In search of the perfect gift for Christmas/Chanukkah/Festivus? Here are some interesting toys for girls and boys (and adults whose toys just got bigger over time). Have fun, and remember to spend your money wisely!
Pedal Cars
This company offers wagons, bikes, sleds, and oh yeah, GIANT PEDAL CARS! You must see it to believe it. Shipping is FREE if you opt for standard ground service.
Play Wonder Kitchen Play Set
Available at Target.com for $79.99 (local store prices may vary). My kids saw this at the store, and after 20 minutes they had to be dragged away. The construction is sturdy wood, and looks to be long-lasting. The best thing about the Play Wonder series is that the accessories are realistic miniatures of the real thing. The mixing bowls and pans are metal. The whisk is real. The toy food is pre-cut, so that your child can use his little toy knife (child safe!) to slice the food. Also available from Play Wonder: blender, toaster, and coffee maker. Most accessories sold separately.
Junie B. Jones paperback books
My six-year-old niece has been asking for these for Christmas. I've not read them myself, but I'm told there aren't actually any pictures, just incredibly funny stories told from the perspective of an almost-six-year-old. There are at least four box sets of these books, and they're pretty inexpensive on amazon.com. Enjoy them with your child this holiday!
Home Depot Gift Center
For the craftsperson in your family, HomeDepot.com offers a Gift Center page to help you find just the right present. Products are sorted by hobby, price, and recipient. There are even some cooking gadgets and gifts for kids. Of course, you can always go to the Home Depot main index to search for more specific products, like skill saws and riding lawn mowers. Drop in and have a look!
Conair Foot Spa
Bed Bath and Beyond has a similar Gift Search, and they certainly have a wide range of gift items. Number 2 on my BBB list is this Conair Body Benefits Pedicure Massaging Foot Spa, $39.99. Because seriously, after less than two hours with my Cub Scouts, I am ready for a foot soak and a can of ginger ale. (Incidentally, number one on my BBB list is this potato ricer. In case any of you were wondering. *wink*)
Cars DVD (Widescreen)
If you or the kids or all of you loved this movie, or are willing to love it, buy this NOW! Preorder for $15.87 at amazon.com. Official release date is November 7, 2006. Fullscreen also available for the same price. Seriously, this is awesome. Pixar keeps on amazing me. Get it now while it's still cheap!
Friday, September 22, 2006
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Can you keep a secret?
I do love PostSecret, but as I've explained before, I don't necessarily feel I should mail all my burdens to that poor man in Germantown. So here's my secret:
I told you I ate the last of those McDonald's Breakfast Burritos that were in the fridge because I knew you were pissed off that nobody was eating them.
I lied.
I fed them to the dog because they were so nasty.
She didn't want them, either.
I'm sorry I lied to you.
I told you I ate the last of those McDonald's Breakfast Burritos that were in the fridge because I knew you were pissed off that nobody was eating them.I lied.
I fed them to the dog because they were so nasty.
She didn't want them, either.
I'm sorry I lied to you.
Caution: Coffee is hot!
Remember that story about the lady who sued McDonald's because of the hot coffee spilled on her lap? Admit it, you made cracks about it too. I think it would be good if you read this. Bet you won't make fun anymore.
Funny how quickly our perspectives can change.
Funny how quickly our perspectives can change.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Those Bible stories...
Today, Cowboy has an excellent post about Rehoboam, a king of Israel whose story appears in the old Testament.
Not to be outdone, I submit to you one of MY favorite Old Testament stories. It's found in Judges, chapter 4, and then again (in song form) in chapter 5. It is the story of Sisera, a Canaanite captain who oppressed the Israelites for 20 years; Deborah, a prophetess; Barak, an Israelite captain; and Jael, a tent-dwelling woman whose husband chose to live way out in the boonies (or at least that's what it seems like to me).
In this period of time, the Israelites were under the rule of a Canaanite king and his captain, who, as I said, was a pretty bad dude, with his 900 chariots of iron and all. After two decades of this, the Israelites were very "From the depths we cry to you, o Lord." Finally they went to their prophetess Deborah, who sat under a palm tree, and asked her for judgement. (Seriously, how cool is THAT job? Sit under a tree and wait for people to come ask for judgement/advice from God. And she was married, too! Talk about an excuse not to get the dishes done...)
Anyhoo, Deborah sends for Barak. It's odd, but she seems to be reminding him that God has already told him what to do, which is to take 10,000 men from two specific tribes and go to Mt. Tabor. There the Lord would help him defeat Sisera's army at the river Kishon.
Barak's response is not at all manly, I'm sorry to say. He tells Deborah that he will only go if Deborah goes with him. On the one hand, yeah, he wants the blessing of the prophetess, or a lucky rabbit's foot, or however it is he saw her, but on the other hand, CHICKEN!
Deborah informs him that she will surely go (aww, she's being nice) but that their journey/war campaign will not be for Barak's honor, "for the Lord shall sell Sisera into the hand of a woman." Heh.
Barak and Deborah and 10,000 men make the trip up Mt. Tabor. Sisera's response after learning of this is the same one you might have if you were outnumbered by more than 10 to 1, which is to hightail it out of there. He and his men run all the way to, you guessed it, Kishon River. Deborah sends Barak down after them, so away the Israelite army goes. In her poem (chapter 5), Deborah says the stars in heaven fought against Sisera (a severe thunderstorm?), the River Kishon swept them away, and the horsehoofs were broken. Sisera is then so "discomfited" (by which we mean panicked), as is all his army, that he jumps right off his stupid chariot and runs away on foot, deserting his men, who all die at the hands of the Israelite army. Yeah, that's right, ALL of them.
Sisera keeps running, probably a good 30 miles toward Kedesh, until he reaches the tent of Jael, wife of Heber the Kenite, and seeks sanctuary there, knowing that there is a peace between his king and Heber. I can't tell you the actual tone of their conversation, but we can guess that Sisera is looking extremely pathetic here. Jael is all, "Come to my tent, baby, I've got butter." Sisera is very "Gimme some water, tuts, and if anyone comes by, there's nobody here, got it?" Jael gives him milk (and butter?) and a blanket and waits for him to go to sleep.
Then Jael does to most awesome thing ever recorded in the Old Testament (or the most gruesome, depending on your disposition), which is to grab a tent stake and hammer, then creep up on Sisera and pound that stake through his temples all the way to the ground.
Barak, when he finally catches up to Sisera's location (however long that took), finds Jael waiting for him. "Come, and I will shew thee the man whom thou seekest." That's all she says. Barak walks in to find Sisera's head nailed to the floor. And by the way, how long did it take Barak to find Sisera? Did he catch up to him the same day Sisera stopped for a glass of milk? Was it the next day? That's a pretty mountainous part of the world; even if Jael's tent was located on a plain near Kedesh, there are certainly plenty of hills and other elevations between Mt. Tabor and that place. It would surely have been simple for a trained man to avoid detection for a while at least. With this in mind, I suspect that Jael might very well have had Sisera nailed to her bedroom floor for several days before Barak even showed up. Excuse me, but ew.
I should point out that Heber and his wife chose to cut themselves off from Heber's family and live far away, presumably on their own or with their own children and grandchildren. I wonder why Heber would do that? Maybe he didn't get along with his family, because he sided with the Canaanite king. Or maybe he knew his wife was crazy, and he wanted to keep her away from too many people. Who knows how many times he caught her with a tent stake? In any case, after this horrific event, Deborah and Barak sang songs of praise, calling Jael blessed above women in the tent.
Sadly, the Catholic church has not canonized Jael as the Patron Saint of Women in Tents, nor of tentmakers (that's Paul the Apostle), nail makers (St. Cloud), housewives (Saints Anne, Martha, Monica, and Zita) or mental illness (there are 17 saints for that one). Deborah is a saint, but apparently not of patronage in particular, not even of judges (that honor goes to three men, including Nicholas of Myra, who is also the patron saint of boot blacks).
What should we learn from all of this? Don't oppress people, because it will come back to bite you in the butt. Do not undervalue women. Beware of ladies who live in seclusion, be it in a tent or under a tree. And above all, when someone invites you in for butter, for the love of crap, say no!
Not to be outdone, I submit to you one of MY favorite Old Testament stories. It's found in Judges, chapter 4, and then again (in song form) in chapter 5. It is the story of Sisera, a Canaanite captain who oppressed the Israelites for 20 years; Deborah, a prophetess; Barak, an Israelite captain; and Jael, a tent-dwelling woman whose husband chose to live way out in the boonies (or at least that's what it seems like to me).
In this period of time, the Israelites were under the rule of a Canaanite king and his captain, who, as I said, was a pretty bad dude, with his 900 chariots of iron and all. After two decades of this, the Israelites were very "From the depths we cry to you, o Lord." Finally they went to their prophetess Deborah, who sat under a palm tree, and asked her for judgement. (Seriously, how cool is THAT job? Sit under a tree and wait for people to come ask for judgement/advice from God. And she was married, too! Talk about an excuse not to get the dishes done...)
Anyhoo, Deborah sends for Barak. It's odd, but she seems to be reminding him that God has already told him what to do, which is to take 10,000 men from two specific tribes and go to Mt. Tabor. There the Lord would help him defeat Sisera's army at the river Kishon.
Barak's response is not at all manly, I'm sorry to say. He tells Deborah that he will only go if Deborah goes with him. On the one hand, yeah, he wants the blessing of the prophetess, or a lucky rabbit's foot, or however it is he saw her, but on the other hand, CHICKEN!
Deborah informs him that she will surely go (aww, she's being nice) but that their journey/war campaign will not be for Barak's honor, "for the Lord shall sell Sisera into the hand of a woman." Heh.
Barak and Deborah and 10,000 men make the trip up Mt. Tabor. Sisera's response after learning of this is the same one you might have if you were outnumbered by more than 10 to 1, which is to hightail it out of there. He and his men run all the way to, you guessed it, Kishon River. Deborah sends Barak down after them, so away the Israelite army goes. In her poem (chapter 5), Deborah says the stars in heaven fought against Sisera (a severe thunderstorm?), the River Kishon swept them away, and the horsehoofs were broken. Sisera is then so "discomfited" (by which we mean panicked), as is all his army, that he jumps right off his stupid chariot and runs away on foot, deserting his men, who all die at the hands of the Israelite army. Yeah, that's right, ALL of them.
Sisera keeps running, probably a good 30 miles toward Kedesh, until he reaches the tent of Jael, wife of Heber the Kenite, and seeks sanctuary there, knowing that there is a peace between his king and Heber. I can't tell you the actual tone of their conversation, but we can guess that Sisera is looking extremely pathetic here. Jael is all, "Come to my tent, baby, I've got butter." Sisera is very "Gimme some water, tuts, and if anyone comes by, there's nobody here, got it?" Jael gives him milk (and butter?) and a blanket and waits for him to go to sleep.
Then Jael does to most awesome thing ever recorded in the Old Testament (or the most gruesome, depending on your disposition), which is to grab a tent stake and hammer, then creep up on Sisera and pound that stake through his temples all the way to the ground.
Barak, when he finally catches up to Sisera's location (however long that took), finds Jael waiting for him. "Come, and I will shew thee the man whom thou seekest." That's all she says. Barak walks in to find Sisera's head nailed to the floor. And by the way, how long did it take Barak to find Sisera? Did he catch up to him the same day Sisera stopped for a glass of milk? Was it the next day? That's a pretty mountainous part of the world; even if Jael's tent was located on a plain near Kedesh, there are certainly plenty of hills and other elevations between Mt. Tabor and that place. It would surely have been simple for a trained man to avoid detection for a while at least. With this in mind, I suspect that Jael might very well have had Sisera nailed to her bedroom floor for several days before Barak even showed up. Excuse me, but ew.
I should point out that Heber and his wife chose to cut themselves off from Heber's family and live far away, presumably on their own or with their own children and grandchildren. I wonder why Heber would do that? Maybe he didn't get along with his family, because he sided with the Canaanite king. Or maybe he knew his wife was crazy, and he wanted to keep her away from too many people. Who knows how many times he caught her with a tent stake? In any case, after this horrific event, Deborah and Barak sang songs of praise, calling Jael blessed above women in the tent.
Sadly, the Catholic church has not canonized Jael as the Patron Saint of Women in Tents, nor of tentmakers (that's Paul the Apostle), nail makers (St. Cloud), housewives (Saints Anne, Martha, Monica, and Zita) or mental illness (there are 17 saints for that one). Deborah is a saint, but apparently not of patronage in particular, not even of judges (that honor goes to three men, including Nicholas of Myra, who is also the patron saint of boot blacks).
What should we learn from all of this? Don't oppress people, because it will come back to bite you in the butt. Do not undervalue women. Beware of ladies who live in seclusion, be it in a tent or under a tree. And above all, when someone invites you in for butter, for the love of crap, say no!
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Monday, September 11, 2006
Friday, September 08, 2006
In-laws and out-laws are not opposites
Dear In-laws,
I do not care about your family drama. Stop involving us.
Little sis-in-law, I love you, but that does not mean you are allowed to be rude to me and give me attitude in my own house. Next time, your brother won't just hold your legs to keep you from running away, he'll SIT ON YOU.
Brother-in-law, move out. You were supposed to be here a week or two, then a month or two. That was back in May. You have a job now. Why you are giving your entire paycheck to child support is beyond me; my dad had to pay child support AND get his own place to live. You can do the same. Go get your own place, move your wife down here, and get custody of your son. Go be your own family and stop mooching off mine. And while you're still here mow the damn lawn, like we agreed, instead of leaving it to my nearly-50-year-old father who works 60 hours a week on the night shift.
Older sis-in-law, I have no complaints about you. Bring the nieces over more often; I want to hear your oldest play her clarinet. She can seriously practice on my back porch, and it won't bother anybody but Brother-in-law, who I want to leave anyway.
Mother-in-law, thank you for FINALLY trying to get a job. Please stop asking everyone for money and/or expensive gifts. We all have kids, too. And for heaven's sake, next time your daughter starts mouthing off, the least you can do is GET UP OUT OF YOUR CHAIR.
Father-in-law, I know you're on your third wife and your...seventh baby, is it?...but you do have grandchildren, and it wouldn't kill you to call and ask about them now and then. That's all. We're not asking you for money or a place to stay or a car or anything like that. Just care about our kids. If you can't do that, you're not really a grandpa, are you? Then again, you weren't much of a father, so I'm not surprised. You just...you hurt my husband, and I don't know how to forgive you for that.
Bizarro Dad, get off your lazy butt and HELP ME. I keep asking you for help, and you keep ignoring me. Eventually I will reach my breaking point. You don't want that to happen.
Sincerely,
Sleepless Mama
I do not care about your family drama. Stop involving us.
Little sis-in-law, I love you, but that does not mean you are allowed to be rude to me and give me attitude in my own house. Next time, your brother won't just hold your legs to keep you from running away, he'll SIT ON YOU.
Brother-in-law, move out. You were supposed to be here a week or two, then a month or two. That was back in May. You have a job now. Why you are giving your entire paycheck to child support is beyond me; my dad had to pay child support AND get his own place to live. You can do the same. Go get your own place, move your wife down here, and get custody of your son. Go be your own family and stop mooching off mine. And while you're still here mow the damn lawn, like we agreed, instead of leaving it to my nearly-50-year-old father who works 60 hours a week on the night shift.
Older sis-in-law, I have no complaints about you. Bring the nieces over more often; I want to hear your oldest play her clarinet. She can seriously practice on my back porch, and it won't bother anybody but Brother-in-law, who I want to leave anyway.
Mother-in-law, thank you for FINALLY trying to get a job. Please stop asking everyone for money and/or expensive gifts. We all have kids, too. And for heaven's sake, next time your daughter starts mouthing off, the least you can do is GET UP OUT OF YOUR CHAIR.
Father-in-law, I know you're on your third wife and your...seventh baby, is it?...but you do have grandchildren, and it wouldn't kill you to call and ask about them now and then. That's all. We're not asking you for money or a place to stay or a car or anything like that. Just care about our kids. If you can't do that, you're not really a grandpa, are you? Then again, you weren't much of a father, so I'm not surprised. You just...you hurt my husband, and I don't know how to forgive you for that.
Bizarro Dad, get off your lazy butt and HELP ME. I keep asking you for help, and you keep ignoring me. Eventually I will reach my breaking point. You don't want that to happen.
Sincerely,
Sleepless Mama
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Tatoes
Gina: What happened to your cake you cooking? Where's you cake?
Me: I didn't make a cake, baby. I made mashed potatoes.
Gina: Oh.
Me: Do you like mashed potatoes?
Gina: No.
Me: That's okay. Maybe I'll make you some potato patties later.
Gina: No! I don't like tato pa-patties!
Me: Potato patties?
Gina: I don't like tato pa-pattie-toes...tato... I don't like them!
Grandma's Potato Pattie Recipe:
mashed potatoes, rolled up into balls (cold potatoes work best)
1 egg
1/2 cup (or so) of milk
1-2 tbsp butter or oil for frying
salt and pepper to taste
Heat butter or oil in pan. Combine milk and egg in small bowl; beat well. Dip potato ball into egg batter, then drop into pan. Mash down ball with spatula while frying. Cook both sides until desired color (golden, light brown, etc) or stiffness. Season as desired and serve.
Me: I didn't make a cake, baby. I made mashed potatoes.
Gina: Oh.
Me: Do you like mashed potatoes?
Gina: No.
Me: That's okay. Maybe I'll make you some potato patties later.
Gina: No! I don't like tato pa-patties!
Me: Potato patties?
Gina: I don't like tato pa-pattie-toes...tato... I don't like them!
Grandma's Potato Pattie Recipe:
mashed potatoes, rolled up into balls (cold potatoes work best)
1 egg
1/2 cup (or so) of milk
1-2 tbsp butter or oil for frying
salt and pepper to taste
Heat butter or oil in pan. Combine milk and egg in small bowl; beat well. Dip potato ball into egg batter, then drop into pan. Mash down ball with spatula while frying. Cook both sides until desired color (golden, light brown, etc) or stiffness. Season as desired and serve.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Maybe some Scientologists should embrace karma
Seriously, people. Have you heard about this? Paramount has just up and decided not to renew their contract with Tom Cruise, or rather his production company Cruise/Wagner (C/W), on the grounds that Tom's personal conduct is...unbecoming? Unacceptable. Something like that. Actually, the man who makes such decisions (Sumner Redstone of Viacom) said Tom "effectuates creative suicide and costs the company revenue," and thus should not be "on the lot."
Currently the celebrity gossip columns are making much of Cruise's unfavorable ratings with the public (what, he's the president now, that he gets his own approval rating?), and everyone seems to be blaming his couch-jumping, anti-depressant-hating, Scientology-spewing conduct for the relative failure of Mission Impossible 3 ($398 million worldwide, when they were all expecting half a billion dollars), which in turn is viewed, by the columnists, as the reason for Paramount's latest decision. But a simple search pulls up an article in Variety, dated July 10 of this year, which reveals this interesting factoid:
Although the company has provided Par[amount] with some heavy hitters at the box office -- "War of the Worlds" and May's "Mission: Impossible III" -- it has also delivered a string of recent disappointments like "Suspect Zero," "Elizabethtown" and "Ask the Dust."
The article goes on to say that "Cruise's deals are notoriously rich and hard to make," and points out that chairman Brad Grey's first priority, when he took over Paramount in 2005, was to reduce the budget for MI3.
So you see, folks, it's not just that Tom Cruise is a stark raving wacko. It's that he's a wacko who produces crappy movies that don't sell at all and expensive movies that don't quite sell enough to make up the difference.
Although, really, I have to admit the wacko factor is what kept me from going out to watch MI3.
Currently the celebrity gossip columns are making much of Cruise's unfavorable ratings with the public (what, he's the president now, that he gets his own approval rating?), and everyone seems to be blaming his couch-jumping, anti-depressant-hating, Scientology-spewing conduct for the relative failure of Mission Impossible 3 ($398 million worldwide, when they were all expecting half a billion dollars), which in turn is viewed, by the columnists, as the reason for Paramount's latest decision. But a simple search pulls up an article in Variety, dated July 10 of this year, which reveals this interesting factoid:
Although the company has provided Par[amount] with some heavy hitters at the box office -- "War of the Worlds" and May's "Mission: Impossible III" -- it has also delivered a string of recent disappointments like "Suspect Zero," "Elizabethtown" and "Ask the Dust."
The article goes on to say that "Cruise's deals are notoriously rich and hard to make," and points out that chairman Brad Grey's first priority, when he took over Paramount in 2005, was to reduce the budget for MI3.
So you see, folks, it's not just that Tom Cruise is a stark raving wacko. It's that he's a wacko who produces crappy movies that don't sell at all and expensive movies that don't quite sell enough to make up the difference.
Although, really, I have to admit the wacko factor is what kept me from going out to watch MI3.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Chicken or Egg?
Which is better to do first: read the book, or watch the movie?
This is the downright dumbest excuse for a fundamental question I've ever had, but here it is. I want to know what you think is better.
Everyone knows by now that if you read the book first, you'll spend the majority of the movie thinking to yourself (or shouting out loud, if you're the type), "Dude, that's not what's supposed to happen!" or "She's supposed to go in the building FIRST!" or "What happened to all the other characters?" or "This doesn't even resemble the central plot of the book. It's like they took all the same characters and wrote a new story for them."
You find yourself unable to enjoy the film for itself, because in your mind it should be the visual companion to the book you know and love, when in fact almost no movie can accomplish such a feat without being 11 hours long. Producers, screenwriters, editors, etc. simply have to change a story, to chop it up and strip it down to bare essentials simply for time constraints. "But, but, no, don't you think maybe..." No. Maybe with the DVD they can recut it and add in all that extra footage (a la Lord of the Rings and Stargate) and make it more like the book, but the theatrical release has to be shortened. It's not like we have intermission these days. People gotta pee. Shorten the story so I can go pee!
This does not mean, however, that I approve of some screenwriters' habit of taking the main characters and just giving them completely new plots. Most of the time I get all pissy and feel like demanding a refund. If I wanted to see Princess Mia Fights the Custom of Marriage while Receiving Gentle Advice from Julie Andrews, I'd write a piece of crappy Princess Diaries fanfiction. I like my Princess Mia the Smartalecky Teenage New Yorker with the Grandmother from Hell, just the way Meg Cabot wrote it.
Do you see what I mean? These movies are good in and of themselves, but I can't just sit and watch these movies and enjoy them for what they are now that I've read the books. In my mind, Mia's Grandmother should be a princess, not a queen, and she should have eyeliner tattooed to her lids, a balding toy poodle, and a prediliction for Sidecars (1/3 lemon juice, 1/3 Cointreau, 1/3 brandy shaken well with ice, strained before serving). Fitzwilliam Darcy should not have that stupid look on his face as though someone were trying to teach him Einstein's theory of relativity 140 years too early. Harry Freaking Potter should have...oh, I won't go there.
On the other hand...
Yesterday I finished reading Practical Magic. Do you recall that film, with Nicole Kidman and Sandra Bullock? Can you picture Gillian (Kidman) with her long red hair? Can you see the children casting spells? Remember the aunts casting an attraction spell on Sally (Bullock)? Can you picture that hot cop (played by Aidan Quinn) with the multi-colored eyes? That's nice, but don't expect to find them in the book in that way.
Gillian has short blond hair and falls in love with a biology teacher. The children are surly teenagers who don't even know their aunts are witches, and they certainly don't cast their own spells. The hot cop has brown eyes, and he did not come as the result of that cute little spell Sally cast when she was a kid (the spell never happened).
This is not a big deal, really. It's clear the screenwriter took the story and did some major changes, but that's not what bothers me most. No, the problem is that when I read, I can only picture Bullock, Kidman, and Quinn in those roles. And the aunts? Yeah, I can only see Stockard Channing and Dianne Weist. My imagination has been limited, because I saw the movie first. I should be sitting there picturing a blonde in her mid thirties, but all I can come up with is Nicole in her twenties. I should be making up my own ideas about the clothes, scenery, houses, minor characters, etc. But I'm stuck in the movie. I'm stuck with those actors, those set directors, costumers, etc. And if there's one thing I can't stand, it's having someone else limit my imagination for me.
So, back to my question. What's better? Book first, or movie first?
This is the downright dumbest excuse for a fundamental question I've ever had, but here it is. I want to know what you think is better.
Everyone knows by now that if you read the book first, you'll spend the majority of the movie thinking to yourself (or shouting out loud, if you're the type), "Dude, that's not what's supposed to happen!" or "She's supposed to go in the building FIRST!" or "What happened to all the other characters?" or "This doesn't even resemble the central plot of the book. It's like they took all the same characters and wrote a new story for them."
You find yourself unable to enjoy the film for itself, because in your mind it should be the visual companion to the book you know and love, when in fact almost no movie can accomplish such a feat without being 11 hours long. Producers, screenwriters, editors, etc. simply have to change a story, to chop it up and strip it down to bare essentials simply for time constraints. "But, but, no, don't you think maybe..." No. Maybe with the DVD they can recut it and add in all that extra footage (a la Lord of the Rings and Stargate) and make it more like the book, but the theatrical release has to be shortened. It's not like we have intermission these days. People gotta pee. Shorten the story so I can go pee!
This does not mean, however, that I approve of some screenwriters' habit of taking the main characters and just giving them completely new plots. Most of the time I get all pissy and feel like demanding a refund. If I wanted to see Princess Mia Fights the Custom of Marriage while Receiving Gentle Advice from Julie Andrews, I'd write a piece of crappy Princess Diaries fanfiction. I like my Princess Mia the Smartalecky Teenage New Yorker with the Grandmother from Hell, just the way Meg Cabot wrote it.
Do you see what I mean? These movies are good in and of themselves, but I can't just sit and watch these movies and enjoy them for what they are now that I've read the books. In my mind, Mia's Grandmother should be a princess, not a queen, and she should have eyeliner tattooed to her lids, a balding toy poodle, and a prediliction for Sidecars (1/3 lemon juice, 1/3 Cointreau, 1/3 brandy shaken well with ice, strained before serving). Fitzwilliam Darcy should not have that stupid look on his face as though someone were trying to teach him Einstein's theory of relativity 140 years too early. Harry Freaking Potter should have...oh, I won't go there.
On the other hand...
Yesterday I finished reading Practical Magic. Do you recall that film, with Nicole Kidman and Sandra Bullock? Can you picture Gillian (Kidman) with her long red hair? Can you see the children casting spells? Remember the aunts casting an attraction spell on Sally (Bullock)? Can you picture that hot cop (played by Aidan Quinn) with the multi-colored eyes? That's nice, but don't expect to find them in the book in that way.
Gillian has short blond hair and falls in love with a biology teacher. The children are surly teenagers who don't even know their aunts are witches, and they certainly don't cast their own spells. The hot cop has brown eyes, and he did not come as the result of that cute little spell Sally cast when she was a kid (the spell never happened).
This is not a big deal, really. It's clear the screenwriter took the story and did some major changes, but that's not what bothers me most. No, the problem is that when I read, I can only picture Bullock, Kidman, and Quinn in those roles. And the aunts? Yeah, I can only see Stockard Channing and Dianne Weist. My imagination has been limited, because I saw the movie first. I should be sitting there picturing a blonde in her mid thirties, but all I can come up with is Nicole in her twenties. I should be making up my own ideas about the clothes, scenery, houses, minor characters, etc. But I'm stuck in the movie. I'm stuck with those actors, those set directors, costumers, etc. And if there's one thing I can't stand, it's having someone else limit my imagination for me.
So, back to my question. What's better? Book first, or movie first?
Monday, August 14, 2006
I love you
You know you're still in love when, after years together, you can still make each other laugh and smile with just a look, or an old joke, or when one of you does an imitation of the other and doesn't give the least bit of offense in doing so.
My dear husband, I treasure you. Thanks for making me laugh while helping me with the dishes. Those are the moments that get me through the week. And by the way, do I really scream at the book when I'm reading the latest Harry Potter novel? Oh, and yes, we can get two copies of Book 7. Shall we stamp them "His" and "Hers" then?
My dear husband, I treasure you. Thanks for making me laugh while helping me with the dishes. Those are the moments that get me through the week. And by the way, do I really scream at the book when I'm reading the latest Harry Potter novel? Oh, and yes, we can get two copies of Book 7. Shall we stamp them "His" and "Hers" then?
Sunday, July 30, 2006
My Karl
Dearest Karlito,
It's been three years today. Life is no kinder than when you left us, but at least there's been love and happy moments.
Three years, and I still think about you all the time, and wonder what you'd make of some silly scenario, or a thing I heard about on the news, or Lisa's boyfriend, or me. Would you still laugh at our old jokes, or are we too old for that now? Would you be worried about this war, would you smile at some nonsense, would you tell me more about some book you read that explains the true nature of why something backfired and society had let yet another criminal go free? Would you tell Lisa to leave that foolish man already, because clearly he will never appreciate her the way you did when the two of you were together?
Three years, and I wonder if you'd be married by now, and to whom. Would you have a teaching job, or be working on your Master's degree? Would you still live with your parents, or would you be on your own in a bachelor pad like your brother? Would I be going to your house once or twice a month so we could cook something fun that we'd been craving? Would you be making plans to go back to Fresno to visit the families you taught during your mission? Would you still make cornbread out of sour milk? Would you still make up Quotes pages filled with all the dumb things I'd told you? Would you let me highlight your hair again? I promise, this time I won't trick you by using the big size H crochet needle instead of the little itty bitty one that comes with the highlighting cap. But really, you did look great with all that blond hair.
Would you and I still be as close as we once were? Would I come to you when my husband does some strange man thing that requires an explanation? Would my kids call you Uncle Karl? Would my husband laugh at us, and how goofy we are when we get together? (Actually, I can answer that one: yes, he would. He still does.)
Three years, and I still laugh at all our old jokes, at the pictures of us acting goofy.
Three years, and I still want to talk to you for the sheer pleasure of good conversation.
Three years, and I still love you, and there's an empty spot in my soul where you're supposed to be.
Three years, and I still don't know what to do, except go on.
Love always,
Me
P.S. HOOTERS! (Heh, you thought I forgot, didn't you!)
It's been three years today. Life is no kinder than when you left us, but at least there's been love and happy moments.
Three years, and I still think about you all the time, and wonder what you'd make of some silly scenario, or a thing I heard about on the news, or Lisa's boyfriend, or me. Would you still laugh at our old jokes, or are we too old for that now? Would you be worried about this war, would you smile at some nonsense, would you tell me more about some book you read that explains the true nature of why something backfired and society had let yet another criminal go free? Would you tell Lisa to leave that foolish man already, because clearly he will never appreciate her the way you did when the two of you were together?
Three years, and I wonder if you'd be married by now, and to whom. Would you have a teaching job, or be working on your Master's degree? Would you still live with your parents, or would you be on your own in a bachelor pad like your brother? Would I be going to your house once or twice a month so we could cook something fun that we'd been craving? Would you be making plans to go back to Fresno to visit the families you taught during your mission? Would you still make cornbread out of sour milk? Would you still make up Quotes pages filled with all the dumb things I'd told you? Would you let me highlight your hair again? I promise, this time I won't trick you by using the big size H crochet needle instead of the little itty bitty one that comes with the highlighting cap. But really, you did look great with all that blond hair.
Would you and I still be as close as we once were? Would I come to you when my husband does some strange man thing that requires an explanation? Would my kids call you Uncle Karl? Would my husband laugh at us, and how goofy we are when we get together? (Actually, I can answer that one: yes, he would. He still does.)
Three years, and I still laugh at all our old jokes, at the pictures of us acting goofy.
Three years, and I still want to talk to you for the sheer pleasure of good conversation.
Three years, and I still love you, and there's an empty spot in my soul where you're supposed to be.
Three years, and I still don't know what to do, except go on.
Love always,
Me
P.S. HOOTERS! (Heh, you thought I forgot, didn't you!)
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Meez-sles!
So many things to do, so many other things I'd rather be doing instead. Like creating this Meez!
Yes, that's the skinny version of me, Cubmaster style!
What about you?
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Insomniac Movie Review: Howl's Moving Castle
Howl's Moving Castle Directed by Hayao Miyazaki
An amazing film, beautiful and thought provoking. Although it is certainly adapted by the novel (of same name) by Diana Wynne Johnson, the film departs from the source material to examine the harsh effects of war on the central characters and the world they live in.
The central plot revolves around a girl, Sophie, who falls under a witch's curse to become a 90-year-old woman. I could go on and on about how she comes to interact with the Wizard Howl and have a positive effect on the people around her as she struggles to overcome her own curse, but I won't. It's much more fun to watch it unfold than to be told about it. One thing about Miyazaki, he loves to tell a good story. It is not by accident that John Lasseter and Brad Bird (Pixar geniuses of storycrafting) have raved about Miyazaki in general and this film in particular. Well, okay, it's more than coincidence; the English dubbing was directed by Pete Docter (also of the Pixar genius clan). But directing the English voices is not nearly the same as directing the movie itself, and Miyazaki does a superior job.
The warfare in this story is not glorified, like some kind of Richard Donner movie or G.I. Joe cartoon. It is made very clear that war and violence disrupt the peace and beauty of everyday life, and it may scare younger children. The war storyline can easily be construed as a judgement of the current wars in the Middle East, but it holds true for any war that is fought close to someone's home. Remember the lesson of Tolkein, and look for applicability to many aspects of our lives, not allegory to one particular situation.
The animation is, quite simply, superb. Perhaps the people's faces are typical of anime, but the scenery is outstanding and the transformations astounded me. I wish I had a Hi-Def TV just for this movie.
Be aware, parents, that there is very slight, brief nudity. The central character is even trying to look away, so it's not like some gratuitous derriere footage. Honestly, if you think a quick side view of a cartoon butt is an issue, then you really need to see a therapist. Your kids look at their own butts in the full length mirror, people, whether you know it or not. Get over it.
If I must address a perceived flaw, it is that the ending seems too neat. However, it should be noted that the book itself has an absurdly neat ending, in which myriad storylines are all wrapped up in so concise a manner that I found myself checking to make sure I hadn't accidentally skipped some pages. So get over it, critics.
Rent this movie. You'll love it.
Friday, July 21, 2006
I wish less really was more
Dear Bizarro Dad,
You are bringing us to the brink of bankruptcy.
Stop buying lunch every day. I make more than enough dinner for you to have leftovers the next day. You accuse me of "not making enough," for you to take to work, when really you just leave it in the fridge all week, and my dad ends up throwing it out when he cleans the fridge out on Sunday.
Stop buying shit you think we "need." We don't need it. You just want it.
Stop buying excessive gifts for the kids. A game or toy once in a while is fine. But they'd be better served if we saved some of that money to use for food, or clothes, or school supplies.
We agreed upon a $40 per month allowance for each of us. That's per month, not per week. Stay within that sum, please.
You are not a rich man. Stop pretending you are.
Start asking your brother for his half of the damn Bally's membership fee. I hate paying $68 dollars a month for HIM to go to the gym. I also hate it that you signed up for Bally's AT ALL. I told you I had a bad feeling about that "free trial." Now we'll be paying for it for years, and you don't even GO to the gym.
Last month, you brought us down to a zero balance in checking with less than $50 in savings. You were sorry, you were humbled, you promised you wouldn't do it anymore. You haven't learned anything. Not a damn thing.
You keep buying tools to have for work. I'm trying to pay off your credit card, and you just keep buying shit with it. You told me when you first took this job that you wouldn't need to buy a lot of tools. Apparently that was a lie, because this is the second $400 tool shopping spree you've been on since you went to work there a few months ago.
You purposely leave me in charge of the family budget, claiming that none of the bills will get paid otherwise, then you ignore me when I say "we cannot buy ANYTHING except groceries and gas this week or the bills won't get paid," then you get all pissy when I tell you later in the month that we can't afford to go out to the movies because of said bills, and you make ME into the bad guy. You especially hate it when I point out that the reason we can't go to the movies is that you've been spending all this money.
You don't like to be treated like a child, but you keep acting like one! And I can't just let you run off doing whatever the hell you want, because we have two small kids to support! But I suppose I'm ineffective, since you clearly run off doing whatever the hell you want with our money anyway.
You put me in this position, and then you wonder why I have headaches, why I always seem sad, why money issues always result in an argument.
I hate this.
I hate you, sometimes.
Maybe if you got off your damn XBox and paid any attention to what's going on with the people around you, you might understand why I'm so upset.
(By the way, your stupid XBox 360 keeps costing us money. It wasn't enough that it cost $500 from the get-go, now you have to subscribe to XBox Live ($54) and keep buying "points" so that you can do something as trivial as change your handle ($20).)
--Me
You are bringing us to the brink of bankruptcy.
Stop buying lunch every day. I make more than enough dinner for you to have leftovers the next day. You accuse me of "not making enough," for you to take to work, when really you just leave it in the fridge all week, and my dad ends up throwing it out when he cleans the fridge out on Sunday.
Stop buying shit you think we "need." We don't need it. You just want it.
Stop buying excessive gifts for the kids. A game or toy once in a while is fine. But they'd be better served if we saved some of that money to use for food, or clothes, or school supplies.
We agreed upon a $40 per month allowance for each of us. That's per month, not per week. Stay within that sum, please.
You are not a rich man. Stop pretending you are.
Start asking your brother for his half of the damn Bally's membership fee. I hate paying $68 dollars a month for HIM to go to the gym. I also hate it that you signed up for Bally's AT ALL. I told you I had a bad feeling about that "free trial." Now we'll be paying for it for years, and you don't even GO to the gym.
Last month, you brought us down to a zero balance in checking with less than $50 in savings. You were sorry, you were humbled, you promised you wouldn't do it anymore. You haven't learned anything. Not a damn thing.
You keep buying tools to have for work. I'm trying to pay off your credit card, and you just keep buying shit with it. You told me when you first took this job that you wouldn't need to buy a lot of tools. Apparently that was a lie, because this is the second $400 tool shopping spree you've been on since you went to work there a few months ago.
You purposely leave me in charge of the family budget, claiming that none of the bills will get paid otherwise, then you ignore me when I say "we cannot buy ANYTHING except groceries and gas this week or the bills won't get paid," then you get all pissy when I tell you later in the month that we can't afford to go out to the movies because of said bills, and you make ME into the bad guy. You especially hate it when I point out that the reason we can't go to the movies is that you've been spending all this money.
You don't like to be treated like a child, but you keep acting like one! And I can't just let you run off doing whatever the hell you want, because we have two small kids to support! But I suppose I'm ineffective, since you clearly run off doing whatever the hell you want with our money anyway.
You put me in this position, and then you wonder why I have headaches, why I always seem sad, why money issues always result in an argument.
I hate this.
I hate you, sometimes.
Maybe if you got off your damn XBox and paid any attention to what's going on with the people around you, you might understand why I'm so upset.
(By the way, your stupid XBox 360 keeps costing us money. It wasn't enough that it cost $500 from the get-go, now you have to subscribe to XBox Live ($54) and keep buying "points" so that you can do something as trivial as change your handle ($20).)
--Me
Thursday, July 20, 2006
It's called Rooster Beak, not Rooster Sweet Tooth
On PBS, there is a very strange dude telling me that HIS version of pico de gallo (a type of salsa that is not cooked, and consists of certain chopped vegetables mixed with lemon juice) calls for mint instead of cilantro. Now I'm all for doing your own thing, but COME ON! Let's see, thats:
- 1 cup chopped tomatoes
- 1/2 cup chopped white onion
- 1/4 cup chopped fresh jalapeno
- 1 Tbsp minced garlic
- 2 Tbsp lemon juice
- salt and pepper, and
- 1/2 cup chopped mint??????
What the hell kind of wierdo show is this Barbeque University?
Although, come to think of it, that might be perfect for my old pal Sue, who claimed she was allergic to cilantro....nah, who am I kidding? The perfect substitute for cilantro is Italian parsley. You can take that mint and shove it up your firebox, BBQ Steve!
There was an article in yesterday's paper about Clerks II, but a sizable portion seemed to be about Kevin Smith's feelings about Jersey Girl. Tremendous flop at the box office and all that. According to the interviewer, Smith brought it up frequently, but still maintained that it's not a sore spot but does hurt. Uh, Kevin, sorry man, but that's the definition of a sore spot.
The thing is, I liked Jersey Girl. It's in my Netflix Queue. My mother loved it. It was thoughtful and tender, funny, and had attractive people in it. All the things you want from a PG-13 non-action movie. But because of the Bennifer aspect, and the whole Gigli thing, people just didn't want to go watch this movie. It's a shame, really, because Jennifer Lopez is barely even IN the movie. She dies in, like, the first five or ten minutes. Honestly, if that's not enough of a reason to watch, I don't know what is.
(Don't flame me. We watch people die in movies all the time. Might as well work out our feelings about an actor while we're doing so. Besides, I am well aware that it was a sad scene and that Lopez played it well.)
Kevin, let it go. I know it hurts because you spent two years on that movie and nobody seemed to appreciate it. But really, it was good. And you didn't have to worry about Joel Siegel trying to attract attention to himself during the screening. ;)
The thing is, I liked Jersey Girl. It's in my Netflix Queue. My mother loved it. It was thoughtful and tender, funny, and had attractive people in it. All the things you want from a PG-13 non-action movie. But because of the Bennifer aspect, and the whole Gigli thing, people just didn't want to go watch this movie. It's a shame, really, because Jennifer Lopez is barely even IN the movie. She dies in, like, the first five or ten minutes. Honestly, if that's not enough of a reason to watch, I don't know what is.
(Don't flame me. We watch people die in movies all the time. Might as well work out our feelings about an actor while we're doing so. Besides, I am well aware that it was a sad scene and that Lopez played it well.)
Kevin, let it go. I know it hurts because you spent two years on that movie and nobody seemed to appreciate it. But really, it was good. And you didn't have to worry about Joel Siegel trying to attract attention to himself during the screening. ;)
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
"They say a bullet always tells the truth..."
First person to correctly identify the movie from which today's title comes from gets a gold star.
*****
My oldest, when she gets a runny nose, tells me she has "burgers" in her nose. I wonder if this is what she's been telling my youngest. It would explain why the little one likes to eat her nose pickings.
*****
My husband has discovered a new game for his XBox 360. He and his brother (who still lives with us) joined a clan on XBox Live so that they can play Chrome Hounds with this group of people all the time. They enjoy the game because it's challenging and requires tactical planning, as opposed to pointing and shooting at whoever comes their way.
I hate it. Not only have I not been able to watch my own TV for days without having to fuss about them hijacking it, but Bizarro Dad has been ignoring the children, and J wasted his time with his son this weekend by making the boy watch movies and play computer games while he, J, took turns playing the XBox. Gina has been misbehaving with the express purpose of getting her father to interact with her. ("Do I have to call your Daddy in here?" *smile* "Yes!") I go to do my Cub Scout thing one evening, and when I come back the baby is streaking and there are stickers, food, and trash strewn across the living room floor, and all the while my husband has been sitting in his rolly chair in front of the TV with the wireless headset on (to talk to his clan) and the wireless remote glued to his fingers.
XBox 360: A marvel of 21st century technology and the downfall of my family.
*****
Now that he got a new daytime job, my brother-in-law has sent his dog to live with my mother-in-law. Thank goodness. I found my family heirloom quilt lying on the floor in the dog's enclosure, with poop on it. Not amusing to me in the least.
*****
There have been a lot of highly publicized teenage killings/attempted murders around here lately. Seriously, do these kids have nothing better to do with their summers? What I thought was strange was when I heard someone say, over the weekend, that the way to stop this is to spend time talking to our kids. I would agree, except that these events occurred either at night while parents slept (during the party hours), or in the middle of the day, when parents were at work. You can't prevent violence with a 24 hour filibuster. These are teenagers, not 7-year-olds. You can tell them "this is wrong" all you want, but they will decide for themselves what they want to do with their free time. The key, I think, is giving them something else to do in addition to the sit-down talks. The Boys and Girls Club, or a summer job, or summer school, or camp, or a big project around the house, or SOMETHING. Idle hands are the devil's workshop.
*****
My oldest, when she gets a runny nose, tells me she has "burgers" in her nose. I wonder if this is what she's been telling my youngest. It would explain why the little one likes to eat her nose pickings.
*****
My husband has discovered a new game for his XBox 360. He and his brother (who still lives with us) joined a clan on XBox Live so that they can play Chrome Hounds with this group of people all the time. They enjoy the game because it's challenging and requires tactical planning, as opposed to pointing and shooting at whoever comes their way.
I hate it. Not only have I not been able to watch my own TV for days without having to fuss about them hijacking it, but Bizarro Dad has been ignoring the children, and J wasted his time with his son this weekend by making the boy watch movies and play computer games while he, J, took turns playing the XBox. Gina has been misbehaving with the express purpose of getting her father to interact with her. ("Do I have to call your Daddy in here?" *smile* "Yes!") I go to do my Cub Scout thing one evening, and when I come back the baby is streaking and there are stickers, food, and trash strewn across the living room floor, and all the while my husband has been sitting in his rolly chair in front of the TV with the wireless headset on (to talk to his clan) and the wireless remote glued to his fingers.
XBox 360: A marvel of 21st century technology and the downfall of my family.
*****
Now that he got a new daytime job, my brother-in-law has sent his dog to live with my mother-in-law. Thank goodness. I found my family heirloom quilt lying on the floor in the dog's enclosure, with poop on it. Not amusing to me in the least.
*****
There have been a lot of highly publicized teenage killings/attempted murders around here lately. Seriously, do these kids have nothing better to do with their summers? What I thought was strange was when I heard someone say, over the weekend, that the way to stop this is to spend time talking to our kids. I would agree, except that these events occurred either at night while parents slept (during the party hours), or in the middle of the day, when parents were at work. You can't prevent violence with a 24 hour filibuster. These are teenagers, not 7-year-olds. You can tell them "this is wrong" all you want, but they will decide for themselves what they want to do with their free time. The key, I think, is giving them something else to do in addition to the sit-down talks. The Boys and Girls Club, or a summer job, or summer school, or camp, or a big project around the house, or SOMETHING. Idle hands are the devil's workshop.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Gomer Piles
My brother-in-law's puppy dog keeps leaving piles around the inside of our house.
My father is trying to be patient about this, but he refuses to clean up the mess. I can't say I blame him.
I don't want to be the one getting bitched at over the toilet habits of a dog that isn't even mine.
Dude, get off my husband's XBox and pay attention to your dog.
My father is trying to be patient about this, but he refuses to clean up the mess. I can't say I blame him.
I don't want to be the one getting bitched at over the toilet habits of a dog that isn't even mine.
Dude, get off my husband's XBox and pay attention to your dog.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Old Boyfriend letters
Dear Notorious D.I.C.,
I don't hate you anymore.
I just wish you would apologize, so that I can finally finish forgiving you. It's been many years, we're both married now, and I'd like to think we can talk about this just enough for you to tell me you're sorry. I think I deserve that much, after everything that happened.
Maybe someday you'll say it. I'd rather it be sooner than later, but I guess if you haven't said anything in the last seven or eight years, I can hardly expect it any time in the near future.
Perhaps you think you can't acknowledge what went on between us, because we're both married now. And maybe you'd be right to think that. But honestly, saying, "I'm sorry I was such a dick," hardly constitutes an affair.
Well, whatever. You never were good at that sort of thing.
****************
Dear Monster,
You saw the bruises on that pregnant girl's arms, yet you maintained that staying married to her husband was a good thing. I'm glad she divorced his sniveling ass, though I wish she'd done it much sooner.
My own bruises healed, but my contempt for you has never died.
Idiot.
****************
Dear Ninth Grade Boyfriend,
I was an emotional wreck at the time. There was some serious family drama going down. Whatever animosity I had at the time was not about you.
I'm sorry. You were a good guy. I just wasn't ready for something as real as a serious relationship with you.
I don't hate you anymore.
I just wish you would apologize, so that I can finally finish forgiving you. It's been many years, we're both married now, and I'd like to think we can talk about this just enough for you to tell me you're sorry. I think I deserve that much, after everything that happened.
Maybe someday you'll say it. I'd rather it be sooner than later, but I guess if you haven't said anything in the last seven or eight years, I can hardly expect it any time in the near future.
Perhaps you think you can't acknowledge what went on between us, because we're both married now. And maybe you'd be right to think that. But honestly, saying, "I'm sorry I was such a dick," hardly constitutes an affair.
Well, whatever. You never were good at that sort of thing.
****************
Dear Monster,
You saw the bruises on that pregnant girl's arms, yet you maintained that staying married to her husband was a good thing. I'm glad she divorced his sniveling ass, though I wish she'd done it much sooner.
My own bruises healed, but my contempt for you has never died.
Idiot.
****************
Dear Ninth Grade Boyfriend,
I was an emotional wreck at the time. There was some serious family drama going down. Whatever animosity I had at the time was not about you.
I'm sorry. You were a good guy. I just wasn't ready for something as real as a serious relationship with you.
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