I confess: Kate Winslet does absolutely nothing for me in James Cameron's Titanic. Perhaps it's all that distracting water everywhere, or perhaps it's that I just don't buy the young di Caprio as a romantic lead. Whatever the reason, I've never really understood all the acclaim the actress has received over the years. Thus, I went into the viewing of Finding Neverland with expectations only of Johnny Depp, who has yet to disappoint me. It's always good, at least for me, to go in with muted expectations - Finding Neverland blew me away.
Depp, of course, does not disappoint, though Dustin Hoffman, as he so often does, offers such a marvelously quiet, matter-of-fact performance that I had to think about it to appreciate it properly. And I love to watch young boys at play, regardless of their ages, so that was fun. Freddie Highmore in particular was a pleasure to watch. It's not at all difficult to wonder why the Screen Actors Guild nominated his performance. It's a pity that his role conflates some of the brothers and is not, in fact, factual. Ah well...
Winslet was a surprise for me. I think I've always seen her as more matronly than anything else, so this role works well. Not being distracted by physical incongruities, I was finally able to appreciate what she brings to the performance itself. My bad; she's really good. Newsflash to self...
Julie Christie has come a long way from Lara to characters such as Rosmerta and the du Maurier here. She, too, is now able to provide nuanced performances without so much external physical distraction, though in her case, she remains a striking presence.
Perfect Stranger, on the other hand, the Halle Berry/Bruce Willis vehicle that also features Giovanni Ribisi, is narrative fictionalization, and it is mind-blowing in its own way, reminiscent of Hitchcock's favored narratives. I feel an idiot for not having seen the denouement coming sooner, but it was a fun ride, nevertheless.
Must exercise more with Brain games...
I do find it interesting that Halle Berry, a stunningly beautiful woman, has chosen to do so many psychological thrillers that present her as a vulnerable woman who is actually so very deadly. Interesting...
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
For Shannon
To those of us who have children in our lives,
whether they are our own,
grandchildren,
nieces,
nephews,
or students...
here is something to make you chuckle.
Whenever your children are out of control,
you can take comfort from the thought that
even God's omnipotence did not extend
to His own children.
After creating heaven and earth,
God created Adam and Eve.
And the first thing he said was
" DON'T !"
"Don 't what ? "
Adam replied.
"Don't eat the forbidden fruit."
God said.
"Forbidden fruit ?
We have forbidden fruit ?
Hey Eve..we have forbidden fruit ! "
" No Way ! "
"Yes way ! "
"Do NOT eat the fruit ! "
said God.
"Why ? "
"Because I am your Father and I said so ! "
God replied,
wondering why He hadn't stopped
creation after making the elephants
A few minutes later,
God saw His children having an apple break
and He was ticked !
"Didn't I tell you not to eat the fruit ? "
God asked.
"Uh huh,"
Adam replied.
"Then why did you ? "
said the Father.
"I don't know,"
said Eve.
"She started it ! "
Adam said.
"Did not ! "
"Did too ! "
"DID NOT ! "
Having had it with the two of them,
God's punishment was that Adam and Eve
should have children of their own.
Thus the pattern was set and it has never changed.
If you have persistently and lovingly tried to give children wisdom and they haven't taken it,
don't be hard on yourself.
If God had trouble raising children,
what makes you think it would be
a piece of cake for you ?
THINGS TO THINK ABOUT !
1. You spend the first two years of their life
teaching them to walk and talk. Then you spend
the next sixteen telling them to sit down and shut up.
2. Grandchildren are God's reward
for not killing your own children.
3. Mothers of teens now know why
some animals eat their young.
4. Children seldom misquote you.
In fact,
they usually repeat word for word
what you shouldn't have said
5. The main purpose of holding children's parties
is to remind yourself that there are children
more awful than your own
6. We childproofed our homes,
but they are still getting in.
ADVICE FOR THE DAY:
Be nice to your kids.
They will choose your
nursing home one day
AND FINALLY:
IF YOU HAVE A LOT OF TENSION
AND YOU GET A HEADACHE,
DO WHAT IT SAYS
ON THE ASPIRIN BOTTLE:
"TAKE TWO ASPIRIN"
AND "KEEP AWAY FROM CHILDREN"!!!!!
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Apocalyptic Aversions
Finally got back to Netflix vidding, this time The Last Mimsy, which seems to combine a number of sources.
The opening sequence put me forcibly in mind of Jumanji. I couldn't help remembering the end and wondering about children and things who come together via the waves of an ocean. As the story unfolded, however, I was relieved to find that there were no stampeding animals emerging from a cool gadget that tended to emit intriguing geometric shapes. I like lines and designs, so that was all fine by me, if less than riveting.
There was one scene where I really appreciated Timothy Hutton as the dad, though this role really was no challenge for the potential he once promised under Robert Redford's direction. There seemed, in fact, to be a fair few talented adults wandering through this film as backdrop to the featured children. I guess that's standard fare these days...
As the tale's ending neared, I was put forcibly in mind of John Varley's Millenium, primarily because of the heavy-handed anti-pollution push being made. I did like the disrobing of the futuristic folk, which was kind of ironic in light of the male protagonist's heavy reliance on arachnid-related characteristics...
I did like the connections to Lewis Carroll's classic works. I have to wonder how familiar today's youth (or even their parents) are with those tales...
While I enjoyed the film, I am not surprised that it didn't smash box offices.
The opening sequence put me forcibly in mind of Jumanji. I couldn't help remembering the end and wondering about children and things who come together via the waves of an ocean. As the story unfolded, however, I was relieved to find that there were no stampeding animals emerging from a cool gadget that tended to emit intriguing geometric shapes. I like lines and designs, so that was all fine by me, if less than riveting.
There was one scene where I really appreciated Timothy Hutton as the dad, though this role really was no challenge for the potential he once promised under Robert Redford's direction. There seemed, in fact, to be a fair few talented adults wandering through this film as backdrop to the featured children. I guess that's standard fare these days...
As the tale's ending neared, I was put forcibly in mind of John Varley's Millenium, primarily because of the heavy-handed anti-pollution push being made. I did like the disrobing of the futuristic folk, which was kind of ironic in light of the male protagonist's heavy reliance on arachnid-related characteristics...
I did like the connections to Lewis Carroll's classic works. I have to wonder how familiar today's youth (or even their parents) are with those tales...
While I enjoyed the film, I am not surprised that it didn't smash box offices.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
For Trent
A cleric was completing a temperance sermon. With great emphasis he said, 'If I had all the beer in the world, I'd take it and pour it into the river.'
With even greater emphasis he said, 'And if I had
All the wine in the world, I'd take it and pour it into the river.'
And then finally, shaking his fist in the air, he said, 'And if I had all the whiskey in the world, I'd take it and pour it into the river.'
Sermon complete, he sat down.
The song leader stood very cautiously and announced with a smile, nearly laughing, 'For our closing song, let us sing Hymn #365, 'Shall We Gather at the River.'
Smile, life is too short not to !!
See you at the river.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Communication
This morning I found myself in the midst of a raging knockdown dragout fight not of my making nor, I thought, with my willful participation. I did, however, note that my voice had, indeed, somehow increased in volume, evidently of its own volition. As I heard myself shouting the accusation that the other participant was not even listening to what I was trying to say, a voice inside my head asked what seemed a telling question: Who's fault is that? On whom does the responsibility fall for the comprehension of an intended message? That pulled me up short.
As a child of pugilistic inclination, I spent much of my early life in argumentation, serenely secure in the certainty that any and all misunderstandings and failures of comprehension lay at the feet of my ignorant antagonists. Clearly it was their shortcomings, not my inarticulacy that lay at the heart of their patent inability to grasp obvious points.
As a teacher of composition, on the other hand, I equally clearly remember adjuring my students to identify and clearly analyze their intended audience. Failure to grasp the intended message, I assured them, is the fault of the sender, not the receiver. The onus of understanding lies with the author, not with the reader.
It's only taken me a few decades to work out the fundamental problem with these two assertions. Epiphany, however, never comes too late in life, if perhaps too late for so very many missed opportunities in life...
You, dear reader, are having no difficulty following all this, are you?
As a child of pugilistic inclination, I spent much of my early life in argumentation, serenely secure in the certainty that any and all misunderstandings and failures of comprehension lay at the feet of my ignorant antagonists. Clearly it was their shortcomings, not my inarticulacy that lay at the heart of their patent inability to grasp obvious points.
As a teacher of composition, on the other hand, I equally clearly remember adjuring my students to identify and clearly analyze their intended audience. Failure to grasp the intended message, I assured them, is the fault of the sender, not the receiver. The onus of understanding lies with the author, not with the reader.
It's only taken me a few decades to work out the fundamental problem with these two assertions. Epiphany, however, never comes too late in life, if perhaps too late for so very many missed opportunities in life...
You, dear reader, are having no difficulty following all this, are you?
Saturday, March 01, 2008
Farewell February
Ah, February, I shall miss thee!
February is my favorite month, possibly because I take the whole thing for my own. It is a time for celebration, a time when the birthdays of two presidents bracket what used to be the most segmented time of the school year.
Ah, how I used to hate third quarter! It was (still is) such a dark, bleak time of year. In the midst of this depression, however, two of the United States' most well-known and influential past presidents were born, and their birthdays made for consecutive four-day weeks, hard on the heels of Christmas vacation and presaging Easter Break. Of course, we no longer celebrate either birthday, except with crass commercial sales, nor do we take a break for Easter, that time period having been demoted to mere Spring Break. (Where's the fun in counting off to see whether or not Good Friday and Easter Monday will make an extra four-day weekend? Gone, alas. Ah well...)
Now, in the name of symmetry and balance and predictability and equality (so many sophistries,) we rightly honor Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in January, but we have condensed and combined the birthdays of Abraham Lincoln and George Washington into one blanket day dedicated to the honor of all presidents (or is that just those who have served the U.S. on a national level?) In any event, the net result is just another monthly three-day weekend that far too many neither recognize nor understand. It's just another excuse for sales, overtime, and socializing. (Who's being cynical?)
So I persevere in my remembrances throughout February. . . Okay, so I also take time off for my own birth celebrations - is that so wrong? Evidently.
Cosmic justice has decreed that the specific date of my birth has become the optimum date within the month of February for holding memorial services celebrating the lives of those who have recently moved on to another plane of existence (or non-existence, as the case may be...) The rest of the month is quite reasonably useful for recovering from the various strains of innoculation-resistant flu circulating in the deepest, darkest days of winter, even in balmy tropical and subtropical regions. Lest the other days feel neglected, they, too, are useful for interments and other similarly related activities. Ah, joy!
But I did get a Nintendo DS Lite, which I promptly made heavy again with excessive accessorizing. The Brain Age 2 research of Dr. Ryuta Kawashima of Japan assures me that the rust and rubble passing for gray matter that I claim to possess are of great antiquity, though recent endeavors have halved the initial assessment. Personally, I think it's a crock that favors the mathematically inclined... Wait, that's supposed to include moi... Oh well...
But time marches on, and now we are in March. Beware the Ides, some say, but is that not time for East Coast celebrations? Here's hoping that the March babies among us have happier times than those so recently passed.
Don't even worry about national caucuses and primaries that don't even include all eligible voters anyway.
February is my favorite month, possibly because I take the whole thing for my own. It is a time for celebration, a time when the birthdays of two presidents bracket what used to be the most segmented time of the school year.
Ah, how I used to hate third quarter! It was (still is) such a dark, bleak time of year. In the midst of this depression, however, two of the United States' most well-known and influential past presidents were born, and their birthdays made for consecutive four-day weeks, hard on the heels of Christmas vacation and presaging Easter Break. Of course, we no longer celebrate either birthday, except with crass commercial sales, nor do we take a break for Easter, that time period having been demoted to mere Spring Break. (Where's the fun in counting off to see whether or not Good Friday and Easter Monday will make an extra four-day weekend? Gone, alas. Ah well...)
Now, in the name of symmetry and balance and predictability and equality (so many sophistries,) we rightly honor Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in January, but we have condensed and combined the birthdays of Abraham Lincoln and George Washington into one blanket day dedicated to the honor of all presidents (or is that just those who have served the U.S. on a national level?) In any event, the net result is just another monthly three-day weekend that far too many neither recognize nor understand. It's just another excuse for sales, overtime, and socializing. (Who's being cynical?)
So I persevere in my remembrances throughout February. . . Okay, so I also take time off for my own birth celebrations - is that so wrong? Evidently.
Cosmic justice has decreed that the specific date of my birth has become the optimum date within the month of February for holding memorial services celebrating the lives of those who have recently moved on to another plane of existence (or non-existence, as the case may be...) The rest of the month is quite reasonably useful for recovering from the various strains of innoculation-resistant flu circulating in the deepest, darkest days of winter, even in balmy tropical and subtropical regions. Lest the other days feel neglected, they, too, are useful for interments and other similarly related activities. Ah, joy!
But I did get a Nintendo DS Lite, which I promptly made heavy again with excessive accessorizing. The Brain Age 2 research of Dr. Ryuta Kawashima of Japan assures me that the rust and rubble passing for gray matter that I claim to possess are of great antiquity, though recent endeavors have halved the initial assessment. Personally, I think it's a crock that favors the mathematically inclined... Wait, that's supposed to include moi... Oh well...
But time marches on, and now we are in March. Beware the Ides, some say, but is that not time for East Coast celebrations? Here's hoping that the March babies among us have happier times than those so recently passed.
Don't even worry about national caucuses and primaries that don't even include all eligible voters anyway.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Goong Hee Fat Choy
Greetings and Felicitations! Welcome to the Year of the Rat, according to the Chinese accounting of the lunar calendar.
Things are in such need of qualification these days. Sometimes I long for the days of absolute thinking, but then I think, what fun was that? Eh...
The Rat is a noble creature, bright, witty, wily - not to be confused with rodents on whom I make seasonal war about my abode... My mother was a Rat, again, not to be confused with the lackluster creatures who now torment my existence of occasion. Remember the Rats of N.I.M.H.? Remember Richard Adams' Watership Down? Now those were noble rats, admirable creatures worthy of emulation. Yes, there's nothing quite like romanticization to elevate the mundane.
Be that as it may, this should be a more optimistic, forward-thinking kind of year. Barack Obama has breathed new life into American politics. Whether or not he wins, he has already galvanized a new generation, much as did John F. Kennedy half a century ago. That's pretty cool, and it is exciting to believe that his impact will continue, even as Kennedy's influence has persisted beyond the short life of the man himself. It's also useful as we head into what promises to be an increasingly bleak economic season, more along the lines of Recession and Depression than the euphoria that has led to so much squandering of resources over the past century.
Cheers.
Things are in such need of qualification these days. Sometimes I long for the days of absolute thinking, but then I think, what fun was that? Eh...
The Rat is a noble creature, bright, witty, wily - not to be confused with rodents on whom I make seasonal war about my abode... My mother was a Rat, again, not to be confused with the lackluster creatures who now torment my existence of occasion. Remember the Rats of N.I.M.H.? Remember Richard Adams' Watership Down? Now those were noble rats, admirable creatures worthy of emulation. Yes, there's nothing quite like romanticization to elevate the mundane.
Be that as it may, this should be a more optimistic, forward-thinking kind of year. Barack Obama has breathed new life into American politics. Whether or not he wins, he has already galvanized a new generation, much as did John F. Kennedy half a century ago. That's pretty cool, and it is exciting to believe that his impact will continue, even as Kennedy's influence has persisted beyond the short life of the man himself. It's also useful as we head into what promises to be an increasingly bleak economic season, more along the lines of Recession and Depression than the euphoria that has led to so much squandering of resources over the past century.
Cheers.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Another Name
A rose by any other name . . . is still the same flower; so is a narrative set in a different locale and time period still the same story or a fresh tale with its own special twists and turns?
Finally returned to my Netflix queue today as wind, rain, and other assorted obstacles prevented a return to the increasingly enjoyable workouts. (In lieu of physical exertion, I opted for a nice hot chili sauce to induce the daily perspiration release...)
The Secret of Roan Inish looks for all the world like Frances Burnett's The Secret Garden, set in Ireland on an island instead of the Yorkshire countryside. The mystical touch is a little more pronounced, which is actually pleasant in a video experience, though I suspect I would have been less appreciative, had I first encountered it in written form. The Princess Bride-style flashbacks are perhaps the most attractive aspect of the film, or perhaps I'm just a sucker for epimethean snapshots.
All in all, the film was a pleasant diversion on a rainy day, much as the book would have been, I suspect. Let's hear it for hard work and the triumph of the agrarian way of life over that of urban squalor and rapacity.
Finally returned to my Netflix queue today as wind, rain, and other assorted obstacles prevented a return to the increasingly enjoyable workouts. (In lieu of physical exertion, I opted for a nice hot chili sauce to induce the daily perspiration release...)
The Secret of Roan Inish looks for all the world like Frances Burnett's The Secret Garden, set in Ireland on an island instead of the Yorkshire countryside. The mystical touch is a little more pronounced, which is actually pleasant in a video experience, though I suspect I would have been less appreciative, had I first encountered it in written form. The Princess Bride-style flashbacks are perhaps the most attractive aspect of the film, or perhaps I'm just a sucker for epimethean snapshots.
All in all, the film was a pleasant diversion on a rainy day, much as the book would have been, I suspect. Let's hear it for hard work and the triumph of the agrarian way of life over that of urban squalor and rapacity.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Exercise Attention
Should one concentrate on the task at hand when exercising, or is allowing one's mind to wander to videos and music more beneficial? While experts suggest that concentration is more beneficial and coaches universally agree, the casual athlete might think otherwise. After all, if one is not (or has not been) particularly serious about working out, then something is definitely needed to ease the transition into what can only be described as the monotonous repetition necessary, especially in weight training or with the use of equipment designed to enhance one's cardiovascular fitness.
True, a good coach or trainer will provide variety, and a truly dedicated athlete can generally find various aspects of the activities and personal development on which to concentrate. For the casual individual, however, for those working out for the ends, not the activity itself, distraction can actually prolong what is already initially a haphazard effort. In such a case, any effort has to be better than no effort.
This, clearly, is the premise on which so many accessories are sold. There are an ever-increasing number of flavors of iPods from which to choose, in addition to the proliferation of other mp3 players. There are the banks of television monitors mounted in health clubs. There is the ever present background music that alternately thumps and soothes its way into every crevice and cranny at the clubs. Then there are the garments, the towels, the gloves and belts, the carrying cases, even the water bottles just across from the beverage dispensing machines.
Yes, indeed, as with all things, there are plenty of ways to throw money at exercise without ever actually exerting oneself. Why concentrate?
True, a good coach or trainer will provide variety, and a truly dedicated athlete can generally find various aspects of the activities and personal development on which to concentrate. For the casual individual, however, for those working out for the ends, not the activity itself, distraction can actually prolong what is already initially a haphazard effort. In such a case, any effort has to be better than no effort.
This, clearly, is the premise on which so many accessories are sold. There are an ever-increasing number of flavors of iPods from which to choose, in addition to the proliferation of other mp3 players. There are the banks of television monitors mounted in health clubs. There is the ever present background music that alternately thumps and soothes its way into every crevice and cranny at the clubs. Then there are the garments, the towels, the gloves and belts, the carrying cases, even the water bottles just across from the beverage dispensing machines.
Yes, indeed, as with all things, there are plenty of ways to throw money at exercise without ever actually exerting oneself. Why concentrate?
Monday, January 21, 2008
A Moment of Triumph, and then...
So to the ongoing saga of the mailbox and pole...
You've heard the ethnic joke about the telephone company workers, haven't you?
Three teams of telephone company workers head out on the day's assignment: to erect new poles prior to the stringing of new lines in a subdivision under development. At the end of the day, each team reports back in with the number of poles completed. Bear in mind that the term for erecting such a pole is "burying the pole".
Team #1 returns and reports to the foreperson:
"How many poles did you guys bury?"
"An even dozen."
"Excellent."
Half an hour later Team #2 returns and reports in:
"How many poles did you guys bury?"
"15."
"Even better. Okay, see you guys tomorrow."
An hour later Team #3 finally drags in. The foreperson is pretty upset by now and starts right in yelling:
"What took you guys so long? Everyone else has been back for over an hour? You better have a great report. So how many poles did you guys get buried?"
The leader of Team #3 (fill in any ethnic or socioeconomic group you prefer) replies, "2."
The foreperson is about to blow a gasket. The cursing and swearing flow freely. Somewhere amidst the barrage of sound are the words, "You're fired."
At this the leader of Team #3 interrupts the tirade to defend himself and his team:
"But you should see how much the other guys left above ground!"
So: For myself, my pole only took four days and four hours to dig down 21", figure out how to attach everything, and pour my bag of Quikcrete without cementing myself in the process. Unlike my unfortunate friends described above, I left a little over 3' above ground, the requirement being 41" - 45" from the ground to the base of the box. Curiously, I think everyone else has been measuring from the top of the box, yet I have heard of no complaints. We'll see what tomorrow brings...
Meanwhile, I've lost a bit of water weight - dehydration, I'm thinking. The temper finally flared today, so I took myself off the to the gym to work it out, which seemed to help, at least until I returned... Ah well...
Too much information. :-0
You've heard the ethnic joke about the telephone company workers, haven't you?
Three teams of telephone company workers head out on the day's assignment: to erect new poles prior to the stringing of new lines in a subdivision under development. At the end of the day, each team reports back in with the number of poles completed. Bear in mind that the term for erecting such a pole is "burying the pole".
Team #1 returns and reports to the foreperson:
"How many poles did you guys bury?"
"An even dozen."
"Excellent."
Half an hour later Team #2 returns and reports in:
"How many poles did you guys bury?"
"15."
"Even better. Okay, see you guys tomorrow."
An hour later Team #3 finally drags in. The foreperson is pretty upset by now and starts right in yelling:
"What took you guys so long? Everyone else has been back for over an hour? You better have a great report. So how many poles did you guys get buried?"
The leader of Team #3 (fill in any ethnic or socioeconomic group you prefer) replies, "2."
The foreperson is about to blow a gasket. The cursing and swearing flow freely. Somewhere amidst the barrage of sound are the words, "You're fired."
At this the leader of Team #3 interrupts the tirade to defend himself and his team:
"But you should see how much the other guys left above ground!"
So: For myself, my pole only took four days and four hours to dig down 21", figure out how to attach everything, and pour my bag of Quikcrete without cementing myself in the process. Unlike my unfortunate friends described above, I left a little over 3' above ground, the requirement being 41" - 45" from the ground to the base of the box. Curiously, I think everyone else has been measuring from the top of the box, yet I have heard of no complaints. We'll see what tomorrow brings...
Meanwhile, I've lost a bit of water weight - dehydration, I'm thinking. The temper finally flared today, so I took myself off the to the gym to work it out, which seemed to help, at least until I returned... Ah well...
Too much information. :-0
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