What are the stories we tell ourselves?  Stories like, ‘i’m so fat,’ or, ‘i’m too skinny,’ or, ‘the best years of my life are already gone,’ or ‘being a mother is the most important part of my life,’ or ‘i never have enough money,’ or, ‘i can’t do things around the house,’ or, ‘i’m such a bad/stupid/lazy/evil/angry/hurtful person.”  The list goes on.  Can you add some?  Maybe they are stories about the possessions you have.  You car?  Do you think it says something about you, who you are and do you agree with it, or are you fighting against it?  The place you live?  As a renter, or a home owner, or a guest… do you tell yourselves stories about that, is it part of the image of Who You Are?  Your wealth or poverty?  What are the secret stories that repeat over and over and over again in your head like so many broken records from years ago, or recent events?  What are the public stories about who you are, or who you purport to be – a deviant and proud of it?  Are you attempting to send a giant fuck-you to the world you think will reject who you really are?

But we get ahead of ourselves.

What do you hold dear?  What are the stories that you tell yourself?  What are the threads that weave into the tapestry that is The Image You Project To The World?  Maybe this is a way of thinking you’ve never tried on before.  Maybe your saying to yourself, ‘what stories?  what image?  what do you mean, ‘hold dear’?’  Maybe you’ve never twisted your mind to think this way, but I say to you now: Try.

(more…)

I read the review in the Buffalo News today, and it pointed out that HP&HBP was an excellent film but an awful rendition of the book.  I paraphrase, but that was the gist.  I have to admit that at that point I felt pretty good about the fact that I’d completely neglected to reread the sixth HP, as I might have, had I been in my right mind for the last six months.  Er, nine months.  Oh, let’s just give it a whole damn year.  Yes, let’s.  More on that later.  Perhaps.

I have to say, I was pleasantly astounded by the director’s use of silence.  It was a ballsy move, I think, but it was pervasive – not just with the actors speech, but also in their movement, in the photography (trust me, there was a sense of silence there, too – a spareness) as well as in the actual soundtrack – long spaces of silence.  No words.  No movement.  No music.  No sound effects.

.

.

.

Silence.

.

It was stunning.  I have to say, it added to the young actor’s performances.  I say this, but with the exception of Tom Felton, who did not need the silence to shine – his was just a stellar performance.

I like to think I added something to the showing of the film, however.  In the dead silence of the theatre this evening, just when everyone who is anyone knows that the Inferi is about to grab Harry, the Inferi did in fact grab Harry.  And I screamed.

No, that doesn’t do it justice.  In the middle of a deadly silent theatre, whilst watching a moment of near silence in the movie, I – quite involuntarily, mind you – unleashed the most ear-piercing, blood-curdling shriek.  People screamed in fright in response to my shriek.  And then people laughed.  I laughed, too, but it was a priceless moment, if I do say so myself.  I can out=shriek any horror film starlet, so long as I am genuinely… startled.  I have a very, very high startle response.

I was glad that I did not read the book.  As it was, there were only twinges of ‘hmm, I don’t seem to recall it happening quite like this’ as opposed to the feelings of outrage and betrayal that I’ve had in other screenings of previous HPs, where I’d found myself walking out of the theatre making excuses for why it didn’t suck as horribly as it seemed to.  I had to make no excuses.  This DVD I will happily add to my library not because it is part of a series, or because it is reference, but purely on its own merit.

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith

This book wins the ‘I wish I’d written it first’ award.  Hands down.  

Now aside from the initial twinges of jealousy that none of my fandoms are in the public domain, and so none of my fanfiction is thus publishable for any sort of critical review or monetary reimbursement, it is incredibly gratifying to see just how much Austen-fic is scattered about in Barnes & Noble, available in trade paperback for $12.95.  I was gratified as well to find a reading group question guide at the end of this piece of NPR reviewed crackfic.  I must share two questions with you.

7. Does Mrs. Bennet have a single redeeming quality?

10. Some scholars believe that the zombies were a last-minute addition to the novel, requested by the publisher in a shameless attempt to boost sales.  Others argue that the hordes of living dead are integral to Jane Austen’s plot and social commentary.  What do you think?  Can you imagine what this novel might be like without the violent zombie mayhem?

Violent zombie mayhem, indeed.  There is plenty of it, but thankfully our heroine Lizzy is not without her bootknife but once, and even so I lost count of how many zombies she dispatched in the sacred tradition of the Shaolin monks, with whom she spent the better part of three years training in the Orient.  Better than the bootknife is her Katana, but not nearly so ladylike, and so she occasionally makes due.

Very little of the substance of the plot was changed, save the background noise of a 55-year infestation of zombies that rivals the nightmares of Michael Jackson’s Thriller video without the redeeming quality of dancing and dazzlingly dressed versions of the same.  Materially, three things only were changed.  First, the regiment was not quartered in Meryton to defend Hartfordshire from the French; they were there to aid the five Bennet sisters (sworn to the King to defend Hartfordshire until death, dismemberment, or marriage take them).  Second, Mr. & Mrs. Collins both end up dying tragic but not unforeseen deaths due to complications of said infestation of unmentionables.  Third, Darcy gets to beat the ever-living crap out of Wickham, though sadly off-page.

All three changes were surprisingly satisfying.

I do love a good AU.  It never dawned on me to ask myself, ‘I wonder what it would have been like if there had been zombies in Regency England,’ but I’ll be asking that question from now on.  (I’ll grant you, I’m more likely ask it of vampires, but that is just because they’ve always had a soft spot in my heart, from Bela Lugosi right on through to Robert Pattinson, with Lestat, Louis, Jean-Claude, Angel, Spike, Bill and Eric in between.)  Ah, magical realism.  How I adore thee.

Hm.  I just looked as saw that two and a half months ago I vowed to go back to the gym.  Making it a vow didn’t help actually getting my butt there, I’d just like to point out.  Still, I have every hope that tomorrow morning 6:15AM will find my somewhat groggy self on an elliptical machine, blissed out to the enhanced Twilight soundtrack (we all know Katy Perry’s Hot n Cold as well as Radiohead’s 15 Steps should have been on there, timing of the Hillywood parody notwithstanding).

Also I noticed that vowing to do the daily office every morning didn’t make it any more likely that I would, in fact, read much less blog about it.  (On the work blog.)  But you know, all things considered, exercise, writing, bible study and silent meditation are my absolute favorite things to do in the morning (okay, add to that list drinking coffee and then it will be perfectly true and honest), and the only reasons I don’t do them are, when we boil it all down, because I’m a lazy ass mother accountable only to herself, which clearly isn’t helping.  I’ve said before that I’m a morning person when I remember to be.  It’s true.  I really should get up at 5:15am while the light still lasts, because God does know I hate getting up that early when it’s dark till 7:15am.  The joys of living up north…  Deliciously long summer days.

So, 5:15, here I come.  At any rate, good intentions or no, I have an 8am vet appointment for the stray cat, Miss Sookie Stackhouse.

Which reminds me, I need to do some recently read book reviews on here.  I’m almost done with Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.

So I’m in that place I sometimes go to of frantic worry, except it’s much calmer than usual. I suppose that is progress. You see, the laptop has died. It died sometime yesterday shortly before I had a migraine. Now is it just playing dead? Have I lost all my data? I have no idea. I have taken it to the mac hospital and I am awaiting my appointment.

Now, if I had been backing up faithfully i might not be feeling the pit of anxiety that has taken up residence in my chest.

I need that sucker for work. But that is not where theanxiety comes from.

Reading fic? Nope, that’s not it either. I can do that from my iPod, however much I can’t leave reviews on some of the archives from it. That’s not where the anxiety comes from either.

It’s the stories I’ve written, of course, only a fraction of which are on the web in some form or other. The fact that I find writing by hand a quaint and amusing exercise that is tedious in long stretches.

So, now I shall endeavor to take some deep breaths and relax. Worse comes to worse I replace my laptop and programs, get most of my recent drafts from my betas and coauthors, and as for the rest? Perhaps it is simply good for me to embrace the impemanence of all things, for everything else is an illusion.

Also, I will back up more often. Or really, at all.

Thank you, yes, I do feel better now. On to my reading.

You know, I just twittered about this, but 140 characters just wasn’t enough to convey my sentiment.  Go figure.  There are other things I could be doing right now, but nothing seems quite as important as this just now.

The way we treat actors in this country is utterly reprehensible.  Utterly.

We idolize them, making them into icons of perfection that they, of course, are not, and we set our expectations so high that they sometimes harm themselves in trying to satisfy them, and us, except our appetite is out of control, voracious and ever-thirsty.

We attack them, so deep in our own insanity we consider our behavior acceptable, justifiable, understandable, and we rationalize it away.  Except all of our reasons sound a lot like a rape offender trying to get out of the consequences of their own unacceptable behavior.  ’Did you see what she was wearing?  She asked for it!  She was teasing me.  She’s just made for sex.  She didn’t have to say anything, I just knew.  We’d already gone so far, I had a right to finish…’  So we might imagine from someone who forced themselves on another person, sexually.  But what do we say about actors and paparazzi that is so very different?  We blame the actors, first of all.  Yes, let’s do blame the victim.  What a very enlightened way to deal with the situation.  ”They’re actors.  They love the attention.  They knew this was going to happen.  It’s just part of being famous and successful.  They deny it, but they love the publicity.  We have a right to see and know where the go, who they meet, and what they do…”  And if that’s how we really feel, if we have already so easily, so successfully objectified them, it’s really only one short step to an outright attack on their person – physically, psychologically, emotionally, with a camera, with a rumor, with unwanted and obnoxious attention in moments that are otherwise privately enjoyed by everyone else in this world.

And this objectification… let’s break that down into a smaller word, shall we?  We strip them of their dignity.  The basic dignity that every human being has a right to claim.  My own understanding of this is rooted in my faith tradition, but I know full well that every single faith tradition, including humanism and existentialism, puts a very high value on preserving the dignity of every human being, whatever technical way the describe that dignity.  And how do we deny their dignity?  We strip them of the right to living their own private life.  We take advantage of every technology available to us, and we stalk them.  We make it our business to know who they had lunch with on Tuesday, if they think their co-star is pretty, we buy magazines that have photographs that were taken without their permission or knowledge whose articles are full of supposition, gossip, and rumor.  We ourselves may be the person who takes the illicit camera phone picture, or the person who throws themselves bodily at the poor actor, or we may simply buy the magazine in the grocery asile, supporting the massive industry that thrives on disrespecting people on the big screen and the small.

And then, we act innocent.

We refuse, even, to open our eyes to see how we support the evil that this is.  We take our violent infatuation, our violent need to know and turn it into a weapon that genuinely hurts people.  Why?  Because we can.  And no one calls us on our disrespectful, harmful behavior.

I’m not here to preach, I’ll leave that for Sunday.  I’m here to be outraged, and that I can do at any time.

I’m utterly outraged.  Yes, this blogpost was inspired by one particular attack on one particular actor, but anyone who has eyes to see knows that he is simply the actor of the moment, and only of the moment in some circles.  That any actor requires bodyguards is one excellent indication of the madness of our times.

To all the actors of the age, to all who aspire to exercise their craft without a desire to be placed on a pedestal and then be torn down from it, and to the actor of the moment who was attacked so recently, Mr. Robert Pattinson, you have my non-violent thoughts and prayers for your well-being, that you may find peace and joy in the midst of the violence to which you are subjected by people who claim to appreciate and respect you.  I wish you peace.

I broke down and bought Mr & Mrs Smith, which I’d wanted for quite a while.  The unrated version is very interesting, not that I’m finished with it yet.  There are a lot of little changes.  I do like how the scenes are longer, and there’s more character development.  I like how you get to see even more clearly that it is a romance.  Yes, it’s a romance between two people who have serious issues – amoral assassins who are clearly not full bore sociopaths, or else they wouldn’t be capable of loving one another, but issue filled none the less.  You know me, I love the romance.  The fact that it has Angelina Jolie in it (my body type role model), just makes it better.  And yes, the violence… ::sigh:: I admit that the violence is also sexy.  So much for me fully embracing non-violence.  Well, I do my best.

Also, pertinent to the entire reason that I went to Barnes & Noble to begin with is my brand-new copy of Mamma Mia, required for the girls-night-in of Tapas & Abba that will be occurring with my book group this Friday.

…and I might have also gotten another Miss Marple set.  What can I say? I adore Agatha Christie.

“We have a problem here.  You obviously want me dead, and I’m less and less concerned with your well-being.”  Ah, the verbal foreplay of assassins.

I’ve wondered about this for a long time.  It started when Adam died in seminary, in his mid twenties, vibrant and full of life, right up until he had a heart attack in the night.  Or maybe it started before.  I’d always had my turn of morbidity, and frequently wondered, given my heart condition, just how long I had to play in this world.  And it’s hard enough on the people you who loved you, the people that maybe you lost contact with… but you know, for three years, every Sunday, i would watch my friend Kathy flip through the obituaries to see if anyone she knew had died.  Kathy’s in the second century of her life, and close to retirement, but before I watched her, heard her comments, I had no idea that people even really read the obituaries.

But at least, if I die in my home town, or somewhere relatively near there, the people who think fondly of me, with whom I have lost touch for this reason and that… they will know when I die because apparently, people actually read the obituaries.

But web technology is too new to have had to deal with an entire generation of its users dying.  Facebook doesn’t have  a necrology yet.

Yet. (more…)

Okay, this week’s Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me! is riotous!  The fab Episcopal Priest (Alison+ from Fort Lee, NJ)  was the first contestant, and how the host teased her.  

“Are you allowed to do this?” asked Peter Sagal.

“I didn’t ask anybody’s permission,” Alison+ said.

“Isn’t that how the Episcopal, the Anglican church started? I believe it was King Henry VIII wanted to be on a game show and the Vatican said no, so he said to heck with that, I’ll start my own church!  Well, we’d like to welcome you and your schismatic sect to our show…” Peter said.

And even after that it was hilarious.

Just checking in.

Lightheadedness is gone, which is nice, and I’m working on cleaning up the things I haven’t done this week, plus all of the things that I’ve decided to start, that I then didn’t.  Ah, for holy habits.  But then, aren’t all the good ones holy, if only we give them half a chance to be?  Anyway…

Holy Habit Sarey Has Begun Today:

A daily meditation on one of the daily office readings.  It doesn’t have to be long.  It does have to exist.  Ideally, I think I’d like to do them first thing when I wake up, as part of that routine.  I’ll be posting them over on the church blog, and I waffled about that, in a completely selfish and fear-based desire to hoard my writing, but what the hell, right?  That’s silly talk.  The more I write, the more I write, the more I write, and that makes me a happy bunny, to say nothing of whatever else it does in the world.  Today I chose Luke (not because I don’t love Wisdom, either) and had a few thoughts on hypocrisy, humility, and integrity.  Just a few.

Holy Habit Sarey Begins Tomorrow: 

Back to the gym, yes indeed.  I’ve found myself in this ugly endless cycle of not going when I want to go, so then I don’t go, and not riding my bike like I know I could, rather than taking the car, so then I don’t go, and… are you seeing a trend?

And now, back to liturgy planning, then to a locally owned hardware store (as soon as I google one to find it – i know it’s around here somewhere) so I can get some reasonably priced gardening implements and perhaps a very inexpensive charcoal grill for my lovely Wegman’s steak that i’m planning on eating today.  Yes, I shall reward myself with gardening and grilled steak tonight.  No greater joy, right?

Next Page »