"Back down on the beach, the breezes were picking up. Sniffing the air, Jeff could somehow tell a storm was brewing off coast. He crouched inthe sand, resting one arm loosely on his knee. A bright, smooth stone had caught his eye, glittering in that strange metallic sunlight that happens right before a storm. His hair whipped about as the wind rushed through, moving the waters and beach grasses. His jacket, snapping about his arms, was plastered to his chest and his nose was turning rosy in the cooling temperature.
Back at the house, the white wooden columns holding up the veranda stood out like beacons on the deep browns and greens of the beach. Back up there on the dune, Miri was, or at least, should be making dinner. He imagined a mussel soup with ginger and white wine broth, perhaps. The imagined aroma made Jeff rise up from his crouching position, smooth stone clasped unconsciously in his hand. He turned from the ocean towards the house, trying to see into the dark, dead eyes of the windows.
Noticing the little azalea bush being pushed back and forth, the small read flowers the only specks of color in the diachrome world; Jeff's eyes slid the parking circle. Something was missing from his vision. Realizing with a shock that made him unclasp the stone, Jeff saw that his wife's car was not parked at the house or anywhere near it. Had it been there when he had looked up at the house a while ago? He couldn't remember and his brows furrowed as he concentrated. Staring at the windows and the wild azalea bush, he noticed a seagull flopping dangerously in the air currents above. Realizing himself, he bent to brush the sand from his knee and picked up the dropped stone. Where had she gone? He didn't even see the ground slide beneath him as he made his way up the wooden stairs leading to the house. Perhaps she'd left a note of some kind. After all, there was not really any place she could have gone that would be close by. Their nearest neighbors were about 5 miles away and the town was about 45 minutes by car. He trudged up the gravel path to the side door, letting it squeak open as he entered the house. It felt lifeless and close inside.
There had been no note on the door, but perhaps the front door of the fridge? Jeff passed through the family room to the glass front door. Even though he could see both sides, he wanted to make sure and cracked the door to run his hand along the wooden frame. No note there, either. He frowned, playing with the stone in his pocket, flipping it through his fingers. He turned from the door and shuffled through the eating room to their wide, white kitchen. None of the lights were on in the house and it was getting darker fast with the approaching storm. No notes on the fridge as well. Where had she gone and not left a note? Had she said something to him that he had just forgotten? He started to get worried now, pinching the stone ever harder between his fingers in his pocket as his frown became deeper. He stepped over to the big calendar on the side wall facing the bathroom. No, nothing written down. He checked the phone messages. There was only some message from the tailor's shop in town saying something about the alterations on his suit pants. Now angry, Jeff shoved his finger into the "Erase Messages" button. She hadn't said a word! Jeff could feel his ears burning and knew his face was red. She hadn't made dinner! He looked into the refrigerator and saw the same old set up; no prepared meals, only condiments and raw ingredients. He slammed the refrigerator door.
"Where the f--- did she go?!" He yelled out in frustration as he pounded his fist onto the kitchen island counter top. Huffily, Jeff marched to the hall closet, ripped off his jacket and threw it inside. He now went on a search through the house to find any clues to Miri's disappearance. Nothing! Nothing seemed out of place which would lead him to any conclusions.
He went into the bedroom and searched quickly over the drawers and bureau surfaces. Stopping to look out at the dark sky and first splatters of rain against the glass pane, and out of the corner of his eye, Jeff saw a small, white piece of paper, half-tucked into his side of the bed."
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
the wide, wide world
I was released into the wild yesterday!
I packed up my bag with essentials like Energy Vitamin Water, real water, laptop, one moleskin sketchbook, one moleskin journal...and the small pocket full of pens, erasers, pencils, pencil sharpeners...and aspirin. I always keep aspirin with me...but literally...in case I should feel the onset of a heart attack...I'm serious. Moving on!
Anyway! I packed all this up in order to leave M and give her some needed time to herself (it was a Christmas present, she loves it!). I hiked on up to the Anthropology Museum (which is free) and just breezed on in.
Since becoming a housey-wife, I realize my social skills with strangers has gone pretty much nonexistent. But that's ok...until I am running around in public with strangers, I guess. So I breeze on in to this museum and I am all intent on my task I have presented myself of trying to look at and read about EVERY little thing in the place. The two college girls manning the gift shop desk are all, "Hi there! How are you?" and I had to actually back up and go back into the gift shop to reply (in what I am sure sounded a very Aspbergerish way), "I am well thank you, how are you?" All shifty-eyed and sweating from my two-mile hike and looking supremely uncomfortable in the presence of two well-groomed youngsters. "Good, good," They answered me. I nod curtly, adjust my cadet hat and turn swiftly into the room with the exhibition to get to my task. I am a weirdo. I know it. I try to avoid the conversation and looking at other people when I am by myself in public. Maybe it is some sort of lizard-like response, some self-preservation thing. Maybe it is me trying to let people know that I am invisible, please allow me to do whatever I want without noticing me. Actually, I think this generally works out, as I almost always get away with saying and doing whatever I want in public...or maybe people just look over at this large girl doing weird-ass things and just smile to themselves and post blogs about it...ha.
Right. So, I settle in, and make a viewing bench my office area, neatly draping my jacket vest over it, laying my hat on top and placing my backpack beneath. I take out my little sketching moleskin and get to work at the sketching! Hurray! I don't remember the last time I have done that for reals. Very exciting. I love sketching art and such at museums, the subjects never move and they are always exactly the same when you come back months later, so you can finish up a drawing or get a new angle. Yes, thrilling, I know. I felt all accomplished about actually just doing that.
Really though, I feel like the creative side of my brain has melted away in the last few years (maybe more, I like to try and think the best of my brain) and I sit down to doodle or something and the same boring things pop up in my drawings. My brain is so lazy! Like, come up with something new, and dazzling! hm, oh well.
I got a couple good drawings in, my neck started cramping (lordy lord, I am getting old, yo), and I decided that I had spent an appropiate amount of time being all artsy and getting back in touch with that right side of my brain again. I packed up my stuff and sort of meandered around, trying to read everything about everything and learning some weird stuff of phalli attachments for ancient Greek busts and crocodile cults in Egypt and how confusing it is that Sekhmet is a lion-headed goddess in ancient Egypt who deals in war and destruction, but also in healing...and Bastet is a cat-headed goddess (or sometimes just a cat) who is basically the goddess of pleasure. Two feline-headed goddesses! Does this constitute a "glaring" of goddesses? please please please.
Cattle aside (my own term for multiple cats...yes, I am that cool), I got my stuff together and quickly examined the contents of the gift shop, deftly avoiding the bored and questioning eyes of the gift shop girls (they should start a band with that name!). I went out with them calling after me "Bye bye, now!" I think they were actually trying to be friendly, but I gotta say, probably not. I was listening to their conversation while I was sketching an African mask for a women's cult of womanhood (I mean, what else would a "women's cult" be about?) and I was not encouraged to become besties here. "OMG, did he invite you to that party?!" "No, he totally didn't and ___ told me about it and I was all, 'OMG, you didn't invite me to your party' and he was all texting me and stuff and I was like, 'WTF?' you know?" "Oh, I totally know. What an asshole," "totally" "So, what are you doing later?" "Going to this party that ____ told me about" "Oh! that party? yeah, I might stop by. I have to finish this paper (audible eye roll). Oh! did you hear about ____?" (giggling and whispering ensue). Yup. wow. good times. I suppose they are just volunteers, so who cares?
So, I head back out into the PUBLIC (oh, didn't I mention the obligatory Jews for Jesus hawker on the corner? Ahhhhh, universities) and keep my head down and walk on back to hang out in the tea shop to check my email, and get some more written in my DAMN travel journal. I had three goals for the day: 1). go to Anthropology Museum, 2). sketch random art in museum and 3). write more in my DAMN travel journal about our trip to Israel and London.
I get myself a pot of tea and a cinnamon bun (cinnamon buns are necessary to a happy tea shop experience, I think) and set myself up to do what I came there for. I delayed for a while though, playing computer games, answering emails, reading the news...the usual...all the while listening the group of women in the corner have a very loud and boisterous conversation about having sex with (what I assume were) their husbands and male significant others. They interspersed this conversation (there must have been at least 4 of them) with cute little anecdotes of their kids. Maybe it was some mommy group or something. I was really tempted, a few times, to turn around and tell them that if they wanted their husbands to start doing that to them, like they had seen in some movie, that they should probably entice him by taking a bacon bath or maybe shaving football field patterns into their "personal area." Whatever, their conversation was amusing at least, and made me happy I don't have to deal with husbands or male significant others and that I hadn't just seen something like that in some movie either. Yay! girls!
Finally, I cracked open the DAMN travel journal and hunkered down to get some more unnecessarily detailed description of our travels logged away in those pages. As I was doing this, a petite, stressed-out, yoga-taking looking woman blew into the tea shop and set up her space right behind me. She needed some power for her laptop and there was a power strip right under my feet, so I told her she could just use that instead of resituating herself. So, hm...usually I am the socially retarded one who says things that are just slightly off and strange (but endearing, right?). This lady though, beat me to the punch. She gets all flustered about the power cord being under my table and starts going on about how she is just going to nip in there and plug in her stuff and oops! She's definitely not making a pass at me, don't worry! She's not trying to feel me up or anything, don't worry! (I was not worried). And she mumbled something about how she would, of course, make a pass at me but for the sorry fact that she was unfortunately heterosexual (she actually said, "I am, unfortunately, heterosexual.") And I tried not to let my extreme amusement at her social weirdness show too much on my face, managing to mumble back something like, "s'ok, s'ok" Like, I am forgiving her, her heterosexuality. I wanted to think of a witty retort, and I can usually come up with something, but everything that flashed through my mind was particularly uncouth or mocking, so I decided to just shut up and enjoy the awkwardness of my interaction with 'other human being'....I managed to get up to stepping into the water of the Dead Sea...day 3 of our Israel trip, and already about 20 pages into the journal....too much detail! But now that I have started, I must continue the slog...must...continue...slog.
Later, when yoga-lady realized frantically, that power wasn't getting to her laptop at all and oh dear! what's wrong, oh dear! She checks every cord and frets and starts getting physically frantic and I decide to jump in here and solve the problem for her before she starts burrowing under my feet and apologizing for enjoying the company of men again. I replug her computer into the actual power strip instead of the aux outlet. She lauds me and calls my praise, loudly claiming I am magic or a genius (I am neither) and I sort of shush her letting her know that she just plugged it in wrong. I look at the clock and pack up my things, heading out the door and I hear her sort of mumbling and saying she hoped she didn't scare me away, titter titter. And I pretty much mumble back, "pat, pat no you didn't, of course, I must be somewhere, bye now! good luck with that power cord!" and then shake my head at my parting remark as I make my way back home to M. "Good luck with that power cord!" right, cause that's what a genius would say...yup.
Sekhmet has a male lion's mane...this is confusing....Sekhmet is female. Maybe it was just a headdressing....or a wig, I mean, she IS ancient Egyptian. Ok, I can deal with that. It is not a male lion mane, it is a lion mane wig. Sort of like the statues of Hatshepsut (no depictions of her at the museum, alas) and she is depicted sporting the little King Tut beard, like the rest of the pharaohs...but it was a wig beard. I wonder what a wig beard for the face is called (not a merkin, obviously)?
Bastet was probably the goddess of pleasure cause kitties like to purr...and make biscuits...and chirp at birds...right? right?! Biscuits!
I packed up my bag with essentials like Energy Vitamin Water, real water, laptop, one moleskin sketchbook, one moleskin journal...and the small pocket full of pens, erasers, pencils, pencil sharpeners...and aspirin. I always keep aspirin with me...but literally...in case I should feel the onset of a heart attack...I'm serious. Moving on!
Anyway! I packed all this up in order to leave M and give her some needed time to herself (it was a Christmas present, she loves it!). I hiked on up to the Anthropology Museum (which is free) and just breezed on in.
Since becoming a housey-wife, I realize my social skills with strangers has gone pretty much nonexistent. But that's ok...until I am running around in public with strangers, I guess. So I breeze on in to this museum and I am all intent on my task I have presented myself of trying to look at and read about EVERY little thing in the place. The two college girls manning the gift shop desk are all, "Hi there! How are you?" and I had to actually back up and go back into the gift shop to reply (in what I am sure sounded a very Aspbergerish way), "I am well thank you, how are you?" All shifty-eyed and sweating from my two-mile hike and looking supremely uncomfortable in the presence of two well-groomed youngsters. "Good, good," They answered me. I nod curtly, adjust my cadet hat and turn swiftly into the room with the exhibition to get to my task. I am a weirdo. I know it. I try to avoid the conversation and looking at other people when I am by myself in public. Maybe it is some sort of lizard-like response, some self-preservation thing. Maybe it is me trying to let people know that I am invisible, please allow me to do whatever I want without noticing me. Actually, I think this generally works out, as I almost always get away with saying and doing whatever I want in public...or maybe people just look over at this large girl doing weird-ass things and just smile to themselves and post blogs about it...ha.
Right. So, I settle in, and make a viewing bench my office area, neatly draping my jacket vest over it, laying my hat on top and placing my backpack beneath. I take out my little sketching moleskin and get to work at the sketching! Hurray! I don't remember the last time I have done that for reals. Very exciting. I love sketching art and such at museums, the subjects never move and they are always exactly the same when you come back months later, so you can finish up a drawing or get a new angle. Yes, thrilling, I know. I felt all accomplished about actually just doing that.
Really though, I feel like the creative side of my brain has melted away in the last few years (maybe more, I like to try and think the best of my brain) and I sit down to doodle or something and the same boring things pop up in my drawings. My brain is so lazy! Like, come up with something new, and dazzling! hm, oh well.
I got a couple good drawings in, my neck started cramping (lordy lord, I am getting old, yo), and I decided that I had spent an appropiate amount of time being all artsy and getting back in touch with that right side of my brain again. I packed up my stuff and sort of meandered around, trying to read everything about everything and learning some weird stuff of phalli attachments for ancient Greek busts and crocodile cults in Egypt and how confusing it is that Sekhmet is a lion-headed goddess in ancient Egypt who deals in war and destruction, but also in healing...and Bastet is a cat-headed goddess (or sometimes just a cat) who is basically the goddess of pleasure. Two feline-headed goddesses! Does this constitute a "glaring" of goddesses? please please please.
Cattle aside (my own term for multiple cats...yes, I am that cool), I got my stuff together and quickly examined the contents of the gift shop, deftly avoiding the bored and questioning eyes of the gift shop girls (they should start a band with that name!). I went out with them calling after me "Bye bye, now!" I think they were actually trying to be friendly, but I gotta say, probably not. I was listening to their conversation while I was sketching an African mask for a women's cult of womanhood (I mean, what else would a "women's cult" be about?) and I was not encouraged to become besties here. "OMG, did he invite you to that party?!" "No, he totally didn't and ___ told me about it and I was all, 'OMG, you didn't invite me to your party' and he was all texting me and stuff and I was like, 'WTF?' you know?" "Oh, I totally know. What an asshole," "totally" "So, what are you doing later?" "Going to this party that ____ told me about" "Oh! that party? yeah, I might stop by. I have to finish this paper (audible eye roll). Oh! did you hear about ____?" (giggling and whispering ensue). Yup. wow. good times. I suppose they are just volunteers, so who cares?
So, I head back out into the PUBLIC (oh, didn't I mention the obligatory Jews for Jesus hawker on the corner? Ahhhhh, universities) and keep my head down and walk on back to hang out in the tea shop to check my email, and get some more written in my DAMN travel journal. I had three goals for the day: 1). go to Anthropology Museum, 2). sketch random art in museum and 3). write more in my DAMN travel journal about our trip to Israel and London.
I get myself a pot of tea and a cinnamon bun (cinnamon buns are necessary to a happy tea shop experience, I think) and set myself up to do what I came there for. I delayed for a while though, playing computer games, answering emails, reading the news...the usual...all the while listening the group of women in the corner have a very loud and boisterous conversation about having sex with (what I assume were) their husbands and male significant others. They interspersed this conversation (there must have been at least 4 of them) with cute little anecdotes of their kids. Maybe it was some mommy group or something. I was really tempted, a few times, to turn around and tell them that if they wanted their husbands to start doing that to them, like they had seen in some movie, that they should probably entice him by taking a bacon bath or maybe shaving football field patterns into their "personal area." Whatever, their conversation was amusing at least, and made me happy I don't have to deal with husbands or male significant others and that I hadn't just seen something like that in some movie either. Yay! girls!
Finally, I cracked open the DAMN travel journal and hunkered down to get some more unnecessarily detailed description of our travels logged away in those pages. As I was doing this, a petite, stressed-out, yoga-taking looking woman blew into the tea shop and set up her space right behind me. She needed some power for her laptop and there was a power strip right under my feet, so I told her she could just use that instead of resituating herself. So, hm...usually I am the socially retarded one who says things that are just slightly off and strange (but endearing, right?). This lady though, beat me to the punch. She gets all flustered about the power cord being under my table and starts going on about how she is just going to nip in there and plug in her stuff and oops! She's definitely not making a pass at me, don't worry! She's not trying to feel me up or anything, don't worry! (I was not worried). And she mumbled something about how she would, of course, make a pass at me but for the sorry fact that she was unfortunately heterosexual (she actually said, "I am, unfortunately, heterosexual.") And I tried not to let my extreme amusement at her social weirdness show too much on my face, managing to mumble back something like, "s'ok, s'ok" Like, I am forgiving her, her heterosexuality. I wanted to think of a witty retort, and I can usually come up with something, but everything that flashed through my mind was particularly uncouth or mocking, so I decided to just shut up and enjoy the awkwardness of my interaction with 'other human being'....I managed to get up to stepping into the water of the Dead Sea...day 3 of our Israel trip, and already about 20 pages into the journal....too much detail! But now that I have started, I must continue the slog...must...continue...slog.
Later, when yoga-lady realized frantically, that power wasn't getting to her laptop at all and oh dear! what's wrong, oh dear! She checks every cord and frets and starts getting physically frantic and I decide to jump in here and solve the problem for her before she starts burrowing under my feet and apologizing for enjoying the company of men again. I replug her computer into the actual power strip instead of the aux outlet. She lauds me and calls my praise, loudly claiming I am magic or a genius (I am neither) and I sort of shush her letting her know that she just plugged it in wrong. I look at the clock and pack up my things, heading out the door and I hear her sort of mumbling and saying she hoped she didn't scare me away, titter titter. And I pretty much mumble back, "pat, pat no you didn't, of course, I must be somewhere, bye now! good luck with that power cord!" and then shake my head at my parting remark as I make my way back home to M. "Good luck with that power cord!" right, cause that's what a genius would say...yup.
Sekhmet has a male lion's mane...this is confusing....Sekhmet is female. Maybe it was just a headdressing....or a wig, I mean, she IS ancient Egyptian. Ok, I can deal with that. It is not a male lion mane, it is a lion mane wig. Sort of like the statues of Hatshepsut (no depictions of her at the museum, alas) and she is depicted sporting the little King Tut beard, like the rest of the pharaohs...but it was a wig beard. I wonder what a wig beard for the face is called (not a merkin, obviously)?
Bastet was probably the goddess of pleasure cause kitties like to purr...and make biscuits...and chirp at birds...right? right?! Biscuits!
Thursday, January 20, 2011
hobbies
Besides liking to talk about myself, my family and my views on everything, I also really like to watch movies and read. Yay! not very interesting sounding, I know, but the volume of material I read and watch is...well...probably not good for me in some way.
I was trying to count it up and figured I probably spend about 1/3 to 1/2 my waking time reading and about 1/2 of that time watching something. Perhaps I am media junkie. Only, I have found that radio has totally been squeaked out of the equation. Growing up, it was all radio and TV and maybe the paper after school. Now it is CNN online, SFGate online, NYTimes, NPR online; not to mention the blogs and social sites I read through every day. Added to that, I watch perhaps 1-2 movies a day and 1-2 TV shows a day. I also then read the physical NYTimes Sunday paper and this usually takes me a couple days, reading a section here and there, in between all the other information I am consuming. And then! on top of that, I will read about an hour before going to sleep at night from whatever book I am on, or Kindle story/book is next in my queue.
Most of the time, I realize, I don't have anyone to really share with in the funny/disturbing/poignant/stupid ideas I glean from all this information. I have M, to be sure. I am like my Aunt or Mom, sending her the highlights from the articles and posts I read during the day and night, if I think she would also be interested/amused in them. But there are others that I know she just wouldn't care about and would just give me a "yes yes, there there" look and go back to looking at food blogs. Also! The extreme variety of movies I watch, she is not into. She is much more inclined to watch romcoms, silly comedies, and movies about food. I am inclined to watch EVERYTHING!
I am pretty sure Netflix is having a hard time keeping up with my interests (or lack of coherent interests). I think the only stable choices they have going for me right now are "dark, visually stimulating, foreign dramas" and "lesbian." But I will go for anything, really. I watch both DVDs and streaming. I think the only thing I am not that into is anime/manga and even there, I will sometimes watch a movie or a show. There is something about the gigantic, wiggling eyes that freak me out about this genre.
Today, for example: I watched a movie called "Monique" about a French woman that comes to live with a boring English couple to take care of their kids. The movie was made and set in 1969, and it gets pretty obvious, pretty fast that they are all swingers that just need a nudge out of their non-swinger shells to enjoy the happiness that is polyamoury. Everything works out swell for everyone involved and that is actually pretty refreshing, considering how this movie probably would have gone if made in 2010 vs. 1969. I suppose they were all a bit more optimistic about that whole "free love" thing then. Anyway, I think the take-away from this film was that bringing in a hot nanny who likes men and women to live in your home will save your marriage and turn your frigid housewife into a raging nympho. Hurray for the 60's! Wait, but there is one scene where the French woman (Monique, obviously) is unpinning her hair and hubby is watching her. It takes forever! It was fascinating watching how many pins and extensions this woman unclipped from her scalp. No bump-its involved. weird.
Anyway, and now I am watching a Spanish movie about some kid who is turning into a vampire made in 2008. It is done in an appealing foreign way to how this movie would be done in America. There's no rock-star status given to the vampire kid and there is definitely a Grimm's fairy tale sort of vibe going on with "something dangerous is eating sheep in the woods, don't go in the forest!"(why are sheep in the forest, anyway? Don't these people have fences?). This one's called "Shiver" and so far very enjoyable. Also on my mantle, waiting to be watched on DVD are "Mary Poppins," and "Darby O'Gill and the Little People." Not exactly "Monique" there, but I suppose that Netflix must have suggested (confusedly) "Mary Poppins" seeing as how I was enthusiastically clicking on "Monique." Similar stories, you know...a nanny comes to help out a married couple's life with the kids and makes everyone happy? Maybe I should pay really close attention to see any strange juxtapositions between the two movies. Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Banks are swingers and I just didn't see the signs before. hmmmm.
I was trying to count it up and figured I probably spend about 1/3 to 1/2 my waking time reading and about 1/2 of that time watching something. Perhaps I am media junkie. Only, I have found that radio has totally been squeaked out of the equation. Growing up, it was all radio and TV and maybe the paper after school. Now it is CNN online, SFGate online, NYTimes, NPR online; not to mention the blogs and social sites I read through every day. Added to that, I watch perhaps 1-2 movies a day and 1-2 TV shows a day. I also then read the physical NYTimes Sunday paper and this usually takes me a couple days, reading a section here and there, in between all the other information I am consuming. And then! on top of that, I will read about an hour before going to sleep at night from whatever book I am on, or Kindle story/book is next in my queue.
Most of the time, I realize, I don't have anyone to really share with in the funny/disturbing/poignant/stupid ideas I glean from all this information. I have M, to be sure. I am like my Aunt or Mom, sending her the highlights from the articles and posts I read during the day and night, if I think she would also be interested/amused in them. But there are others that I know she just wouldn't care about and would just give me a "yes yes, there there" look and go back to looking at food blogs. Also! The extreme variety of movies I watch, she is not into. She is much more inclined to watch romcoms, silly comedies, and movies about food. I am inclined to watch EVERYTHING!
I am pretty sure Netflix is having a hard time keeping up with my interests (or lack of coherent interests). I think the only stable choices they have going for me right now are "dark, visually stimulating, foreign dramas" and "lesbian." But I will go for anything, really. I watch both DVDs and streaming. I think the only thing I am not that into is anime/manga and even there, I will sometimes watch a movie or a show. There is something about the gigantic, wiggling eyes that freak me out about this genre.
Today, for example: I watched a movie called "Monique" about a French woman that comes to live with a boring English couple to take care of their kids. The movie was made and set in 1969, and it gets pretty obvious, pretty fast that they are all swingers that just need a nudge out of their non-swinger shells to enjoy the happiness that is polyamoury. Everything works out swell for everyone involved and that is actually pretty refreshing, considering how this movie probably would have gone if made in 2010 vs. 1969. I suppose they were all a bit more optimistic about that whole "free love" thing then. Anyway, I think the take-away from this film was that bringing in a hot nanny who likes men and women to live in your home will save your marriage and turn your frigid housewife into a raging nympho. Hurray for the 60's! Wait, but there is one scene where the French woman (Monique, obviously) is unpinning her hair and hubby is watching her. It takes forever! It was fascinating watching how many pins and extensions this woman unclipped from her scalp. No bump-its involved. weird.
Anyway, and now I am watching a Spanish movie about some kid who is turning into a vampire made in 2008. It is done in an appealing foreign way to how this movie would be done in America. There's no rock-star status given to the vampire kid and there is definitely a Grimm's fairy tale sort of vibe going on with "something dangerous is eating sheep in the woods, don't go in the forest!"(why are sheep in the forest, anyway? Don't these people have fences?). This one's called "Shiver" and so far very enjoyable. Also on my mantle, waiting to be watched on DVD are "Mary Poppins," and "Darby O'Gill and the Little People." Not exactly "Monique" there, but I suppose that Netflix must have suggested (confusedly) "Mary Poppins" seeing as how I was enthusiastically clicking on "Monique." Similar stories, you know...a nanny comes to help out a married couple's life with the kids and makes everyone happy? Maybe I should pay really close attention to see any strange juxtapositions between the two movies. Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Banks are swingers and I just didn't see the signs before. hmmmm.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Oh yesteryear
I have been reading through my highschool and college writing journals. My highschool journals seem to be mostly about how much I hated high school and that I was really ready to be done with that place. My college journal, I suppose, I put more work and time into. (can't end a sentence with "into," oh well).
I will post here my first entry in my recently found, moldy and beaten up college writing journal:
"I heard about government funded witch hunts in Iryan Jaya and at the time, thought that they would be good fodder for stories. But after a few weeks, the idea just died and didn't resurface. They may not be as interesting as I first thought. Or maybe I am just too lazy to think about it and write up a story. Also, I don't know anything about Iryan Jaya; even if this is the right way to spell the country's name. The picture of the man in the New York Times article looked rather upset and full of himself. I don't know if I could get past that angry smug fellow to write a story about the whole thing. I wouldn't be able to get past it. The caption for the picture named the guy as the local witch finder and torturer. He was quoted as being one of the main people responsible for the deaths of something like 100 witches. The government, in the form of police groups, help out these witch hunters because they say that the accused witches are troublemakers.
They rip them apart, as I remember. They rip the witches apart because if the witch is in pieces, his or her evil can not work anymore. There was a story of a group of people running into an old woman's hut. She was a healer but everyone she came to heal, died. The people said she was a malicious old woman harboring evil spirits. In a classic movie scene, the village people gathered and rioted around this woman's home and ripped her apart by hand while she still screamed for life.
I imagine a dark, moonless night and palm leaves brushing my skin as an observer. The villagers are lit up by the torches they carry, yelling with twisted faces, running down the path towards a dilapidated little hovel. The air is thick and hot. Flying insects, stinging ones at that, are constant in the night air. While running down the path, villagers unconsciously swat at mosquitoes and stinging flies while at the same time, avoiding the vegetation growing on the side. Who knows what lives in the grass or what will jump out? If these people are so afraid of witches and evil forces, they are definitely frightened of unseen dangers.
These people yell and mutilate out of fear; government supported fear. That has to be one of the strangest parts to me. I think the reason that witch hunter looks so full of himself is because, even though he's instigated riots and hundreds of murders, his government finds him in the right. He stands with crossed arms and the slightest smile with angry brows. He would be a great character in a story...if only I could get past the fact that he is real and the things he has done are real as well."
I will post here my first entry in my recently found, moldy and beaten up college writing journal:
"I heard about government funded witch hunts in Iryan Jaya and at the time, thought that they would be good fodder for stories. But after a few weeks, the idea just died and didn't resurface. They may not be as interesting as I first thought. Or maybe I am just too lazy to think about it and write up a story. Also, I don't know anything about Iryan Jaya; even if this is the right way to spell the country's name. The picture of the man in the New York Times article looked rather upset and full of himself. I don't know if I could get past that angry smug fellow to write a story about the whole thing. I wouldn't be able to get past it. The caption for the picture named the guy as the local witch finder and torturer. He was quoted as being one of the main people responsible for the deaths of something like 100 witches. The government, in the form of police groups, help out these witch hunters because they say that the accused witches are troublemakers.
They rip them apart, as I remember. They rip the witches apart because if the witch is in pieces, his or her evil can not work anymore. There was a story of a group of people running into an old woman's hut. She was a healer but everyone she came to heal, died. The people said she was a malicious old woman harboring evil spirits. In a classic movie scene, the village people gathered and rioted around this woman's home and ripped her apart by hand while she still screamed for life.
I imagine a dark, moonless night and palm leaves brushing my skin as an observer. The villagers are lit up by the torches they carry, yelling with twisted faces, running down the path towards a dilapidated little hovel. The air is thick and hot. Flying insects, stinging ones at that, are constant in the night air. While running down the path, villagers unconsciously swat at mosquitoes and stinging flies while at the same time, avoiding the vegetation growing on the side. Who knows what lives in the grass or what will jump out? If these people are so afraid of witches and evil forces, they are definitely frightened of unseen dangers.
These people yell and mutilate out of fear; government supported fear. That has to be one of the strangest parts to me. I think the reason that witch hunter looks so full of himself is because, even though he's instigated riots and hundreds of murders, his government finds him in the right. He stands with crossed arms and the slightest smile with angry brows. He would be a great character in a story...if only I could get past the fact that he is real and the things he has done are real as well."
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