CNZor_vprddLS3Rg-W3SiXQHtranBfow/s400/IMG_1938.JPG" width="223" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghRJUJmaSuSMZQgYqHu2lJnk4Xf32MBrbQuV9mBqSgV34DVqIl_I-Vw6NMppC1MJYvZ-esneGN5gyWPR-Kbe6qt30ktUHkYeR0Hohkrc5ZjvjzC8mO_YX_ezEqKGv0FPK8caHt8ipVDGs/s1600/IMG_1939.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghRJUJmaSuSMZQgYqHu2lJnk4Xf32MBrbQuV9mBqSgV34DVqIl_I-Vw6NMppC1MJYvZ-esneGN5gyWPR-Kbe6qt30ktUHkYeR0Hohkrc5ZjvjzC8mO_YX_ezEqKGv0FPK8caHt8ipVDGs/s400/IMG_1939.JPG" width="223" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_8kGf13h9TbCMOP_y1MrsUxLVbFc5tu2YdDL-kbbZMOVtnfALZ0oD4P2kskirCKH_UEJIFEEGRdFjul_Kn-OPK4XxkT4jnp6Fey9E6bZtRPwhitI6eTXVUwQlIWgr2ejE-r6ZtWUdgNk/s1600/IMG_1940.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_8kGf13h9TbCMOP_y1MrsUxLVbFc5tu2YdDL-kbbZMOVtnfALZ0oD4P2kskirCKH_UEJIFEEGRdFjul_Kn-OPK4XxkT4jnp6Fey9E6bZtRPwhitI6eTXVUwQlIWgr2ejE-r6ZtWUdgNk/s400/IMG_1940.JPG" width="223" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHtIHQdUxbWR4aw88gZj5ZqlgIn-0Mk4lAWOAaa59c_oSDazjThKSyvIHvZl8eVhAktM3-BSpGZyvhk2RiFhc023ZVjUJJPc68AAi05O3GCN105ty5AE0nV7y8Wi8Y_X1PF9Pb1zoEP-o/s1600/IMG_1941.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHtIHQdUxbWR4aw88gZj5ZqlgIn-0Mk4lAWOAaa59c_oSDazjThKSyvIHvZl8eVhAktM3-BSpGZyvhk2RiFhc023ZVjUJJPc68AAi05O3GCN105ty5AE0nV7y8Wi8Y_X1PF9Pb1zoEP-o/s400/IMG_1941.JPG" width="223" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We checked out the lighthouse first, meeting up with this old construction lawyer guy who gave us a short tour. And I mean short. I think the whole building was only 500 sq. ft. And he told us that, at one time, there were 54 guys bunking in there. How appropriate that I'm watching Full House right now!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhS9oMdbJiW72zPCENgIPbSVFVBB_3zFdoT05v_OnGsuvZIoQSmVXYsw5h1LV1wLykQF6aE5xnWEInrKzL689hNQnsDrM-vd34BTLBFWQ5rzCU1IzRWAq9SeZGXBCTShzj9U9vUMd5rNo/s1600/IMG_1980.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhS9oMdbJiW72zPCENgIPbSVFVBB_3zFdoT05v_OnGsuvZIoQSmVXYsw5h1LV1wLykQF6aE5xnWEInrKzL689hNQnsDrM-vd34BTLBFWQ5rzCU1IzRWAq9SeZGXBCTShzj9U9vUMd5rNo/s400/IMG_1980.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6WQunPF-M99pDJkmADwOxpB2iBGoHggg-xZkowpV1KxWFzxzKTLjkT8jR9LqsjpFkTDD50eIaYPhEDd8s0RE18k9dRDo3CvPVkMWZ_v8G7eH2uYPBoY8QOdtzoCf4beLu2s7C3l_zq6U/s1600/IMG_1989.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6WQunPF-M99pDJkmADwOxpB2iBGoHggg-xZkowpV1KxWFzxzKTLjkT8jR9LqsjpFkTDD50eIaYPhEDd8s0RE18k9dRDo3CvPVkMWZ_v8G7eH2uYPBoY8QOdtzoCf4beLu2s7C3l_zq6U/s400/IMG_1989.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">There were some super old black and white photos of a guy with a perpetual parrot on his shoulder. Turns out his name is Cary and he was a lighthouse attendant back in the early 1900's. Without even knowing his story, I'm already pretty sure his wife hated that parrot.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Apparently, there's this old legend that the lighthouse lens is cracked because it was hit by lightning. Even the wikipedia page claims this story. While lightning did strike the lighthouse, that's not the real history behind the cracked lens.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5gvonu21iur_fSW2vq28NogRN5AVG0p9wtteD7Cuy3itMCUgr01-SoHCLHaGWxos_dxZQPzc8Gxx-SbKIOeVVV6v2dgtJ9j79hrVbOdAXtD7mShML1XYyEEiELA5Ru5cVj2rize6sMUA/s1600/PointNoPointCrackedLensLetter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5gvonu21iur_fSW2vq28NogRN5AVG0p9wtteD7Cuy3itMCUgr01-SoHCLHaGWxos_dxZQPzc8Gxx-SbKIOeVVV6v2dgtJ9j79hrVbOdAXtD7mShML1XYyEEiELA5Ru5cVj2rize6sMUA/s400/PointNoPointCrackedLensLetter.jpg" width="365" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Man, old stuff is cool.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">After checking out the lighthouse, we just wandered the beach. Squishing the sand between our toes and happening upon some rad structures; made of sand, driftwood, seaweed, rocks.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw_sw18kH1cgq2bB6AMdupQ8QGyTZK4GnAU36AmuoEvzwyRvm5qlTqNNjp0fRL9tzLljmLQOwe2Z9z7N2-k5HwYZzSvfIAbOSxYhAc5GtmkzoSYa_cDmHWet2FjIxnBAxdu07DmteznkM/s1600/IMG_1964.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw_sw18kH1cgq2bB6AMdupQ8QGyTZK4GnAU36AmuoEvzwyRvm5qlTqNNjp0fRL9tzLljmLQOwe2Z9z7N2-k5HwYZzSvfIAbOSxYhAc5GtmkzoSYa_cDmHWet2FjIxnBAxdu07DmteznkM/s400/IMG_1964.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6V4HjBEs1J1MFa_HbjO0KZ8dxIBhfyD81v1uYHVGBWGQg7Afx1hmCWISkgTKUSrWoQECrHYPHoeHda9-T08i5N15XsKU1i7OvbooZOeFttUwkkpRfSTtkttdM4vClL7GcESozSLETMu4/s1600/IMG_1966.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6V4HjBEs1J1MFa_HbjO0KZ8dxIBhfyD81v1uYHVGBWGQg7Afx1hmCWISkgTKUSrWoQECrHYPHoeHda9-T08i5N15XsKU1i7OvbooZOeFttUwkkpRfSTtkttdM4vClL7GcESozSLETMu4/s400/IMG_1966.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"> Someone was inspired by Mr. Twain.</div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">I thought this log peeking up looked like an eel!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsu1z7S8fM_lIZCt0CUGKkDXnrGo486t6KOpcMGMps9VNMGyygVfe9yl1lL9h7P4zc4v0xYzyJCzVMYHJqZ1bq-sAKdnsLcsu5VE6NB27_LtSYD1dNZ3Hi4CgjiiCTRYoOYC76NWlHSz0/s1600/IMG_1976.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsu1z7S8fM_lIZCt0CUGKkDXnrGo486t6KOpcMGMps9VNMGyygVfe9yl1lL9h7P4zc4v0xYzyJCzVMYHJqZ1bq-sAKdnsLcsu5VE6NB27_LtSYD1dNZ3Hi4CgjiiCTRYoOYC76NWlHSz0/s400/IMG_1976.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Yay for spontaneous adventures!!</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-27594188975878880142011-06-28T17:13:00.000-07:002011-06-28T17:31:33.136-07:00Kielbasa is pronounced "ka-bossy"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4eieOzIKyH_4B7labUA5XwifnmXONZGz7ukutjKHEmYJdg0ldRx0kX2Cnk0-EUdizmproXdRsZy4cg7esn4eCsbTYBsvVa8S2VcJ9dS1ISWduUTfhK0WcG4k4YVxfJFdwxOLVFtduWXI/s400/IMG_1863.JPG" width="300" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ever since I turned 22 years old, I'm often at a loss when asked my age. I spit out, "Twenty-blaaaaah?" It's rather embarrassing to forget how old you are but, on another level, it's kind of rad that I don't care enough to know. Just yesterday, I celebrated my first time turning 29. I think I just might remember my age this year. I mean. . .it's the countdown to the rest of my life.</div><br />
Thirty seems to be the age when everything starts to matter. Sure, I got married at 21. Yep, I graduated college at 27 with a degree that should actually get me the job it was intended for, pending availability. And I pay mad bills with an awesome credit score. But, there's something about the portentous 30 that severely drives home the abstract notion of being an adult.<br />
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It doesn't actually imply that there will be no more fun and games but it does mean that those fun and games may come at a higher price. Or that one might possibly throw one's back out or get shin splints. I realize that there is probably no one defining moment where you come to the realization, "I. Am officially. An adult." And I would imagine, just from having been a legal adult for 11 years now, that one never forgets how to feel small, insignificant, or childish. We spend our lives growing up. Some of us are just better at it.<br />
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I've never been one of those people who gets caught up in age. If someone asks me, I don't consider it rude. And I'm happy to answer (if I am able.) I've often wondered why women lie about their age. Wait a minute, lady. . .wouldn't you lie. . .higher? So that you look younger than you are? I don't get it. But I'm also not one of those hippie freaks on the other end of the spectrum who believes you're only as old as you feel. That's ridiculous. If you're 80 and hang-gliding, you're still physically 80 years old. You're just also incredibly lucky.<br />
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I do find myself somewhat at odds nowadays, however. I'm not sure how I feel. I mean. . .obviously, I don't feel any different than I did 2 days ago when I was 28. But I do know one thing, that if someone asked me how old I was, I know for sure I wouldn't be answering, "Twenty-two."<br />
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Here's some birthday fun:<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">Grilled kielbasa kebobs with mushrooms and red, yellow and orange peppers in olive oil, garlic salt & black pepper.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigaivhKSC_9ijzDFTxgtgRBkzvj9lpTY3BeUlr4HEpDoYdhDAEbxYpu_3J87upt_l3Bxngam4gSN_ctO9cNx-OC89KAjyzcSAlKJ0ghmXaMzm4QcZmydmM-72FzS1-21xShy8tLBshyphenhyphenqw/s1600/IMG_1846.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigaivhKSC_9ijzDFTxgtgRBkzvj9lpTY3BeUlr4HEpDoYdhDAEbxYpu_3J87upt_l3Bxngam4gSN_ctO9cNx-OC89KAjyzcSAlKJ0ghmXaMzm4QcZmydmM-72FzS1-21xShy8tLBshyphenhyphenqw/s640/IMG_1846.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Can't have a birthday without sliced strawberries. Mushrooms stuffed with Stouffer's Spinach Souffle with cheddar cheese and diced mushroom stalks. Delicious baguettes from Costco.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgraK_PSfzo4LtVAEqN-aiNIqllVmIAkt6o6qmlcya1zKfBIS9as0sStFw0UEklL0vg60ddygux8eRqMa-dVe-7TX1hHB0KVgtkpO25CMxoi1Gz2ml6PMEtLKrhQdKENORr6Q19bUBKFMA/s1600/IMG_1848.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgraK_PSfzo4LtVAEqN-aiNIqllVmIAkt6o6qmlcya1zKfBIS9as0sStFw0UEklL0vg60ddygux8eRqMa-dVe-7TX1hHB0KVgtkpO25CMxoi1Gz2ml6PMEtLKrhQdKENORr6Q19bUBKFMA/s640/IMG_1848.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Milk. Does a body good.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiorFwul6J_vhrQ7EcPkKq3kadX8-VH-8wAfmzxGIPsq_Njis2kNuxxH_fO4Zba9WaqNBDl2DcTC54mJWBtIf8OQPwhMWZy7ZDBNJ9Qqnv-JoUOTX7eCJJq3yJ8ENL4j05PtCipgWb4zPM/s1600/IMG_1847.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiorFwul6J_vhrQ7EcPkKq3kadX8-VH-8wAfmzxGIPsq_Njis2kNuxxH_fO4Zba9WaqNBDl2DcTC54mJWBtIf8OQPwhMWZy7ZDBNJ9Qqnv-JoUOTX7eCJJq3yJ8ENL4j05PtCipgWb4zPM/s640/IMG_1847.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Adam's gotta have his kosher Hebrew Nationals. Not for any reason but that they are so much better for you than regular beef dogs.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNqYtDogYFASguII2eSdjCdJUgSpWdAP1YnMmrmApUIXrQyC7SenbhgTly4rCjw7Tk3QH1yI5YNl-p7q3MkqaJIlkfWJDZ5fE_jgIvvLMOWIHc7kwpbIbPlYfQvprpPlvc07UcdC9WdcE/s1600/IMG_1857.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNqYtDogYFASguII2eSdjCdJUgSpWdAP1YnMmrmApUIXrQyC7SenbhgTly4rCjw7Tk3QH1yI5YNl-p7q3MkqaJIlkfWJDZ5fE_jgIvvLMOWIHc7kwpbIbPlYfQvprpPlvc07UcdC9WdcE/s640/IMG_1857.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I went back and forth on whether I wanted to go out somewhere for dessert or just pick something up and bring it home. Since I got a lovely little chest cold for the festivities, I opted to go to the ice cream aisle of Albertson's and wait to be inspired. I can't believe I was able to tame that inspiration down to these two choices.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGe39RAuiyd48sjCsFiLkBJsr1NDeFq9ArKMOPBSsxU73SyGOoIkdLf9OZB06jk9xypgbZIRqFuvspqGE6NkEmZS8y2WWzOFT2-2nL1OHbvfrAQ8RGjxtVp-DjH4fABkNaCr0EdzcIjpY/s1600/IMG_1851.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGe39RAuiyd48sjCsFiLkBJsr1NDeFq9ArKMOPBSsxU73SyGOoIkdLf9OZB06jk9xypgbZIRqFuvspqGE6NkEmZS8y2WWzOFT2-2nL1OHbvfrAQ8RGjxtVp-DjH4fABkNaCr0EdzcIjpY/s640/IMG_1851.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Yummy in my tummy.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-55842268439257464002011-06-16T12:02:00.000-07:002011-10-11T20:47:44.178-07:00Peanut Butter and Pencil Shavings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwYCWNSb2JyeKNi-_JwCtbucrewBZo_5rWLvxkp_wox1VPmFNdqYQrKnS_sPv4_2Fi_mv1YQB6saNPVboIjdUe2wZ0_TChZCeBf6_joOA5HO9Q2NncZOs9UgjL2xXcmMSMDxx0UMLYb70/s1600/wingdingers.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwYCWNSb2JyeKNi-_JwCtbucrewBZo_5rWLvxkp_wox1VPmFNdqYQrKnS_sPv4_2Fi_mv1YQB6saNPVboIjdUe2wZ0_TChZCeBf6_joOA5HO9Q2NncZOs9UgjL2xXcmMSMDxx0UMLYb70/s400/wingdingers.gif" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>The substitute's world is an interesting one. And by interesting, I mean in the way one politely conveys uncomfortably strange and unwelcome rather than inciting real interest or excitement. In short, subbing kind of sucks.<br />
<br />
That is not to say that some days aren't legitimately incitant and exciting. Or, at the very least, amusing.<br />
<br />
Cases in point:<br />
<br />
I get a half-day/afternoon 2nd grade job in an undisclosed location. The kids return from lunch and gather on the carpet before the white board as this is their customary after-lunch activity. They know what to do. They know what is allowed. They know the drill. So do I. One student is in charge of conducting the afternoon meeting in which they depict the number of school days it has been thus far in several ways - using fake money, creating equations, counting with bundles of sticks, etc. The meeting is going as smoothly as a meeting with a substitute in the room could be. I'm practically babysitting while another student teaches. Wonder upon wonders, this is fantastic! For, now I've the time to learn the lesson I'm supposed to teach later.<br />
Half-way through deciding what fun and crazy implementations I'll be utilizing for this upcoming math lesson, I hear a whine:<br />
<br />
<i><b>"Miiiiiisseeess AAANDEERSOOOOOOOooOOOON?</b></i><br />
<br />
I look up from my work.<br />
<br />
<i><b>"Yes?"</b></i><br />
<br />
<i><b>"Corey's EEEATING!"</b></i><br />
<br />
I rise from the desk and make my way militantly to the front of the room, keeping my eye out for this Corey. I know I'll be able to pick him out. He'll be the one with the wide eyes and the hands behind his back, probably hiding a bag of gummies or the last remnants of his chocolate milk.<br />
<br />
To my surprise, there is no child with either.<br />
<br />
There is, however, a small boy sitting cross-legged (criss-cross-applesauce) and mawing down on an entire cob of corn, butter dripping down his arms.<br />
<br />
All that was missing were a pair of overalls and bare feet.<br />
<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">I had the opportunity for a 5-day long sub job in a 5th grade class in a mysterious school-like building. Brilliant! Not only is this a secure job for an entire week but it gives me a chance to actually get to know the students. One of the worst components of subbing is not being able to call out a misbehaving child from across the room because you don't know their name. There's no way I'm asking them personally. I am not naive enough to think a 5th grader will give a sub their real name when they know they haven't been meeting expectations. And if you've ever been there, crossing a room in the middle of whatever you're doing just to get a child's attention is awful. Knowing a student's name is to own them.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">My third day into the job, I'm asked to conduct a school-wide survey with the class. One of the questions asked is who is conducting the survey. At this point, my name is no longer on the board. If I can learn and remember 25 names in 3 days, they can learn one. As the students are filling out their sheets, one student pipes up:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><i>"Are you Mrs. or Miss?"</i></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Before I can even reply, another student blurts out:<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><i>"Duh, it's MRS! That's why her last name is Anderson!"</i></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Apparently, and I did not know this, women do not get last names until they are married. I love being a life-long learner.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div><div style="text-align: left;">When I went in for a 4th grade job in a rather curious academic center last year, I had long ago decided that bringing a full-on lunch was both inconvenient and pointless. I never had time to eat and I was lucky if anyone told me where the staff lounge even was. Thank you to those office workers who gave me quick tours before sending me to my classroom!! It's so much easier to start your day with confidence if you know something other than your $20,000 education.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">It came down to the lunch hour (almost 40 minutes if you want to get technical) and at many of the schools I've worked at, the children have a 15 minute recess beforehand. So, I send them out on their merry way, glad for a bit of respite so that I can focus on what sort of craziness is in store for me for the afternoon.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">While I'm setting up for some literature circles, one of the students comes sauntering back in (these kids have swagger these days, who put a spring in their step? I immediately decide, with my jaded substitute attitude, that I will be the one to take it back out!) and sees me grab a quick handful of animal crackers from a small baggie in my briefcase.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><b>"Is that all you brought for lunch, Mrs. Anderson?"</b></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><b>"Yep. I've got lots of work to do so I just need something quick."</b></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><b>". . . . . . . .Well. . . .we just learned yesterday from Mrs. [insert health lady's name here] that lunch is really important and I don't want you to be tired for the rest of the day. I think it would affect your teaching us."</b></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Flabbergasted.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><b>"Maybe if I help you with your work, you can stop and have my other sandwich because my mom made me two and I'm pretty full."</b></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Sweetest. Thing. Ever. Although, I'm not sure if his concern was actually for me or for himself and the deficiency in learning he'd have to be subjected to if I wasn't energized enough to keep up.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlVXyqWIg6xLcUasNeXTMUdd67FfUSSm7ETGisWL3yH8hnlMSnaGShOjjvvEnZb5cwmviZt1zkeCNkBxVWuF8erZnAZp8wqzD2PPBOAKv0cHd8EPKtQrxAaxXRGSmGK6QKsvmSjK0TLoM/s1600/dry-erase.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlVXyqWIg6xLcUasNeXTMUdd67FfUSSm7ETGisWL3yH8hnlMSnaGShOjjvvEnZb5cwmviZt1zkeCNkBxVWuF8erZnAZp8wqzD2PPBOAKv0cHd8EPKtQrxAaxXRGSmGK6QKsvmSjK0TLoM/s400/dry-erase.gif" width="400" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
Sometimes I come home and I have these fantastic stories to share. Even the ones that proved to be somewhat difficult turn into a great personal lesson for me and become these great anecdotes to have in my arsenal of experiences. Sometimes I come home and I never want to go back. Those are days I am both thankful for and entirely exhausted and fed up with subbing. Thankful because it's not my class and I don't have to return if I don't want to. Entirely exhausted and fed up because I begin to wonder if I'm cut out for this.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">There is a simple yet accurate wheel chart describing the teacher's lifelong career in stages. First comes induction and survival stage, followed by competency and enthusiasm. Then you hit a frustrating wall; the burnout stage. If you can make it past the burnout, you reach stability and the, hopefully comfortable, career wind-down.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I go through this wheel every day.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I can't say that, having been a substitute now for 3 years, I have a newfound respect for those individuals who come in as replacement teachers. The substitutes I remember, at least from my high school days, sound more like cartoon characters than professional, effective teachers when described. The following names are real and only used because, for some of them, the name's the thing. Also, I'm not being paid to write this and they are adults so. . .I can get away with it.<br />
<br />
Take Mr. Antoinette, for example. Super Italian. Shock of black curly hair with a hint of grey. Sophisticated. Dressed rather snappily, actually. Tall, slim. Hands in the pockets say, 'I'm professional but laidback enough to ensure mutual respect and awe.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">False. If this man had never opened his mouth, his demeanor might have worked wonders for him. However, upon opening said mouth, he would spew forth the most ridiculous of stories, the most prevalent being that he was best friends with Ed O'Neill, the actor who portrayed Al Bundy on Married With Children. I'm not sure if he believed his own stories or if they were merely a stab at entertaining us and keeping the focus off misbehaving. If the latter is true, then props to him. Clever ruse. If the former. . . *shakes head* It's quite difficult to take a man seriously when he sounds like Joe Pesci and your favorite movie is Home Alone.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Dr. Lacher (pronounced 'locker') was not even a doctor. Older man, bald. Wore a lot of short-sleeve checkered shirts that always came un-tucked in the back. This man was a great lover of bonus points. You could do anything. Anything at all. Didn't even have to be academic. With the infamous and fraudulent Dr. Lacher, you could rack up enough bonus points to get you through your sophomore year in college. Unfortunately, these were all imaginary marks when your actual teacher showed up the following morning and sighed in irritation at his grade book. Many teachers, I'm sure, learned to either lock up or take their grade book home with them when Dr. Lacher was in the building.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Mr. Bahl. Already, this doesn't bode well. You're talking teenagers here. Plus, your pants are pulled up to your armpits, your Coke-bottle glasses are enormous and constantly sliding down your sweaty, nervous nose and you run funny. Just because you're an adult does not excuse you from both harassment and intense humiliation. Lucky for me, my glasses were pretty slim and stayed put and I was a darn fast runner. Mr. Bahl should have considered another profession. That name takes the right man to make it work in a high school setting. He was not the right man.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBVOgg_ca-mlI7wUN-ISsHBkOnjM8upZarwJbEGAuiCgslavRNwPPYlu1bHJaaujaZpviXxS1gAOU-DRb7_f_FX5W5Loh7Ke9ln1FD74JRuRIEkO5BSAKNvdLcFTqlJDAn0cQlK7ojark/s1600/meaning-of-this.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBVOgg_ca-mlI7wUN-ISsHBkOnjM8upZarwJbEGAuiCgslavRNwPPYlu1bHJaaujaZpviXxS1gAOU-DRb7_f_FX5W5Loh7Ke9ln1FD74JRuRIEkO5BSAKNvdLcFTqlJDAn0cQlK7ojark/s400/meaning-of-this.gif" width="400" /></a></div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I do have a profound appreciation for people like me who are stuck between a rock and another rock and, some days, a whole truckload of rocks because we feel our expensive education is not being put to its best use. Most days, I have to put my love of learning the tangible and manifest things to the side in favor of classroom management and behavior control. I have many letters signed by naughty children who have had need of apologizing in the written form.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I do not sub because I love it. I sub because I love teaching, I love learning. I love the resilience of children and try my best to walk out of every school's doors having had some of that resilience rub off on me. The substitute's world is an interesting one.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*comics courtesy of toothpastefordinner </span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-6529644080308126592011-04-28T16:49:00.000-07:002011-04-29T11:41:19.018-07:00The hope in the Hunger<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ7V3ndDqGn4me4Ef_EyUARUtKNaldWBts3K70B7erckiWYm1MIFeBHlvJ-yyFhkGSgOdpBp7Faott7nL3wwCDhcnN1Oo9o64PtkkKLkLDspcQB1luDWHFebJowIVOgNO-4dsQ8c9SZdE/s1600/IMG_1686.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ7V3ndDqGn4me4Ef_EyUARUtKNaldWBts3K70B7erckiWYm1MIFeBHlvJ-yyFhkGSgOdpBp7Faott7nL3wwCDhcnN1Oo9o64PtkkKLkLDspcQB1luDWHFebJowIVOgNO-4dsQ8c9SZdE/s400/IMG_1686.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>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.<br />
<br />
The Hunger Games trilogy has a love story in it but <u><b>it is not</b></u> 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.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-oRrNjGcXU165Nnk91zOwnejhaYL-v1B4qWlg9L5XNaAfCdAoH2cqQVI7VbwFrv7uYgF1xzqU_DREfhsXENvdIxDEDEoXnuyp3R2ze0o1QIiDTpGIa_npvGAAdyLBlXB1dTt2O_VWZME/s1600/IMG_1690.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-oRrNjGcXU165Nnk91zOwnejhaYL-v1B4qWlg9L5XNaAfCdAoH2cqQVI7VbwFrv7uYgF1xzqU_DREfhsXENvdIxDEDEoXnuyp3R2ze0o1QIiDTpGIa_npvGAAdyLBlXB1dTt2O_VWZME/s400/IMG_1690.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>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!"<br />
<br />
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 <u style="font-style: italic;">not</u> 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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPAJffk0ejoBSRtEbtQWWhWUo7Z3oYPgf0HW8o8W8y5wlFmvK-9GvuWQ0WyoyDjhVCvp1qKQJwVq300HHGg9QbK209IHeMN7q5Y47ItTCvhWCVduMUOCWWjg03JqWLBnxc_O3AvaHty-0/s1600/IMG_1695.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPAJffk0ejoBSRtEbtQWWhWUo7Z3oYPgf0HW8o8W8y5wlFmvK-9GvuWQ0WyoyDjhVCvp1qKQJwVq300HHGg9QbK209IHeMN7q5Y47ItTCvhWCVduMUOCWWjg03JqWLBnxc_O3AvaHty-0/s400/IMG_1695.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6c90NTWuBXC2gh3TcgKyBnLJiRSdOpOuI31UTcsUJMx7PTIiwETdOJX2zj2MGKOWSXaTjw6EwmV4Z62xKQNHjVHu0ABTCxu8aEWJ2tDN_7abXEuB5hJWPH19BFdZbWyFwG8vpAWphLNs/s1600/IMG_1677.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6c90NTWuBXC2gh3TcgKyBnLJiRSdOpOuI31UTcsUJMx7PTIiwETdOJX2zj2MGKOWSXaTjw6EwmV4Z62xKQNHjVHu0ABTCxu8aEWJ2tDN_7abXEuB5hJWPH19BFdZbWyFwG8vpAWphLNs/s400/IMG_1677.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-38599367316632829322011-04-22T23:37:00.000-07:002011-04-27T09:37:13.414-07:00So Perfectly SillyI'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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR7KLbuWsrgZUDSamVjoXysGAFBiv8JXwz35d_dYKn9dDKx_40t8i3nSHx_oeMORHu6mUXKqX7iPM-6MAV6wz50DkE9W4HggtxWANOzEbCEtw2s-c6pHy3bAMdF7SzkxrLj1Cka3k-9xU/s1600/the-hunger-games-male-leads-cast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR7KLbuWsrgZUDSamVjoXysGAFBiv8JXwz35d_dYKn9dDKx_40t8i3nSHx_oeMORHu6mUXKqX7iPM-6MAV6wz50DkE9W4HggtxWANOzEbCEtw2s-c6pHy3bAMdF7SzkxrLj1Cka3k-9xU/s400/the-hunger-games-male-leads-cast.jpg" width="272" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>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.<br />
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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?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqYH2_Nwp796e6D8-a1WEpogUqlM-KtfX_EF2yhyphenhyphenpmSRPYbgMzeBFtHAdk6ROadwBCV2ikd7bwz5TBotuh7IDZvd0dpPptsxgmywfWnn7ZG2ezSo1eiqpLyHMyydbbA4APiDHCCYqLOpo/s1600/Hunger-Games-Movie-Poster-Jennifer-Lawrence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqYH2_Nwp796e6D8-a1WEpogUqlM-KtfX_EF2yhyphenhyphenpmSRPYbgMzeBFtHAdk6ROadwBCV2ikd7bwz5TBotuh7IDZvd0dpPptsxgmywfWnn7ZG2ezSo1eiqpLyHMyydbbA4APiDHCCYqLOpo/s320/Hunger-Games-Movie-Poster-Jennifer-Lawrence.jpg" width="210" /></a><br />
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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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5sqJo8gyU-zUm4sRStJfPBaHXtPFm-VVRtLkTsjrNp0Dg6EgaROC0XlDFDVKXKxCpr-AFXn7urVHSj24a7NM07dRqoAw6oCqIEz4VeXDfjXwf_RG9v4UtZvI1iHbBCKSm6MQOfIx2hFw/s1600/tumblr_lj5iduXgq91qzd1ixo1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5sqJo8gyU-zUm4sRStJfPBaHXtPFm-VVRtLkTsjrNp0Dg6EgaROC0XlDFDVKXKxCpr-AFXn7urVHSj24a7NM07dRqoAw6oCqIEz4VeXDfjXwf_RG9v4UtZvI1iHbBCKSm6MQOfIx2hFw/s320/tumblr_lj5iduXgq91qzd1ixo1_500.jpg" width="269" /></a></div><br />
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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 <u>For</u> and <u>Against</u> this poor young man. Either <u>For</u> because some creep girls wanna jump his bones or <u>Against</u> 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.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyfve-5iOedewddl4shk90DwAV8W76AX4zsoTF60VVyAhlhdsQwrtcxsUifVZjun1lGJPUwn9pqwttAEP0dIHsHI1sUlFXQqV2vjoeAN73WWbx-AfeP3X2qsllQa646pEVcPsVAy9oKNE/s1600/headline_1302008837.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyfve-5iOedewddl4shk90DwAV8W76AX4zsoTF60VVyAhlhdsQwrtcxsUifVZjun1lGJPUwn9pqwttAEP0dIHsHI1sUlFXQqV2vjoeAN73WWbx-AfeP3X2qsllQa646pEVcPsVAy9oKNE/s200/headline_1302008837.jpg" width="188" /></a><br />
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.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-9624043544196602042011-04-21T14:28:00.000-07:002011-04-21T14:46:19.867-07:00The thing about message boards. . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOu9e1E3UgiyKQIZOwKVZLGHgcut4kr58N-OkZ8fN4h9enrNY8CIiwEo6OqhLDoI5wZjnb17MKobC0dh8Pxmcim17xh_DHxkt7IKXNHOE2rU7YkT12E_FkJ3xQNff1VJP2X80ifR3RlcY/s1600/message-boards.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOu9e1E3UgiyKQIZOwKVZLGHgcut4kr58N-OkZ8fN4h9enrNY8CIiwEo6OqhLDoI5wZjnb17MKobC0dh8Pxmcim17xh_DHxkt7IKXNHOE2rU7YkT12E_FkJ3xQNff1VJP2X80ifR3RlcY/s400/message-boards.gif" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>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.<br />
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<b><u>A. Trolls.</u></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZNeEHH4YOVhl4yc0bwMH_Kd5hf807f8Wh_cJell21wQ1Ak5ghR9-eSygWwyR8RUjdq3gAh1dFpYBFLhYuS27z-6cPcKeQMpOcIhXMeaN9rxTx0wvaedrI_sUr5O7-C7Ev6Ypu6KSAhpk/s1600/Please-don-t-feed-the-trolls-atsof-547660_170_186.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZNeEHH4YOVhl4yc0bwMH_Kd5hf807f8Wh_cJell21wQ1Ak5ghR9-eSygWwyR8RUjdq3gAh1dFpYBFLhYuS27z-6cPcKeQMpOcIhXMeaN9rxTx0wvaedrI_sUr5O7-C7Ev6Ypu6KSAhpk/s1600/Please-don-t-feed-the-trolls-atsof-547660_170_186.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>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. . .<br />
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1. . . .10 or more new posts by one screen name in a 5 minute period.<br />
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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.<br />
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2. . . .a sudden message within a thread instigating trouble by bringing up a topic that will obviously push buttons.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiagwmo-0L2NC2VivOV6i_NZzNx9O5h_FGVIhsr-T_N0U0CaQSTguVB_6ksdTF1wX3J_WE0JC6T2xs5rdXgj6WsQNgEXh3pI4HtnLmL5M040I8Q1PENS3uynutdqQQrcVpSvhBcmu2aTMU/s1600/net-troll.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiagwmo-0L2NC2VivOV6i_NZzNx9O5h_FGVIhsr-T_N0U0CaQSTguVB_6ksdTF1wX3J_WE0JC6T2xs5rdXgj6WsQNgEXh3pI4HtnLmL5M040I8Q1PENS3uynutdqQQrcVpSvhBcmu2aTMU/s320/net-troll.jpg" width="236" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div>3. . . .someone who plays the fool and refuses to understand your point of view.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div><b><u>B. Anonymity.</u></b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2rR_G7YyYxuoTup2VbVS6A7LxjSgAUgEHxVGWgfwKLhtZ26ft43uDqaSWms0T3dZq97mDVxVzHRk4SphCJljC1x9iZQm1CMhRpuKFQQ_S7SUImXJu3IMAfdDBVq44yh9Qs_aYBAWQNzo/s1600/716200814857PM_anonymous.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2rR_G7YyYxuoTup2VbVS6A7LxjSgAUgEHxVGWgfwKLhtZ26ft43uDqaSWms0T3dZq97mDVxVzHRk4SphCJljC1x9iZQm1CMhRpuKFQQ_S7SUImXJu3IMAfdDBVq44yh9Qs_aYBAWQNzo/s400/716200814857PM_anonymous.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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<u><b>3. Repeat posts.</b></u><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsbs5uFO3TJQyHp3684-jKvNe-d4Vb81TNB-wJ_rizY67KUkYj2oRVcxUhcGkKgQKTHAhlVrbsaZxM3nU-r4llprm0YKAWp77kKtABfL0Q5Kd4tZdhWBazKf_gTZ0i0aqdn9EIolmv2VY/s1600/toilet-computer-2010.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsbs5uFO3TJQyHp3684-jKvNe-d4Vb81TNB-wJ_rizY67KUkYj2oRVcxUhcGkKgQKTHAhlVrbsaZxM3nU-r4llprm0YKAWp77kKtABfL0Q5Kd4tZdhWBazKf_gTZ0i0aqdn9EIolmv2VY/s400/toilet-computer-2010.gif" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>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 <u><b>your</b></u> 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">*Comics supplied by Toothpaste for Dinner.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-78356483342498934052011-04-19T08:27:00.000-07:002011-04-19T09:21:24.605-07:00I do declare. . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizgjByNGGnS_rQub5KeBZLE0DpM8Isy45bALv-4RR8SN2D0Sw-Xyr1BFJkuo77tQIQO_h6ETyL62-aKEh7bmjV_ojTRE3MRLKpsCnrei3_fsd5LFJu4fxGnBBoIGXJ4SEhEgpqxq7DOkc/s1600/IMG_1635.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizgjByNGGnS_rQub5KeBZLE0DpM8Isy45bALv-4RR8SN2D0Sw-Xyr1BFJkuo77tQIQO_h6ETyL62-aKEh7bmjV_ojTRE3MRLKpsCnrei3_fsd5LFJu4fxGnBBoIGXJ4SEhEgpqxq7DOkc/s400/IMG_1635.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.)<br />
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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.<br />
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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.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6636957056365826520.post-54153476244448252552011-04-16T12:47:00.000-07:002011-04-16T17:40:20.798-07:00I'll Love You Forever, I'll Like You for Always<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm-IZCwdZRUPsTL259MRLXOwkWjFZkmR4qOSGvdKlhs3wFzsRAMT0An9knD6r3W_VRIaIv3NxTULouxc2PTICUxAeyMCsq3t8ts1x5NB8_MRO3EfPONs7a9ykx0VyyeDriAqCn950syFw/s1600/popandwe.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm-IZCwdZRUPsTL259MRLXOwkWjFZkmR4qOSGvdKlhs3wFzsRAMT0An9knD6r3W_VRIaIv3NxTULouxc2PTICUxAeyMCsq3t8ts1x5NB8_MRO3EfPONs7a9ykx0VyyeDriAqCn950syFw/s400/popandwe.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">In some way, every day.</span><br />
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</div><div></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">"The little girl who once sat on my knee<br />
No words did she know but that didn't matter</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> We would giggle and chatter and laugh with glee <br />
Of things of nonsense that were not there<br />
Or maybe a pooh bear sitting in the chair <br />
The little girl who once sat on my knee<br />
<br />
The little girl who once sat on my knee<br />
Has learned to talk and would <br />
confide in me<br />
The things of importance to a girl of three<br />
Diapers are gone now<br />
"I go by myself"<br />
Isn't that nice and isn't that great<br />
Then you get up one morning and the little girl's eight <br />
The little girl who once sat on my knee<br />
Likes to tell me of the now important matters <br />
Of liking kittys and puppys and going to the zoo<br />
And oh of so many thing to do<br />
The little girl who once sat on my knee<br />
Gee<br />
A teenager now<br />
But she still confides in me<br />
Of things at home or at school<br />
The kids that are nice<br />
the ones that are cruel<br />
What makes her happy<br />
and makes her mad<br />
Some would pull at my heart strings<br />
and make me sad<br />
But she stayed on top and always <br />
took pride of the person<br />
she was inside<br />
The little girl who once sat on my knee</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> The little girl who once sat on my knee</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> The quiet times we shared </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> on that knee</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> I hope </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> Has helped to set her free </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> Of any fears or doubts</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> the things of life and world are about</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The little girl who once sat on my knee</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> now says that she wants</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> to leave me</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> And that is as it should be </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">XOXOXOXOXPOPOPOPOPXOXOXOXO"</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3