I know it's early by a few days, but I just couldn't wait to finish the One Year Bible. I can't believe I stuck with it! Genesis to Revelation with lots of begatting in between. I learned so much! Let me take you through some of my more memorable moments:
Genesis-Deuteronomy: My first discovery was that the pentateuch (the first five books of the OT), while filled with colorful stories and characters, was NOT written for children. By the time I finished Genesis, I marvelled at how old church ladies could blanch at the mention of sex, then give the third graders their "My First Bible 4 Kidz! (rated R)" for being able to recite the Lord's Prayer.
Leviticus: Call me crazy, but I loved that book! Particularly because people are always dragging Leviticus into all their arguments about not following the Bible because of the Levitical laws that don't make a lot of sense when taken out of context. Seriously, what would you say if someone said to you, "I don't follow the Bible because Leviticus says I can't wear polyester." Kinda makes you want to know what Leviticus ACTUALLY says, doesn't it?
Chronicles: If there's one thing I'll never forget about this year-long read, it's the first ten chapters of I Chronicles. I didn't actually read them...I just sort of...got the gist of them. Do people really do Bible studies on these chapters? How do they stay awake?
King David: He may have been a man after God's own heart, but he also would have been scary to work for. Take, for example, what happened to the guy who helped Saul kill himself. He probably stood there over Saul's broken body and thought, "This is great! Saul has been trying to kill David all these years--now David can sleep easy! And Saul's asking me to put him out of his misery! I know! I'll lop off his head and present it to King David! He'll be thrilled!"
But how did David respond?
"You did what? Saul was the Lord's annointed! As punishment, I'll have you executed! Off with his head!"
Talk about a buzz-kill. That's the last we ever saw of the little dude who was just trying to make his boss happy. At the risk of sounding a tad blasphemous, I thought it was awfully unfair. So I came up with an alternate ending where the head guard takes our little friend away to the dungeon and whispers, "I'll let you out tomorrow. David's just trying to sound extra-holy right now because he was just made king."
Job: Entire days of our daily reading would consist of the crappy advice Job's friends gave him. If we're not supposed to follow what they tell Job anyway, perhaps they could have been a little more... brief.
Song of Solomon: People say it's beautiful poetry about a Godly married relationship. Yeah. I wonder which one of Solomon's harem of wives he wrote this about. "What? You think my breasts look like two grazing fawns? Aw, Solly--I bet you say that to all the new girls!"
Jonah: Hey! The VeggieTales movie was pretty accurate!
The Gospels: I said this a lot: "Oh--! Jesus! Please be a little less vague! People are going to build entire cults around that little throwaway comment you just made!!"
Mark: Is it just me or does the "new" ending of Mark (16:9-20) feel a little...I dunno...rushed? And can you really blame the snake-handlers?
2 Peter: "Hey! That's not in the Four Spiritual Laws!"
Revelation: I hope this is literal. I mean, as freaky as it would be to live through it, how wild would it be to see our very practical world suddenly turned into this wacked-out supernatural crazy land? We've got mountains falling into the sea turning it to blood, we've got scorpions with lion heads, we've got people who try to kill themselves but can't...
It would be like that scene in The Mummy when the Mummy comes back to life and brings all the plagues of Egypt with him. Whenever one happens, Brendan Fraiser's little sidekick guy quotes the Bible and says stuff like, "And lo, the water became as blood."
How cool would it be to be the guy who recites the prophecy while he and his friends watch in horror as ___________ (insert cataclysmic event here)??
And that's what I got out of the Bible. Well, not really. I got a little more out of it than just that. But you don't really want to hear about all the anguished soul-searching and difficult question-asking, do you?
So...
Do I get a prize?
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
End o' the Year
Hey! Time for you (yes! YOU!) to start a new week-after-Christmas tradition. No, it's not Chanukkah or Kwanza. It's about a million times better!
Go to the bookstore today and every night this week, read a few chapters of "Peter Pan" by J.M. Barrie. I've done it for the past two years now. If you hate New Years because it reminds you of the temporal nature of life and the unstoppable passage of time, this is the book for you. Barrie's magnificent prose, vivid imagery, and deft use of metaphor will magnify those unpleasant feelings until they burst out of you in the form of bitter tears.
There's nothing like ringing in the new year with a good cry.
Go to the bookstore today and every night this week, read a few chapters of "Peter Pan" by J.M. Barrie. I've done it for the past two years now. If you hate New Years because it reminds you of the temporal nature of life and the unstoppable passage of time, this is the book for you. Barrie's magnificent prose, vivid imagery, and deft use of metaphor will magnify those unpleasant feelings until they burst out of you in the form of bitter tears.
There's nothing like ringing in the new year with a good cry.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
The True Meaning of Christmas (aside from the whole Jesus thing)
If I could work my will," said Scrooge indignantly, "every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!"
"Uncle!" pleaded the nephew.
"Nephew!" returned the uncle, sternly, "keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine."
"Keep it!" repeated Scrooge's nephew. "But you don't keep it."
"Let me leave it alone, then," said Scrooge. "Much good may it do you! Much good it has ever done you!"
"There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say," returned the nephew. "Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round -- apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that -- as a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!"
"Uncle!" pleaded the nephew.
"Nephew!" returned the uncle, sternly, "keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine."
"Keep it!" repeated Scrooge's nephew. "But you don't keep it."
"Let me leave it alone, then," said Scrooge. "Much good may it do you! Much good it has ever done you!"
"There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say," returned the nephew. "Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round -- apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that -- as a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!"
Monday, December 19, 2005
A Christmas Shindig!
I know this is very last-minute but...
TONIGHT!
TONIGHT!
The 2nd Annual Last-Minute
Forkish Christmas Party!
You all know where I live and if you're reading this you're invited (unless you're one of those internet psychos).
Doors open at 7:30pm. There will be soft Christmas music playing which will, hopefully, have a soporific effect, causing us to be nice and quiet for my sleeping neighbors downstairs.
Feel free to bring whatever you like, but remember...tomorrow is a working day!
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Sainty Claus!
Our office building is throwing a Christma--er--Holiday party for its tennants today! From 3-5 there will be Christma--uh--Holiday goodies to eat and hot chocolate to drink. But that's not the best of it.
Sainty Claus himself will be there JUST for the tennants so they can get their picture with him and tell him the deepest darkest desires of their flesh! I'm thrilled, I tell you. Only problem is, I'm not sure what to ask him for. Any ideas?
Sainty Claus himself will be there JUST for the tennants so they can get their picture with him and tell him the deepest darkest desires of their flesh! I'm thrilled, I tell you. Only problem is, I'm not sure what to ask him for. Any ideas?
Kwanz-uhh?
Major props to A-Dub for her well-written and revealing treatise on the origins of Kwanzaa. Take a peek! You might be surprised!
Time's a-wastin'!
Today is the last day to make a suggestion for Waffelle's Christmas gift! Make it a good one! And if you've already cast your vote, feel free to vote again!
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Happy Effing Holidays!
(scene: the receptionist desk on the 42nd floor. Candie has just returned from lunch--I have been relieving her as usual.)
Me: Hey Candie, have you heard about the contest that the Big Boss wants to throw?
Candie: No, what is it?
Me: He thought it would be fun to have some sort of company contest and the winner gets this nice champagne basket thing.
Candie: Wow! I wanna win!
Me: Oh, I know! I'm all out of alcohol at my apartment and I'm in desperate need of some with which to medicate my occasional feelings of purposelessness.
Candie: Me too!
(Ginjur, the petite admin who looks just about as sweet as she can be, enters with a clipboard.)
Ginjur: Y'all had better hurry up and get your ideas for the contest to me! We're going to settle on what we're doing for the contest around 3:30 today.
Candie: What are some of the ideas?
Ginjur: Well, one idea is to see who can carve the Eventual Practical Services logo out of candy...
Me: Sounds hard.
Ginjur: And another is to have an obstacle course around the office...
Candie: Fun!
Ginjur: And another is to rewrite the lyrics to a Holiday Song.
Me: You mean a Christmas carol?
Ginjur: (instantly explosive) Oh don't you dare start that [expletive]!
Me: (stunned for a moment. Then) What?
Ginjur: That [expletive]! You'd better not be one of those people who boycott places that call things "Holiday" instead of "Christmas".
Me: No. I'm just saying that, for example, 'Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer' is a Christmas song. What's wrong with calling it what it is?
Ginjur: (really cooking now, eyes aglow and hair standing up--the girl obviously has a major axe to grind with Christmas) Look, if YOU want to call it a Christmas tree, that's your thing. If you have a problem with me calling it a Holiday Tree, that's not my problem, that's YOUR problem for having such closed-minded beliefs!
Me: I think you're wrong. It's a Christmas tree. It's not a Stocking tree. It's not a Winter tree. It's not a Giving tree. It's a Christmas tree. We put them up for Christmas. Would it make any sense to call a Menorah a Holiday Candle?
(Ginjur exits in a blind rage)
Me: Hey Candie, have you heard about the contest that the Big Boss wants to throw?
Candie: No, what is it?
Me: He thought it would be fun to have some sort of company contest and the winner gets this nice champagne basket thing.
Candie: Wow! I wanna win!
Me: Oh, I know! I'm all out of alcohol at my apartment and I'm in desperate need of some with which to medicate my occasional feelings of purposelessness.
Candie: Me too!
(Ginjur, the petite admin who looks just about as sweet as she can be, enters with a clipboard.)
Ginjur: Y'all had better hurry up and get your ideas for the contest to me! We're going to settle on what we're doing for the contest around 3:30 today.
Candie: What are some of the ideas?
Ginjur: Well, one idea is to see who can carve the Eventual Practical Services logo out of candy...
Me: Sounds hard.
Ginjur: And another is to have an obstacle course around the office...
Candie: Fun!
Ginjur: And another is to rewrite the lyrics to a Holiday Song.
Me: You mean a Christmas carol?
Ginjur: (instantly explosive) Oh don't you dare start that [expletive]!
Me: (stunned for a moment. Then) What?
Ginjur: That [expletive]! You'd better not be one of those people who boycott places that call things "Holiday" instead of "Christmas".
Me: No. I'm just saying that, for example, 'Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer' is a Christmas song. What's wrong with calling it what it is?
Ginjur: (really cooking now, eyes aglow and hair standing up--the girl obviously has a major axe to grind with Christmas) Look, if YOU want to call it a Christmas tree, that's your thing. If you have a problem with me calling it a Holiday Tree, that's not my problem, that's YOUR problem for having such closed-minded beliefs!
Me: I think you're wrong. It's a Christmas tree. It's not a Stocking tree. It's not a Winter tree. It's not a Giving tree. It's a Christmas tree. We put them up for Christmas. Would it make any sense to call a Menorah a Holiday Candle?
(Ginjur exits in a blind rage)
Roaring
Suppose a flapper--let's call her Jane--Suppose Flapper Jane took a bus to the big city, only she accidentally got off in the 21st century. What surprising things might she encounter?
Monday, December 12, 2005
Waffles
I looked at my company calendar today to figure out when I'm going to use up my remaining 2005 paid time off. Then I saw something I wasn't ready for.
Christmas is two weeks away!! As in, next Saturday is Christmas Eve!
And somebody hasn't done ANY Christmas shopping yet.
So somebody is going to remedy that. Thing is, somebody has hit a bit of a snag.
You see, my brother Forko is getting married on January 7th, 2006, to a lovely girl from Belgium. And what do you get for a girl who comes from the land that gave us waffles, chocolates, and koo-koo clocks?
Now, before you all start bringing up the atrocities committed by Belgians in World War II (and really, who can forget them?), just remember last weekend when you were driving across town and you cut that guy off who was trying to get in the other lane. My point? We all make mistakes.
Waffelle is here in the states now. And Santa Claus is readying his sleigh with a car-seat for the Baby Jesus (that's for another post).
I'm in a bind! I'm asking you--yes, YOU! You there, reading this post!--Help me think of something to get for Waffelle for Christmas! Most people will be getting Forko and Waffelle ordinary wedding things like rags and banana holders. Waffelle is bound to experience a little culture shock when she gets here. She's also bound to be a little bored as she won't be able to work until her citizenship goes through. Bearing those things in mind, what can I get that will really say "Welcome to America!" in an entertaining yet culturally sensitive sort of way?
And just in case you need a little prodding...THIS time around, the winning suggestion will receive a swell gift! I'm not kidding either!
So start sending in your entertaining yet culturally sensitive gift ideas! The polls will close on Thursday night at the stroke of midnight! Vote, vote, vote!
Christmas is two weeks away!! As in, next Saturday is Christmas Eve!
And somebody hasn't done ANY Christmas shopping yet.
So somebody is going to remedy that. Thing is, somebody has hit a bit of a snag.
You see, my brother Forko is getting married on January 7th, 2006, to a lovely girl from Belgium. And what do you get for a girl who comes from the land that gave us waffles, chocolates, and koo-koo clocks?
Now, before you all start bringing up the atrocities committed by Belgians in World War II (and really, who can forget them?), just remember last weekend when you were driving across town and you cut that guy off who was trying to get in the other lane. My point? We all make mistakes.
Waffelle is here in the states now. And Santa Claus is readying his sleigh with a car-seat for the Baby Jesus (that's for another post).
I'm in a bind! I'm asking you--yes, YOU! You there, reading this post!--Help me think of something to get for Waffelle for Christmas! Most people will be getting Forko and Waffelle ordinary wedding things like rags and banana holders. Waffelle is bound to experience a little culture shock when she gets here. She's also bound to be a little bored as she won't be able to work until her citizenship goes through. Bearing those things in mind, what can I get that will really say "Welcome to America!" in an entertaining yet culturally sensitive sort of way?
And just in case you need a little prodding...THIS time around, the winning suggestion will receive a swell gift! I'm not kidding either!
So start sending in your entertaining yet culturally sensitive gift ideas! The polls will close on Thursday night at the stroke of midnight! Vote, vote, vote!
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Friday, December 09, 2005
There's a Christ in my Movie!
My, my. How the times have changed. Once, in a pre-culture war era, C.S. Lewis was held in high regard, his Narnia books being considered pinnacles of children's fantasy.
Not nowadays! Now he's an insidious villain--a third-rate hack whose poisonous pen will brainwash your youngsters with it's hateful Christian principles.
Seriously, gang. I'm baffled at how the English-speaking world's view of Lewis has done a complete 180 in the last few months simply because one of his books got the big-budget Hollywood treatment like Rowling and Tolkien.
And, correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think there are subliminal Chick Tracts hidden in the pages of Narnia books. They're just stories with Christian symbols and themes. But the mere presence of a Christian element is aparently enough for some people to denounce Lewis outright. I used to think people just didn't like preachy Christians. I'm coming to realize that what they don't like is--well--Christianity itself.
It's really interesting to read negative reviews of the 'Wardrobe' film. Take a look at some of them. It's worthy of note that these critics all seem to think the movie is great--if it weren't for that dag-blamed Jesus with a mane! Waiter! There's a Christ in my movie! We can't have this! Two stars! (and seeing as how the movie really waters down the original story, I'd hate to see what would've happened if Disney hadn't messed with Lewis' narrative to give it a wider appeal)
And for the record, for these folks to pooh-pooh Lewis for being "preachy" (nowadays, merely alluding to Christ is considered "preachy", amazingly enough) or heavy-handed with his allegory is kind of missing the point. His goal in 'Wardrobe' was to retell the crucifixion/resurrection story. And I think we can all agree that he achieved what he set out to do.
Check it:
"In reality however he is an invention giving an imaginary answer to the question, 'What might Christ become like, if there really were a world like Narnia and He chose to be incarnate and die and rise again in that world as He actually done in ours?" -C.S. Lewis on Aslan
Not nowadays! Now he's an insidious villain--a third-rate hack whose poisonous pen will brainwash your youngsters with it's hateful Christian principles.
Seriously, gang. I'm baffled at how the English-speaking world's view of Lewis has done a complete 180 in the last few months simply because one of his books got the big-budget Hollywood treatment like Rowling and Tolkien.
And, correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think there are subliminal Chick Tracts hidden in the pages of Narnia books. They're just stories with Christian symbols and themes. But the mere presence of a Christian element is aparently enough for some people to denounce Lewis outright. I used to think people just didn't like preachy Christians. I'm coming to realize that what they don't like is--well--Christianity itself.
It's really interesting to read negative reviews of the 'Wardrobe' film. Take a look at some of them. It's worthy of note that these critics all seem to think the movie is great--if it weren't for that dag-blamed Jesus with a mane! Waiter! There's a Christ in my movie! We can't have this! Two stars! (and seeing as how the movie really waters down the original story, I'd hate to see what would've happened if Disney hadn't messed with Lewis' narrative to give it a wider appeal)
And for the record, for these folks to pooh-pooh Lewis for being "preachy" (nowadays, merely alluding to Christ is considered "preachy", amazingly enough) or heavy-handed with his allegory is kind of missing the point. His goal in 'Wardrobe' was to retell the crucifixion/resurrection story. And I think we can all agree that he achieved what he set out to do.
Check it:
"In reality however he is an invention giving an imaginary answer to the question, 'What might Christ become like, if there really were a world like Narnia and He chose to be incarnate and die and rise again in that world as He actually done in ours?" -C.S. Lewis on Aslan
Thursday, December 08, 2005
A Sophisticated Proposal
So I'm busy writing these Eventual Practical Services Letters to Santa for the Office Party tonight. One of the people we're razzing is Ginjur, the administrative assistant to the office athiest (the devout one). Ginjur is very short and petite and people are always kicking her out of bars because at first glance they think she's 12. No kidding.
So for Ginjur's letter to Santa, I had her asking Santa to make her a tall elderly woman for one day--but with a good liver so she could still party like a rock star.
I gave the draft to Mr. Archibald and it came back with the word "elderly" circled.
"I think," he said, "that people might find the word 'elderly' offensive. How about...'sophisticated'?"
That's funny. I thought we called old people elderly to keep from offending them. And now "elderly" is offensive. Or maybe what this is really about is people are afraid of anything that reminds them that life is fleeting and sooner or later we'll all be pushin' up daisies.
It's much too difficult for me to pinpoint. So to make it easy, I have a modest proposal: Let's get rid of adjectives!
Who's with me?! This will be a time! A time!
So for Ginjur's letter to Santa, I had her asking Santa to make her a tall elderly woman for one day--but with a good liver so she could still party like a rock star.
I gave the draft to Mr. Archibald and it came back with the word "elderly" circled.
"I think," he said, "that people might find the word 'elderly' offensive. How about...'sophisticated'?"
That's funny. I thought we called old people elderly to keep from offending them. And now "elderly" is offensive. Or maybe what this is really about is people are afraid of anything that reminds them that life is fleeting and sooner or later we'll all be pushin' up daisies.
It's much too difficult for me to pinpoint. So to make it easy, I have a modest proposal: Let's get rid of adjectives!
Who's with me?! This will be a time! A time!
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
A Simple Question
So we have two Jehovah's Witnesses up here on the 42nd Floor. Right now, all the admin assistants are busy trying to get the Christm--Holiday cards out. But Geraldine and Cathy won't even touch them. So Candie, the receptionist, is having to send their team's stacks of cards out FOR them.
Seems awfully unfair, n'est-ce pas?
So I have a question for our Jehovah's Witness friends.
If they don't celebrate Christmas--to the point that they won't even TOUCH the company Christm--Holiday cards--then shouldn't logic dictate that they MUST come in to work on Monday the 26th when our office is closed in observance of Christmas??
By taking the day off, aren't they kind of celebrating Christmas in a roundabout way?
Seems awfully unfair, n'est-ce pas?
So I have a question for our Jehovah's Witness friends.
If they don't celebrate Christmas--to the point that they won't even TOUCH the company Christm--Holiday cards--then shouldn't logic dictate that they MUST come in to work on Monday the 26th when our office is closed in observance of Christmas??
By taking the day off, aren't they kind of celebrating Christmas in a roundabout way?
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Out of the Closet
JJo and I managed to score ourselves some advance screening tickets to 'The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe' (LWW) this weekend. How was it? Well, I'm about to tell you--what I thought anyway.
LWW is one of my very favorite books. I distinctly remember first hearing the story in our Sunday school class when I was six or seven. Our class watched about ten or fifteen minutes of the cartoon version (which is surprisingly faithful to the book--all the dialogue is lifted straight from the pages so there are no wisecracking animals or anything like that) every Sunday and then the Sunday school teachers would tell us what each of the characters represented.
There has been a lot of criticism lately over Christians who would force 'their interpretation' of Narnia onto a child. These critics believe that nobody should tell kids about the allegory in C.S. Lewis' story and that it's only as Christian as you want it to be--that it's REALLY just a fun fantasy novel.
Well, I hope those critics are pleased with themselves, robbing children of the discovery that not everything in the world is literal. When I was told that Aslan was Christ and the White Witch was the devil...that the story of LWW is a retelling of the Crucifixion/Resurrection story, I began to look at the world in a different way. Things began to carry a deeper meaning. I began digging in to find the deeper, hidden messages behind stories--not just settling for surface level. In fact, I believe I owe a great deal of how my mind developed to discovering Narnia at an early age.
So I think it goes without saying I'm a big fan of the book.
As for the film version... not so much.
The kids do an admirable job, with little Lucy being the Kewpie-doll cutest of the bunch. The film is chock-full of gee-whiz! state of the art CGI and a score that doesn't let up. Performances all around range from just fine to swell. There's a lot to like.
However, there's a very familiar feeling to it all. We've seen it all before. We know what a CGI ogre and CGI goblin look like. We've seen so many epic battle scenes since 'Braveheart' that the whole 'fields of war' thing feels a mite stale. And so on.
Still, much like the recent 'Willy Wonka' film, up until the halfway point or so, the film is surprisingly accurate to the book, right down to Lucy entering the wardrobe and looking over her shoulder to make sure she can still see the light from the spare room behind her (for she knew it was a foolish thing to shut oneself up in a wardrobe).
Then the halfway mark hits and it becomes an action movie. The children run for their lives for the next twenty minutes, outrun a pack of wolves, and go on a white water adventure as the frozen river they're trying to cross begins to crack beneath them due to the rapidly approaching spring (in the book, spring is a GOOD thing. It meant that the Savior had come. In the film, it's just another danger for them to endure).
Another fatal misstep comes from the director's decision to cut away from Aslan's resurrection in favor of yet another dime-a-dozen Lord of the Rings-style battle sequence. I remember reading in an interview early on that he always felt that the death and resurrection scene in the book was dull, dull, dull--that what he always wanted to see was the battle scene that takes place when Aslan comes back to life, flies to the White Witch's palace, and breathes life into her stone prisoners. Yeah! Who wants to see all that stuff anyway? Let's see another battle!
Nice try, Mr. Director Man. You just screwed up your movie.
Folks, we all saw ten hours of battles in the three Lord of the Rings movies. If I see one more windswept battle field with orcs and ghoulies with bad teeth roaring on one side and the good guys with clean teeth cheering on the other... It's simply not exciting. What you want to see is what's going on with Aslan. As it is, we get to see one statue come to life, then we cut back to the battle sequence for ten minutes, then we cut back to Aslan who, during this time, has restored all the statues to back to their living selves.
Well great. Instead of seeing something different and interesting, we're treated to yet another tedious fantasy battle.
It's all very distracting. Lewis' novel is very tight. He didn't write filler (*cough* *Rowling* *cough*). Everything in his book is there for a very specific reason. By packing the latter half of the movie with so much extra stuff to make the film more mainstream and 'Disnefied', the meanings behind Lewis' images fail to carry the same emotional impact they have in the book--to the point that, in the film, when Aslan kills the White Witch and says, "It is finished" it sounds less like Lewis and more like a production company who wants to try desperately to cater to both a Christian and a secular audience. It sounds false. Nice try, Disney. I wasn't born yesterday.
In the end, if you really want to see it, what the heck. It's not terrible (though the director really shows his roots when his talking animals make wisecracky Shrek-esque jokes) and the White Witch's palace truly is a wonder to behold. By the end, however, the film has totally lost its focus, trying to play to both the religious and secular crowds. This is a mainstream Narnia. Not the one Lewis wrote.
C+ to B- (depending on my mood)
LWW is one of my very favorite books. I distinctly remember first hearing the story in our Sunday school class when I was six or seven. Our class watched about ten or fifteen minutes of the cartoon version (which is surprisingly faithful to the book--all the dialogue is lifted straight from the pages so there are no wisecracking animals or anything like that) every Sunday and then the Sunday school teachers would tell us what each of the characters represented.
There has been a lot of criticism lately over Christians who would force 'their interpretation' of Narnia onto a child. These critics believe that nobody should tell kids about the allegory in C.S. Lewis' story and that it's only as Christian as you want it to be--that it's REALLY just a fun fantasy novel.
Well, I hope those critics are pleased with themselves, robbing children of the discovery that not everything in the world is literal. When I was told that Aslan was Christ and the White Witch was the devil...that the story of LWW is a retelling of the Crucifixion/Resurrection story, I began to look at the world in a different way. Things began to carry a deeper meaning. I began digging in to find the deeper, hidden messages behind stories--not just settling for surface level. In fact, I believe I owe a great deal of how my mind developed to discovering Narnia at an early age.
So I think it goes without saying I'm a big fan of the book.
As for the film version... not so much.
The kids do an admirable job, with little Lucy being the Kewpie-doll cutest of the bunch. The film is chock-full of gee-whiz! state of the art CGI and a score that doesn't let up. Performances all around range from just fine to swell. There's a lot to like.
However, there's a very familiar feeling to it all. We've seen it all before. We know what a CGI ogre and CGI goblin look like. We've seen so many epic battle scenes since 'Braveheart' that the whole 'fields of war' thing feels a mite stale. And so on.
Still, much like the recent 'Willy Wonka' film, up until the halfway point or so, the film is surprisingly accurate to the book, right down to Lucy entering the wardrobe and looking over her shoulder to make sure she can still see the light from the spare room behind her (for she knew it was a foolish thing to shut oneself up in a wardrobe).
Then the halfway mark hits and it becomes an action movie. The children run for their lives for the next twenty minutes, outrun a pack of wolves, and go on a white water adventure as the frozen river they're trying to cross begins to crack beneath them due to the rapidly approaching spring (in the book, spring is a GOOD thing. It meant that the Savior had come. In the film, it's just another danger for them to endure).
Another fatal misstep comes from the director's decision to cut away from Aslan's resurrection in favor of yet another dime-a-dozen Lord of the Rings-style battle sequence. I remember reading in an interview early on that he always felt that the death and resurrection scene in the book was dull, dull, dull--that what he always wanted to see was the battle scene that takes place when Aslan comes back to life, flies to the White Witch's palace, and breathes life into her stone prisoners. Yeah! Who wants to see all that stuff anyway? Let's see another battle!
Nice try, Mr. Director Man. You just screwed up your movie.
Folks, we all saw ten hours of battles in the three Lord of the Rings movies. If I see one more windswept battle field with orcs and ghoulies with bad teeth roaring on one side and the good guys with clean teeth cheering on the other... It's simply not exciting. What you want to see is what's going on with Aslan. As it is, we get to see one statue come to life, then we cut back to the battle sequence for ten minutes, then we cut back to Aslan who, during this time, has restored all the statues to back to their living selves.
Well great. Instead of seeing something different and interesting, we're treated to yet another tedious fantasy battle.
It's all very distracting. Lewis' novel is very tight. He didn't write filler (*cough* *Rowling* *cough*). Everything in his book is there for a very specific reason. By packing the latter half of the movie with so much extra stuff to make the film more mainstream and 'Disnefied', the meanings behind Lewis' images fail to carry the same emotional impact they have in the book--to the point that, in the film, when Aslan kills the White Witch and says, "It is finished" it sounds less like Lewis and more like a production company who wants to try desperately to cater to both a Christian and a secular audience. It sounds false. Nice try, Disney. I wasn't born yesterday.
In the end, if you really want to see it, what the heck. It's not terrible (though the director really shows his roots when his talking animals make wisecracky Shrek-esque jokes) and the White Witch's palace truly is a wonder to behold. By the end, however, the film has totally lost its focus, trying to play to both the religious and secular crowds. This is a mainstream Narnia. Not the one Lewis wrote.
C+ to B- (depending on my mood)
Monday, December 05, 2005
Busy Monday
It's another scary Monday morning! I've got so much to do I don't have a single moment to write my advanced screening review of the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (oh yes--someone saw it this weekend and that someone's name is me!)
So let this picture suffice for now:
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Highbrow Hill
I remember, years ago when I was just starting high school, praying to God, asking Him to please make my life a great big adventure--such that you'd never be able to look at me and say, "Now there goes a perfectly ordinary sort of fellow."
Shelly, Josie, Candie and I (the Official Eventual Chri--Holiday Party Planning Committee) were to meet at Mr. Archibald's house yesterday evening to discuss our ideas for the party entertainment. Josie suddenly took sick so she couldn't go. Then Shelly asked Candie if we really needed her to be there to present our ideas to Mr. Archibald. Candie said no, so Shelly bailed too.
So Candie and I drove together to Highbrow Hill, a suburb of Everycity that the elite call home. Only the very wealthy, the very powerful, or the very famous live on Highbrow Hill. They even have their own police force which patrols the thoroughfares, making sure that the quality folk stay in--and the riff-raff stays out.
We arrived at Mr. Archibald's impressive mini-mansion and went inside. Mr. Archibald seemed even smaller than usual as he stood in the expansive hallway. In fact, everything looked huge except him. You'd think that short people would build miniature houses so they'd feel bigger. But I guess living in a dollhouse wouldn't send a very powerful message to one's neighbors. So the Titanic it is.
I always knew that the people who work for Eventual--really work, not just filing papers and answering phones--made lots of money, but I guess I never realized what that money could do until I experienced the sheer magnificence of this house. Mini-mansion nothing! I'm pretty sure this was an actual mansion. Vaulted ceilings? Check. Huge rooms? Check. Expensive furniture and artwork? Check. Dance studio on the third floor? Check.
Mr. Archibald and his wife quickly pressed us with brimming wine glasses and brie (yes...brie) and Candie and I pitched our new and improved idea for the party entertainment: Eventual employee's letters to Santa. But we added a twist! I decided to appeal to my co-workers' competative natures by turning the whole thing into a game. Candie and I would read the silly letters and they would have to shout out who they thought the letter belonged to.
Mr. Archibald loved it. Candie, slightly tipsy from the chardonnay and excited to have the approval of this usually frightening little man, opened her mouth and regailed Mr. Archibald and his wife with all sorts of stories that she probably shouldn't have told...including the one about how Queen III smuggled four bottles of beer out of last year's Christmas party in the sleeves of her faux fur coat. When Mrs. Archibald said, "Oh, honey, remember when we used to do things like that?" I felt at once that we all might--just might--be kindred spirits.
You see, the Archibalds used to be prima-ballerinas for the New York ballet. No. I'm dead serious. Mr. Archibald went into a ballet class his senior year in college (some Ivy league school that's so elite I haven't even heard of it) in an attempt to capture the affections of a girl he liked. The rest is history.
Mrs. Archibald asked Candie and myself if we would like to stay for dinner. I don't think Candie realized that a free meal was probably the closest thing we were going to get to some kind of actual payment for our services, because she politely declined, saying she had other plans.
"Well," began "Archie", addressing yours truly, "Would you like to stay for dinner? I can take you back to your car later." (I left my car at Candie's apartment so we could ride together.)
"Uhh..." I said. If I left I wouldn't have to endure being at the mercy of my boss and his wife. If I stayed, I might get some inside dope about life in New York and maybe do a little networking.
"Sure, why not?" I said.
And so I sat down to dinner with the Archibalds in their great, grand home on Highbrow Hill.
Their son said maybe two words the entire evening and quickly excused himself. Mrs. Archibald, however, was very chatty and pleasant and kept my wine glass filled at all times.
They told me stories about when they were in the New York ballet and the tours they would go on. They always thought it was funny that people would treat them like stars and let them stay in their huge homes in neighborhoods even more high-class than Highbrow Hill.
"It was fun for a while," said Mrs. Archibald, "But I was always bothered by the fact that we were just staying at these huge homes--that they weren't mine. "
I was about to say to her that that was the whole fun of it; leaving the theatre after a performance and having people point at you and whisper excitedly, being invited to big champagne parties, staying in million-dollar homes--when you know good and well that you're no better than some schlemiel pushing papers on the 42nd floor of some skyscraper somewhere.
I didn’t get to say any of those things, however. Mr. Archibald noticed that my plate was empty and said abruptly, “Let’s take you back to your car now.” I thanked Mrs. Archibald for a nice evening and followed Mr. Archibald into the garage.
He pointed at the convertible and I got in. We sped out of there as though we were leaving the Batcave. Mr. Archibald made the comment that he was always afraid he was going to run over a jogger in that little car. I laughed nervously. I forgot that, when a driver has short-man syndrome, a car ride is a particularly harrowing experience. We made small talk as Mr. Archibald zoomed to the base of Highbrow Hill. Suddenly, the conversation stopped completely.
"This your car?" Mr. Archibald asked, pointing to a gold one with fuzzy dice. I said that it was and he promptly dumped me off, then sped into the darkness with little more than an impatient “’Night.”
I was still pretty excited about the evening, thinking how fun it would be to tell my friends about my teddibly fashionable dinner with the swells of Everycity (it probably had something to do with the three glasses of chardonnay). But as I thought about the quick and downright cold conclusion to it all, I got a little weirded out. It was just so…odd. Had I done something wrong? Was I really not as charming and funny as I thought I was?
Maybe he just needed to go to the bathroom.
Shelly, Josie, Candie and I (the Official Eventual Chri--Holiday Party Planning Committee) were to meet at Mr. Archibald's house yesterday evening to discuss our ideas for the party entertainment. Josie suddenly took sick so she couldn't go. Then Shelly asked Candie if we really needed her to be there to present our ideas to Mr. Archibald. Candie said no, so Shelly bailed too.
So Candie and I drove together to Highbrow Hill, a suburb of Everycity that the elite call home. Only the very wealthy, the very powerful, or the very famous live on Highbrow Hill. They even have their own police force which patrols the thoroughfares, making sure that the quality folk stay in--and the riff-raff stays out.
We arrived at Mr. Archibald's impressive mini-mansion and went inside. Mr. Archibald seemed even smaller than usual as he stood in the expansive hallway. In fact, everything looked huge except him. You'd think that short people would build miniature houses so they'd feel bigger. But I guess living in a dollhouse wouldn't send a very powerful message to one's neighbors. So the Titanic it is.
I always knew that the people who work for Eventual--really work, not just filing papers and answering phones--made lots of money, but I guess I never realized what that money could do until I experienced the sheer magnificence of this house. Mini-mansion nothing! I'm pretty sure this was an actual mansion. Vaulted ceilings? Check. Huge rooms? Check. Expensive furniture and artwork? Check. Dance studio on the third floor? Check.
Mr. Archibald and his wife quickly pressed us with brimming wine glasses and brie (yes...brie) and Candie and I pitched our new and improved idea for the party entertainment: Eventual employee's letters to Santa. But we added a twist! I decided to appeal to my co-workers' competative natures by turning the whole thing into a game. Candie and I would read the silly letters and they would have to shout out who they thought the letter belonged to.
Mr. Archibald loved it. Candie, slightly tipsy from the chardonnay and excited to have the approval of this usually frightening little man, opened her mouth and regailed Mr. Archibald and his wife with all sorts of stories that she probably shouldn't have told...including the one about how Queen III smuggled four bottles of beer out of last year's Christmas party in the sleeves of her faux fur coat. When Mrs. Archibald said, "Oh, honey, remember when we used to do things like that?" I felt at once that we all might--just might--be kindred spirits.
You see, the Archibalds used to be prima-ballerinas for the New York ballet. No. I'm dead serious. Mr. Archibald went into a ballet class his senior year in college (some Ivy league school that's so elite I haven't even heard of it) in an attempt to capture the affections of a girl he liked. The rest is history.
Mrs. Archibald asked Candie and myself if we would like to stay for dinner. I don't think Candie realized that a free meal was probably the closest thing we were going to get to some kind of actual payment for our services, because she politely declined, saying she had other plans.
"Well," began "Archie", addressing yours truly, "Would you like to stay for dinner? I can take you back to your car later." (I left my car at Candie's apartment so we could ride together.)
"Uhh..." I said. If I left I wouldn't have to endure being at the mercy of my boss and his wife. If I stayed, I might get some inside dope about life in New York and maybe do a little networking.
"Sure, why not?" I said.
And so I sat down to dinner with the Archibalds in their great, grand home on Highbrow Hill.
Their son said maybe two words the entire evening and quickly excused himself. Mrs. Archibald, however, was very chatty and pleasant and kept my wine glass filled at all times.
They told me stories about when they were in the New York ballet and the tours they would go on. They always thought it was funny that people would treat them like stars and let them stay in their huge homes in neighborhoods even more high-class than Highbrow Hill.
"It was fun for a while," said Mrs. Archibald, "But I was always bothered by the fact that we were just staying at these huge homes--that they weren't mine. "
I was about to say to her that that was the whole fun of it; leaving the theatre after a performance and having people point at you and whisper excitedly, being invited to big champagne parties, staying in million-dollar homes--when you know good and well that you're no better than some schlemiel pushing papers on the 42nd floor of some skyscraper somewhere.
I didn’t get to say any of those things, however. Mr. Archibald noticed that my plate was empty and said abruptly, “Let’s take you back to your car now.” I thanked Mrs. Archibald for a nice evening and followed Mr. Archibald into the garage.
He pointed at the convertible and I got in. We sped out of there as though we were leaving the Batcave. Mr. Archibald made the comment that he was always afraid he was going to run over a jogger in that little car. I laughed nervously. I forgot that, when a driver has short-man syndrome, a car ride is a particularly harrowing experience. We made small talk as Mr. Archibald zoomed to the base of Highbrow Hill. Suddenly, the conversation stopped completely.
"This your car?" Mr. Archibald asked, pointing to a gold one with fuzzy dice. I said that it was and he promptly dumped me off, then sped into the darkness with little more than an impatient “’Night.”
I was still pretty excited about the evening, thinking how fun it would be to tell my friends about my teddibly fashionable dinner with the swells of Everycity (it probably had something to do with the three glasses of chardonnay). But as I thought about the quick and downright cold conclusion to it all, I got a little weirded out. It was just so…odd. Had I done something wrong? Was I really not as charming and funny as I thought I was?
Maybe he just needed to go to the bathroom.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Now's your chance!
Have you ever wanted to write an entertainment for a company Christmas--er--Holiday party?
Well, now's your chance!
Actually, you don't really have to WRITE anything, but ideas would be greatly appreciated. You see...
Mr. Archibald of the 41st floor (also with Eventual) is hosting the Company Christ--er--Holiday Party this year and asked me (me!) being the most dramatical person in the office (along with Candie of 'Agnus of God' fame) to write "an entertainment".
Why do I always say, "Sure! Where's the contract? Let me sign my name in blood!"? Why, oh, WHY can't I say, "In a pig's eye! It's not like you're gonna PAY me to bust my butt so you and your fatcat cronies can get a belly laugh at my expense! Do it yerself, twinkletoes!"
WHY can't I say things like THAT?! WHY? WHY? WHY?
My first (and only) idea was a company roast. But after Candie read my rough draft, she said the black lady humor and Jehovah's Witness jokes were highly offensive and would have to go (personally, I think they're the heart and soul of the whole piece but what do I know?). Then I got to thinking about all the sullen employees up here and it occurred to me that humor--especially of the good-natured nose-tweaking variety--doesn't come easy to them.
So I printed off a copy of the rough draft and cast it into the fireplace. It's back to the drawing board.
Only problem is...
Mr. Archibald wants to see the final product...
TOMORROW NIGHT!
Help, gang! Candie and I have to come up with a great idea or we'll get the axe!
Well, now's your chance!
Actually, you don't really have to WRITE anything, but ideas would be greatly appreciated. You see...
Mr. Archibald of the 41st floor (also with Eventual) is hosting the Company Christ--er--Holiday Party this year and asked me (me!) being the most dramatical person in the office (along with Candie of 'Agnus of God' fame) to write "an entertainment".
Why do I always say, "Sure! Where's the contract? Let me sign my name in blood!"? Why, oh, WHY can't I say, "In a pig's eye! It's not like you're gonna PAY me to bust my butt so you and your fatcat cronies can get a belly laugh at my expense! Do it yerself, twinkletoes!"
WHY can't I say things like THAT?! WHY? WHY? WHY?
My first (and only) idea was a company roast. But after Candie read my rough draft, she said the black lady humor and Jehovah's Witness jokes were highly offensive and would have to go (personally, I think they're the heart and soul of the whole piece but what do I know?). Then I got to thinking about all the sullen employees up here and it occurred to me that humor--especially of the good-natured nose-tweaking variety--doesn't come easy to them.
So I printed off a copy of the rough draft and cast it into the fireplace. It's back to the drawing board.
Only problem is...
Mr. Archibald wants to see the final product...
TOMORROW NIGHT!
Help, gang! Candie and I have to come up with a great idea or we'll get the axe!
Password Reset
So once a month I have to reset my logon password for my computer here at Eventual Practical Financial Services Corp. Several months ago, I rediscovered a beloved old Nintendo game, 'MegaMan 2'. I thought, hey, that game brings a smile to my face and reminds me, no matter how grim life might become, there will always be fun things like MegaMan 2 to take me away from the rank and file and back to the place where I belong: Super-Happy Fun Land.So I made 'megaman2' my password.
The next month I decided to go with something like 'MarioKart' or 'LegendofZelda'. But no. My computer would give me an error message and say that those passwords were invalid. So as a last-ditch effort, I entered in MegaMan 3 as my new password.
"Password Accepted. Your new password "megaman3" will expire in 30 days.
Okay. Well, 'MegaMan 3' was a pretty good game. It still brings a smile to my face and sunshine to my heart to think of it. It's a good password.
I got in 15 minutes late this morning after sitting in what the history books will remember as the Traffic Jam of 2005. I turned on my computer and logged on--and got the good old, "It's time to change your password" notice. I had made it to megaman5, despite my best efforts to the contrary. As I'm sure you're ALL aware, the MegaMan series took a serious turn for the worse after MegaMan 3 (there are eight total). Now, every time I logged on to my computer, it wasn't making me happy. It was making me depressed.
It was time for a new password. Something...festive.
How about "Christmas"?
"Password not accepted. Your new password must contain at least 6 characters and be different from your last four passwords."
Uhh... how about "Christmas05"?
"Password not accepted."
Maybe my computer has a Christ-blocker on it. How about "Holiday05"?
"Password not accepted."
Good grief! I suppose you want me to put in "megaman6", the WORST game in the entire MegaMan series! When I think of that game it brings to my mind thoughts of wasted potential, mind-numbing tedium, and dreams gone wrong!
"Password accepted. Your new password "megaman6" will expire in 30 days."
I tell you, the machines are taking over...
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Last night at dinner...
Mom: (to me) It's good your sister can go out there and be salt in the darkness.
Dad: (baffled) It's "light".
Mom: (unphased) I know. But she's salt.
Dad: (baffled) It's "light".
Mom: (unphased) I know. But she's salt.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
South Cackalackee
Well, folks, I've left the arms of Everycity and gone on to spend my Thanksgiving vacation in that happiest of places, South Cackalackee. We went to the Piggly Wiggly and saw where they were selling fatback and chicken legs. No, seriously. Chicken legs. Talons and all. At the deli. Umm...
Ew.
I'll do my best to update every now and then, but I'll save my really profound thoughts for when I get back to Everycity.
Oh, and congratulations on Queen III for getting fired and having the second worst Monday the 21st of all my close friends! Huzzah!
Ew.
I'll do my best to update every now and then, but I'll save my really profound thoughts for when I get back to Everycity.
Oh, and congratulations on Queen III for getting fired and having the second worst Monday the 21st of all my close friends! Huzzah!
Monday, November 21, 2005
Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad...
Okay gang, I'm troubled. I've had three "bad days" in as many weeks! That never happens to me! I've never been the sort who, at the end of the day as I'm drifting off to sleep, takes a big metaphorical rubber stamp and brands it as BAD. I mean, it just wouldn't do to suggest an entire day has been a waste because one or two not-so-great things happened to you.
But when it's a barrage?
Am I becoming more negative? Or have these days really and truly just been stinkers? Personally, this was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. I mean, it's one of those days where you wake up and somehow everything--everything is uphill from where you're currently standing. And I have it on very good authority that I'm not the only one who felt this way about Monday, November 21st, 2005.
But when it's a barrage?
Am I becoming more negative? Or have these days really and truly just been stinkers? Personally, this was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. I mean, it's one of those days where you wake up and somehow everything--everything is uphill from where you're currently standing. And I have it on very good authority that I'm not the only one who felt this way about Monday, November 21st, 2005.
A triptych. Click on your favorite for some quick inspiration!
Best Morning Ever?
So I sauntered my way in to work at 9:00 this morning and soon found myself in a slight panic as I looked at the company calendar and saw that I was supposed to be here at 8:15 to cover the front desk for Candie. About a month ago somebody mentioned it to me and, stoopid me, I forgot! I hope I don't get fired.
On the way to work this morning, I took part in a Brake Party. That's when you're driving along at a nice clip and suddenly everybody in front of you slams on their brakes at exactly the same time. One could look at it in a negative light and say something like "[Expletive]! Why did everybody suddenly slam on their brakes?!" but I opted instead to burst into song. For some reason, everybody hitting the brakes all at once like that made me feel like I was at some kind of fun party. All those bright red lights...
This is how the Brake Party song goes:
Brake Paaarty!
It's a Brake Paaarty!
STOP!
Brake Paaarty!
We're stoppin' at the (clap!) Brake Paaarty!
Oh, expletive! I just got a phone call that the supply order for the 41st floor was delivered to the 49th floor AGAIN! This is intolerable! Or...maybe it's a...
Supply Paaarty!
It's a Supply Paaarty!
WRONG FLOOR!
Supply Paaarty!
We're on the wrong floor at the (clap!) Supply Paaarty!
On the way to work this morning, I took part in a Brake Party. That's when you're driving along at a nice clip and suddenly everybody in front of you slams on their brakes at exactly the same time. One could look at it in a negative light and say something like "[Expletive]! Why did everybody suddenly slam on their brakes?!" but I opted instead to burst into song. For some reason, everybody hitting the brakes all at once like that made me feel like I was at some kind of fun party. All those bright red lights...
This is how the Brake Party song goes:
Brake Paaarty!
It's a Brake Paaarty!
STOP!
Brake Paaarty!
We're stoppin' at the (clap!) Brake Paaarty!
Oh, expletive! I just got a phone call that the supply order for the 41st floor was delivered to the 49th floor AGAIN! This is intolerable! Or...maybe it's a...
Supply Paaarty!
It's a Supply Paaarty!
WRONG FLOOR!
Supply Paaarty!
We're on the wrong floor at the (clap!) Supply Paaarty!
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Man's Inhumanity to Man
[Forky's note 11/17/05: Today's post was going to be a photo-essay about man's inhumanity to man. However, the pictures filled me with such sorrow that I swapped them out for shots of baby animals instead. Enjoy!]
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Happy Wednesday!
Howdy gang! I was going to post something about man's inhumanity to man this morning, but I thought this was a lot more fun. Enjoy!
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
I Wake Up in the Mornin' Feelin' Fine...
My alarm clock went off a little earlier this morning. Candie, the main receptionist, is taking the day off and they asked me to cover the front desk for her. No problem.
Only I wasn't counting on waking up feeling as lousy and as exhausted as I can remember feeling since, well, this time last year.
When the cold north wind begins a'blowin', that can only mean one thing for me: Allergies. Really bad allergies. But not just of the runny nose variety. We're talking about the kind that sucks the very marrow from your bones and plays tiddlywinks on your brains.
The fact that yesterday may have been the most hectic and stressful day I've experienced since working here on the 42nd Floor probably didn't help too much either. Oh yeah--and the audition last night.
I don't know WHAT came over me at that audition. I mean, I nailed the monologues and felt very confident. I guess I was feeling that swirly feeling of fatigue though. You know. Your eyelids feel impossibly heavy so you kind of overcompensate and open your eyes REALLY wide to keep from falling asleep on your feet. The director asked at one point if I was comfortable doing stage combat and maybe some falls because the character is killed at one point.
"Sure!" I said. "Just as long as it's not real!"
A hush fell over the little audition room.
I wanted so badly to say, "Wow. That joke was really lame, wasn't it?"
So I woke up in the mornin' feelin' not-quite-as-fine-as-I'd-like-to-be-in-fact-I'd-really-like-to-call-in-sick-today.
But no--I'm the breadwinner in my apartment, so rise I must, once again, to the 42nd Floor.
I got here feeling about three times as sleepy as usual. I misjudged the morning traffic (there wasn't any--go fig) so I got in at a few minutes to 8, even though I wasn't due in until 8:15.
I was standing at the receptionist desk turning on the computer when Consuela stepped off the elevator. She looked up at me and took a half-step backwards.
Consuela: Wh-what are you doing here?
Me: What?
Consuela: You're not supposed to be here until 8:15!
Me: Oh, yeah, well...
Consuela: Is everything okay? I can't believe you'd be here this early.
Me: (thinking "Oh, I know! I'll be silly/charming and do that half-asleep 'it's way too early in the morning for me to be functioning' thing! That one's always good for a laugh!) Mmm huuwhaaahuuuh...
Consuela: (freezes) Wh...at's going on here?
Me: (Holy crap! She's not laughing! Oh, well, if I keep doing it, she'll figure out that I'm just being silly...) Ooohh,y'knowwww... it'swaaaaaay tooo eeeeearly
Consuela: (deep concern with a hint of panic) Oh my gosh--are you okay?!
Me: (Okay, she really doesn't get it. Drop the act, Forky. Snap out of it quickly and she'll realize that you were just trying to be funny) Yeah, I'm fine.
Consuela: (dead serious) What's wrong with you?
Me: (Sweet Jebus! Calm her down, Forky!) Oh! Oh, nothing, Consuela. I was just acting. You know: To be or not to be. Ha ha...
Consuela: Oh my gosh--I was gonna say. You really scared me for a second.
Me: Wow...I really didn't think I'd get that reaction.
Consuela: (still confused, still slightly panicked) What are you doing here so early?
Me: (Okay, now I'm confused) I'm due in at 8:15. It's 8:00 now.
Consuela: I know! Candie never gets in this early.
Me: (Holy carp--this woman is off her nut) Oh, you know. I just misjudged the morning traffic. There wasn't a whole lot this morning.
Consuela: (breathing a sigh of relief) Oh. Whew. Okay.
Me: (turning my head slightly and mouthing "Good God!")
Consuela: (suddenly laughing) Ha ha! You really ARE an actor!
Me: (stunned, confused, reaching for the scissors)
Sorry guys. Apparently someone swapped out my daily vitamins for Honest McGee's Long-Lasting Stupid Pills: Guaranteed to trip up your tongue, make improvisation impossible, cause the most seasoned comedian to be as un-funny as a heart attack, and grow hair even on a billiard ball!
Only I wasn't counting on waking up feeling as lousy and as exhausted as I can remember feeling since, well, this time last year.
When the cold north wind begins a'blowin', that can only mean one thing for me: Allergies. Really bad allergies. But not just of the runny nose variety. We're talking about the kind that sucks the very marrow from your bones and plays tiddlywinks on your brains.
The fact that yesterday may have been the most hectic and stressful day I've experienced since working here on the 42nd Floor probably didn't help too much either. Oh yeah--and the audition last night.
I don't know WHAT came over me at that audition. I mean, I nailed the monologues and felt very confident. I guess I was feeling that swirly feeling of fatigue though. You know. Your eyelids feel impossibly heavy so you kind of overcompensate and open your eyes REALLY wide to keep from falling asleep on your feet. The director asked at one point if I was comfortable doing stage combat and maybe some falls because the character is killed at one point.
"Sure!" I said. "Just as long as it's not real!"
A hush fell over the little audition room.
I wanted so badly to say, "Wow. That joke was really lame, wasn't it?"
So I woke up in the mornin' feelin' not-quite-as-fine-as-I'd-like-to-be-in-fact-I'd-really-like-to-call-in-sick-today.
But no--I'm the breadwinner in my apartment, so rise I must, once again, to the 42nd Floor.
I got here feeling about three times as sleepy as usual. I misjudged the morning traffic (there wasn't any--go fig) so I got in at a few minutes to 8, even though I wasn't due in until 8:15.
I was standing at the receptionist desk turning on the computer when Consuela stepped off the elevator. She looked up at me and took a half-step backwards.
Consuela: Wh-what are you doing here?
Me: What?
Consuela: You're not supposed to be here until 8:15!
Me: Oh, yeah, well...
Consuela: Is everything okay? I can't believe you'd be here this early.
Me: (thinking "Oh, I know! I'll be silly/charming and do that half-asleep 'it's way too early in the morning for me to be functioning' thing! That one's always good for a laugh!) Mmm huuwhaaahuuuh...
Consuela: (freezes) Wh...at's going on here?
Me: (Holy crap! She's not laughing! Oh, well, if I keep doing it, she'll figure out that I'm just being silly...) Ooohh,y'knowwww... it'swaaaaaay tooo eeeeearly
Consuela: (deep concern with a hint of panic) Oh my gosh--are you okay?!
Me: (Okay, she really doesn't get it. Drop the act, Forky. Snap out of it quickly and she'll realize that you were just trying to be funny) Yeah, I'm fine.
Consuela: (dead serious) What's wrong with you?
Me: (Sweet Jebus! Calm her down, Forky!) Oh! Oh, nothing, Consuela. I was just acting. You know: To be or not to be. Ha ha...
Consuela: Oh my gosh--I was gonna say. You really scared me for a second.
Me: Wow...I really didn't think I'd get that reaction.
Consuela: (still confused, still slightly panicked) What are you doing here so early?
Me: (Okay, now I'm confused) I'm due in at 8:15. It's 8:00 now.
Consuela: I know! Candie never gets in this early.
Me: (Holy carp--this woman is off her nut) Oh, you know. I just misjudged the morning traffic. There wasn't a whole lot this morning.
Consuela: (breathing a sigh of relief) Oh. Whew. Okay.
Me: (turning my head slightly and mouthing "Good God!")
Consuela: (suddenly laughing) Ha ha! You really ARE an actor!
Me: (stunned, confused, reaching for the scissors)
***
Sorry guys. Apparently someone swapped out my daily vitamins for Honest McGee's Long-Lasting Stupid Pills: Guaranteed to trip up your tongue, make improvisation impossible, cause the most seasoned comedian to be as un-funny as a heart attack, and grow hair even on a billiard ball!
Monday, November 14, 2005
"It was Beauty killed the Beast..."
Thanks to everyone who came out and made the King Kong Viewing Party so much fun! We should do another one! But what would the theme be?
The chilled King Kong dropping was delicious!
Bongo-riffic!
Kong slays another dinosaur!
Mmm! Banana!
Retro fun!
Friday, November 11, 2005
In Other News...
As many of you know, I'm "pulling an Annie" right now, which means I've decided that I'm somehow responsible for all the problems facing the world right now and the only way to make things right is for me to run away.
I was on my way here when I received a frantic phone call from Queen III.
Apparently, the Fox TV execs have decided to finally pull the plug on the best TV show since 'Seinfeld', our dearly beloved 'Arrested Development'.
A little research on the fan sites will reveal that the details are all rather vague...that maybe they're just pulling it for the fall...maybe they're trying to shop it around to different cable channels...nobody really knows. But rest soundly, dear readers. Fox has ordered 13 episodes for season three, which means, if nobody else picks the show up, the writers can still write a good series finalé.
Oh, and if you don't know what 'Arrested Development' is, then you have no idea why everyone in Everycity is CRAZY to get their hands on a Bluth Frozen Banana that will be available for consumption at the King Kong Viewing Party tomorrow night. Do yourself a favor and go to Blockbuster and rent 'Arrested Development Season One'. You'll be awfully glad you did.
Speaking of the King Kong Viewing Party, if you haven't confirmed yet, either by emailing me or by RSVPing here on the 42nd Floor, you need to do so now! I need to know how many bananas to buy! Er--I mean--I'm getting back in this boxcar. I'm running away! Not throwing a fun party! Yeah!
I was on my way here when I received a frantic phone call from Queen III.
Apparently, the Fox TV execs have decided to finally pull the plug on the best TV show since 'Seinfeld', our dearly beloved 'Arrested Development'.
A little research on the fan sites will reveal that the details are all rather vague...that maybe they're just pulling it for the fall...maybe they're trying to shop it around to different cable channels...nobody really knows. But rest soundly, dear readers. Fox has ordered 13 episodes for season three, which means, if nobody else picks the show up, the writers can still write a good series finalé.
Oh, and if you don't know what 'Arrested Development' is, then you have no idea why everyone in Everycity is CRAZY to get their hands on a Bluth Frozen Banana that will be available for consumption at the King Kong Viewing Party tomorrow night. Do yourself a favor and go to Blockbuster and rent 'Arrested Development Season One'. You'll be awfully glad you did.
Speaking of the King Kong Viewing Party, if you haven't confirmed yet, either by emailing me or by RSVPing here on the 42nd Floor, you need to do so now! I need to know how many bananas to buy! Er--I mean--I'm getting back in this boxcar. I'm running away! Not throwing a fun party! Yeah!
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Bratty Annie
Candie, our receptionist, is starring in a local college production of Agnus of God (the misspelling is the director's. Personally, I find it charming). You know. It's the show about the nun who says she has immaculately conceived and then proceeds to give herself an abortion so the other nuns won't figure out she's been shtupping the alter boy. I asked her (Candie) this morning if she was having fun with the show. Of course, she's not.Surprise, surprise! I mean, it's Agnus of God [sic] for goodness' sake! In all honesty, I guess I really didn't need to ask.
Anyway, then she hands me my paycheck and explains that the direct-deposit went through at midnight of last night because some big cheese in Othercity was afraid that, because tomorrow is Veteran's Day, the paychecks might not go through. Of course, that made me happy. It's always nice to get money. And horde it away. Like a chipmunk in the fall. Like how they do. With nuts. You know.
So the paycheck was a nice little boost to what has been an otherwise draining morning. Don't ax me why, but when I logged on to my trusty news website this morning, I sort of felt like slashing my wrists.
I'm serious guys. I've had it with psycho religious zealots. I don't care who you are or which religious book you read, please! Stop acting crazy!
It's a wacko world out there. There are people who think that bobbed hair and bare ankles on girls are abominations, that those who celebrate Christmas are apostates, that drinking booze makes you the moral equivalent of your average prostitute, that people who break the Law of Moses deserve to be put to death immediately, that laughter and happiness are wicked fleshly indulgences, and that any little bad thing that happens is the wrath of God/Allah pouring forth to consume us all in a fiery tempest of divine rage.
It gets worse, folks. There are also people out there who think Shrek is a good movie. These people are a danger to themselves and others and must be stopped.
Somehow, Candie and I got talking about the production of Annie Warbucks--the official sequel to the beloved musical, Annie--I was in several years ago. I was summing up the plot for her when something occurred to me.
Okay, I'm pretty sure everybody agrees that Little Orphan Annie is one of the great optimists of the world, second only to Pollyanna. Pollyanna, however, didn't have a hit song. Just Haley Mills (...even though I guess young Miss Mills' captivating, gut-wrenching performance that can reduce even the most hardened criminal into a bawling babe has to count for something).
But what does Annie--this great optimist whose story spans two hit musicals, comic books, lunchboxes and a handful of direct-to-video spinoffs--what does Annie do when the going really gets tough? I'll give you a hint: she doesn't slap a smile on her face and sing about how things are gonna be okay--and she does it with almost alarming consistency.
Give up?
She RUNS AWAY!
Trust. If something goes afoul in Annie's world, give her a little while to think things through. Inevitably, she'll come to the conclusion that whatever's gone wrong must be her fault and the only way to make things right is to run away.
Now, normally I'd be inclined to pick apart this kid's twisted logic and ask you, dear reader, how on earth such a little pest could endear herself to so many people simply by making a nuisance of herself, scaring her guardians to death, then saying in the final scene that she always believed everything would turn out okay and bursting into song.
But not today.
No. I'm feeling generous today. In fact, I'm going to "Pull an Annie" myself.
I've decided that all the crap that's going on in the world today must be because of something I've done. And I'm running away.
Despite their good intentions, crazy religious zealots like Carrie's Mom don't make the world a better place. They just make it scary.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Party News!
KING KONG VIEWING PARTY UPDATE!Just a few new bits of information for you. A party date has been decided: This Saturday, the 12th. Doors will open at 7:30pm. We'll get the movie started around 8:15 or whenever everybody shows up. Bear in mind that I do live in an apartment building so start telling yourself now, "I will enjoy the King Kong Viewing Party, but I will also respect the good people who live in the building with Forky by keeping myself from getting too rambunctious." Repeat this a dozen times in place of your evening prayers and we should be good to go.
In addition, a new bit entertainment has just been added to the roster. Old school Donkey Kong from the 1980s will be available for play before the movie viewing. Whoever sets the high score will win something! Something swell!
Now...who's coming to the KING KONG VIEWING PARTY? A-dub and I need to know how many Bluth Frozen Bananas to make! Sign up here! Now!
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
It's coming...
No, wait--it's here!
The loyal readers of the 42nd Floor are hereby invited to my place this weekend for the one and only...
KING KONG VIEWING PARTY!
What it is: Before Peter Jackson looses his new bigger-louder-faster-hairier King Kong remake on the world, let's go back in time to 1933 and watch the original!
Where it is: My place! Don't know where it is? Email me!
When it is: That's still up in the air. Friday the 11th or Saturday the 12th. Vote for your favorite day now! The weekend is almost upon us! (If you can't make it this weekend, be sure to post something like "Next weekend, PLEASE!")
Why it is: Because! Everybody loves a giant ape!
Who it is: Duh! King Kong! And if you're reading this, you're (probably) invited!
Wherefore it is: That's just a fancy way of asking "Why it is" again. And I already answered that one!
Other stuff you should know: It'll be more fun than a barrel of monkeys! Not only will there be a big, hairy movie to watch, there will also be more bananas than you'll know what to do with! Eat dinner before you come...but save room for dessert!
Menu:
Bluth Frozen Bananas
Tried and True 'Nana Puddin' with 'Nilla Wafers
Jungle-themed drinks (or bring your own!)
Entertainment:
1933's King Kong to be followed by every monkey's favorite bongo rhythm game, Donkey Konga!
Be sure to vote for your favorite party day! Let's get it on like [King] Kong!
Monday, November 07, 2005
Speaking of Chr--Holidaymas...
There was once a time in my life when Christmas felt really really special. Every year I could feel it coming...like a great big choo-choo train made out of candy canes. It was great. I loved it.
Then I graduated from college and I no longer had the month of December off.
No, now I have a normal job. I work on the 42nd Floor. And since Christmas falls on a Sunday this year, the only day off we get is Monday the 26th. Of course, I'll be using some of my vacation days, but good grief! What kind of vacation is that? Where's the five-week winter break?
As a result, in the last couple of years, Christmas has come and gone without it ever really feeling like Christmas.
This year, I'm determined to make it feel like Christmas.
You: But Forky, it's not even Thanksgiving yet!
Hang Thanksgiving! I want Christmas!
You: Could you please stop calling it that? That word makes me feel uncomfortable and left out.
What would you like me to say?
You: Oh, something inoffensive like...Winter.
Chipmunk: Excuse me.
You: Yes, little Chipmunk?
Chipmunk: I find that name offensive.
Forky: You do?
Chipmunk: Of course I do. Do you think I'm going to be sitting in my hollow tree having a party all Winter long? No! I'll be lucky if I even survive. Please find a different name for your celebratory season of death.
Forky: Look, you, what do you want us to do? Cancel Christmas?
You: DON'T USE THAT WORD! I feel uncomfortable and left out!
Forky: Uhh...Winter?
Chipmunk: I don't want to die!
Forky: Uhh........
(You and Chipmunk look at Forky expectantly)
Forky: Season?
???: Sacre bleu! Death to zee infadel!
You: Who are you?
Ali Cordon Bleu: Je m'applle Ali Cordon Bleu! And je proteste your usage of zat word!
Forky: What word? "Season"?
Ali Cordon Bleu: Zut alors! What are you trying to du? Start anozer riotte?
Forky: You mean "riot"?
Ali Cordon Bleu: Zat is what I said, you idiotte!
Chipmunk: Are you one of those rioting French Muslims?
You: (Is there any other kind?)
Ali Cordon Bleu: I 'eard zat, You! You'll find eet tres difficile to laugh once I plunge zee scimitar of Allah into your fat Americaine belly! Americans! Pshaw!
Forky: Look, all we're trying to do is find a name for Chr--Wint--Seas--Holiday.
Ali Cordon Bleu: And what is so "holee" about zees day? Everybody knows it eez zee Feast of Babylon!
Forky: They do?
Ali Cordon Bleu: Of course! And God will pour out 'is judgement on zee nations zat celebrate such such an abomination!
Forky: Wow! You sound just like a staunch Southern Baptist!
Ali Cordon Bleu: We are not so different, zee Souzern Baptists and I.
Forky: Okay, well, I think we can all agree on simply calling it what it is... the Feast of Babylon.
???: Hold it!
Chipmunk: What now?
Leavenworth: My name is Zedakiah Leavenworth and I'm offended!
You: But you're Jewish. You don't even celebrate the Feast of Babylon.
Leavenworth: No, but how do you suppose I'll feel when I open my mailbox and have a stack of Babylon Cards waiting for me? Offended, that's what! And left out!
Forky: I guess you could always just throw the Babylon cards away.
Ali Cordon Bleu: 'e 'as a point.
Leavenworth: You want to know what I say? I say, CANCEL the Feast of Babylon!
All: Cancel the Feast of Babylon??
Forky: But...but think about the children! The children who, on Babylon Eve, will wait up all night for Santa Tammuz to bring them presents! You can't deny them a little joy in this mixed up world of ours, can you?
Leavenworth: I--I--
Forky: Please...
Leavenworth: Well, I--
Ali Cordon Bleu: Wait a minute...'e is Jewish? I find zee mere existence of your people to be offensive.
Leavenworth: (sarcastic) Oh. Okay. Well I guess we'll all just go kill ourselves so you won't have to feel offended.
Ali Cordon Bleu: You really mean it? I mean, you really really mean it?
Leavenworth: No, you nit-wit!
Ali Cordon Bleu: Vous dare to mock moi!
Leavenworth: How can I not? Look at you! You're a rioting French Muslim!
Ali Cordon Bleu: Vous will pay dearly for your words! I will cut off your hand and cook it up au flambé!
Forky: Wait, guys! Stop! It's Christmas!
All: Don't use that word!
Moral of the story: The French had it comin'.
Then I graduated from college and I no longer had the month of December off.
No, now I have a normal job. I work on the 42nd Floor. And since Christmas falls on a Sunday this year, the only day off we get is Monday the 26th. Of course, I'll be using some of my vacation days, but good grief! What kind of vacation is that? Where's the five-week winter break?
As a result, in the last couple of years, Christmas has come and gone without it ever really feeling like Christmas.
This year, I'm determined to make it feel like Christmas.
You: But Forky, it's not even Thanksgiving yet!
Hang Thanksgiving! I want Christmas!
You: Could you please stop calling it that? That word makes me feel uncomfortable and left out.
What would you like me to say?
You: Oh, something inoffensive like...Winter.
Chipmunk: Excuse me.
You: Yes, little Chipmunk?
Chipmunk: I find that name offensive.
Forky: You do?
Chipmunk: Of course I do. Do you think I'm going to be sitting in my hollow tree having a party all Winter long? No! I'll be lucky if I even survive. Please find a different name for your celebratory season of death.
Forky: Look, you, what do you want us to do? Cancel Christmas?
You: DON'T USE THAT WORD! I feel uncomfortable and left out!
Forky: Uhh...Winter?
Chipmunk: I don't want to die!
Forky: Uhh........
(You and Chipmunk look at Forky expectantly)
Forky: Season?
???: Sacre bleu! Death to zee infadel!
You: Who are you?
Ali Cordon Bleu: Je m'applle Ali Cordon Bleu! And je proteste your usage of zat word!
Forky: What word? "Season"?
Ali Cordon Bleu: Zut alors! What are you trying to du? Start anozer riotte?
Forky: You mean "riot"?
Ali Cordon Bleu: Zat is what I said, you idiotte!
Chipmunk: Are you one of those rioting French Muslims?
You: (Is there any other kind?)
Ali Cordon Bleu: I 'eard zat, You! You'll find eet tres difficile to laugh once I plunge zee scimitar of Allah into your fat Americaine belly! Americans! Pshaw!
Forky: Look, all we're trying to do is find a name for Chr--Wint--Seas--Holiday.
Ali Cordon Bleu: And what is so "holee" about zees day? Everybody knows it eez zee Feast of Babylon!
Forky: They do?
Ali Cordon Bleu: Of course! And God will pour out 'is judgement on zee nations zat celebrate such such an abomination!
Forky: Wow! You sound just like a staunch Southern Baptist!
Ali Cordon Bleu: We are not so different, zee Souzern Baptists and I.
Forky: Okay, well, I think we can all agree on simply calling it what it is... the Feast of Babylon.
???: Hold it!
Chipmunk: What now?
Leavenworth: My name is Zedakiah Leavenworth and I'm offended!
You: But you're Jewish. You don't even celebrate the Feast of Babylon.
Leavenworth: No, but how do you suppose I'll feel when I open my mailbox and have a stack of Babylon Cards waiting for me? Offended, that's what! And left out!
Forky: I guess you could always just throw the Babylon cards away.
Ali Cordon Bleu: 'e 'as a point.
Leavenworth: You want to know what I say? I say, CANCEL the Feast of Babylon!
All: Cancel the Feast of Babylon??
Forky: But...but think about the children! The children who, on Babylon Eve, will wait up all night for Santa Tammuz to bring them presents! You can't deny them a little joy in this mixed up world of ours, can you?
Leavenworth: I--I--
Forky: Please...
Leavenworth: Well, I--
Ali Cordon Bleu: Wait a minute...'e is Jewish? I find zee mere existence of your people to be offensive.
Leavenworth: (sarcastic) Oh. Okay. Well I guess we'll all just go kill ourselves so you won't have to feel offended.
Ali Cordon Bleu: You really mean it? I mean, you really really mean it?
Leavenworth: No, you nit-wit!
Ali Cordon Bleu: Vous dare to mock moi!
Leavenworth: How can I not? Look at you! You're a rioting French Muslim!
Ali Cordon Bleu: Vous will pay dearly for your words! I will cut off your hand and cook it up au flambé!
Forky: Wait, guys! Stop! It's Christmas!
All: Don't use that word!
Moral of the story: The French had it comin'.
Week 45
For those of you who haven't been following along, this is officially the beginning of work week 45. Do you know why that's such a big deal? Because there are only 52 work weeks in the year. So let's count how many weeks are left in 2005, shall we? Let's see here...
One (counting this week, of course)
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Can you believe that? In two weeks it will be Thanksgiving. And then it will be Christmas--er--Holidaymas. Sorry. You can't say "Xmas" on the 42nd Floor. There are too many people who might be offended or feel left out. So bear that in mind as you prepare to celebrate the Feast of Babylon (or FoB, as the kids have taken to calling it).
One (counting this week, of course)
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Can you believe that? In two weeks it will be Thanksgiving. And then it will be Christmas--er--Holidaymas. Sorry. You can't say "Xmas" on the 42nd Floor. There are too many people who might be offended or feel left out. So bear that in mind as you prepare to celebrate the Feast of Babylon (or FoB, as the kids have taken to calling it).
Friday, November 04, 2005
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Good News!
I thought it was going to be a perfectly ordinary Thursday morning...when what should I find in my inbox but an email from a dear old friend of mine, A.J. Werner!
Here's what A.J. had to say:
Hello, dear friend on the sidewalks of Life,
I hope this message finds you well. I am so sorry I've been out of touch. I've been traveling all over this great big country of ours absorbing new life experiences of which to write about. Mr. Bubbles, my kitty companion, is in good health and has helped me in many a writing project. My sister is still locked in jail, however. It's thoughts like those that make the tears of my heart pour fourth.
I understand my Sidewalk Monologues were of great help to you during your college career. A little bird told me the entire story and it has imspired me to take up the quill once again. I saw your bolg and I'm thinking of starting one myself. Any assistance would be appreciated. There's nothing more I desire than to be of some help to any people who are ever struggling in the dark parts of life. I will be in touch.
Yours for always and always,
A.J. Werner
P.S. Here’s the beginning of a new monologue I’m working on. Perhaps you could post it on your bolg and send me critiques.
I call it “By the Side of the Seaside”
Sally: I sell seashells by the seashore, but I’m almost never actually really there. I live in Minnesota where there is no seashore. There are some lakes here and there—they call us the Land of A Thousand Lakes, actually, and you’d be surprised at the sorts of things that wash up on the lake shore. Once, I was walking along the side of the lake when
That’s all I’ve written so far.
For those of you who don’t know about Ms. Werner, she was of great assistance to me during a particularly trying period while I was in an acting class at Everycity U. A ridiculous acting teacher (of the ilk that asks you to sizzle like bacon and “be more orange”) asked us to present monologues to the class so he could make them more surreal. With A.J.’s help, I found the perfect monologue.
Since then she’s been sort of latter-day Mary Poppins, who swoops in just when you need her to set things right. Those of you who have never met her are in for a real treat. I’ll keep you all posted on the status of her bolg.
Here's what A.J. had to say:
Hello, dear friend on the sidewalks of Life,
I hope this message finds you well. I am so sorry I've been out of touch. I've been traveling all over this great big country of ours absorbing new life experiences of which to write about. Mr. Bubbles, my kitty companion, is in good health and has helped me in many a writing project. My sister is still locked in jail, however. It's thoughts like those that make the tears of my heart pour fourth.
I understand my Sidewalk Monologues were of great help to you during your college career. A little bird told me the entire story and it has imspired me to take up the quill once again. I saw your bolg and I'm thinking of starting one myself. Any assistance would be appreciated. There's nothing more I desire than to be of some help to any people who are ever struggling in the dark parts of life. I will be in touch.
Yours for always and always,
A.J. Werner
P.S. Here’s the beginning of a new monologue I’m working on. Perhaps you could post it on your bolg and send me critiques.
I call it “By the Side of the Seaside”
Sally: I sell seashells by the seashore, but I’m almost never actually really there. I live in Minnesota where there is no seashore. There are some lakes here and there—they call us the Land of A Thousand Lakes, actually, and you’d be surprised at the sorts of things that wash up on the lake shore. Once, I was walking along the side of the lake when
That’s all I’ve written so far.
For those of you who don’t know about Ms. Werner, she was of great assistance to me during a particularly trying period while I was in an acting class at Everycity U. A ridiculous acting teacher (of the ilk that asks you to sizzle like bacon and “be more orange”) asked us to present monologues to the class so he could make them more surreal. With A.J.’s help, I found the perfect monologue.
Since then she’s been sort of latter-day Mary Poppins, who swoops in just when you need her to set things right. Those of you who have never met her are in for a real treat. I’ll keep you all posted on the status of her bolg.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
On My Own...
Uh oh. It looks like the French are trying to reinact the barricade scene from Les Miserables...AGAIN! They don't seem to 'get' that the more organized, more heavily armed law enforcement will always overpower the rabble. And kill them every time. Empty chairs at empty tables, anyone? And think of all the Eponines who are going to throw themselves in front of their Mariuses and die for unrequited love!
Ah, Eponine. Now there's an interesting character if ever there was one. Everybody loves her and hates Cosette. Why? Oh, that's easy. Because Cosette has all her dreams come true. She's pretty, she has a secret fortune thanks to her protective and studly adoptive daddy, Jean Valjean. She's kind, she's virtuous, she's pure and innocent. Generally speaking, she's Less Miserable than anyone else in the book.
Meanwhile, Eponine took a swan dive off the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. She's got nasty parents, not a dime to her name, maybe like two teeth in her nasty mouth, has serious codependency issues and tries WAY too hard to get Marius to like her. She lies, she steals, she throws hissy-fits, and stalks the man she's obsessed with. Generally speaking, she's the Most Miserable of anybody else in the book. Save for maybe Fantine. But who cares about her, right? She wasn't in love with a hot young stud who didn't love her back.
But all the girls like Eponine more than Cosette (or "That [expletive] Cosette" as someone from my high school days remembered her). Let's break it down. Let's say you're in the middle of the French Revolution. You don't have a toothbrush. You don't have make-up. You don't have clothes. You live in filth. You're destitute.
You'll probably look a lot less like this:
Ah, Eponine. Now there's an interesting character if ever there was one. Everybody loves her and hates Cosette. Why? Oh, that's easy. Because Cosette has all her dreams come true. She's pretty, she has a secret fortune thanks to her protective and studly adoptive daddy, Jean Valjean. She's kind, she's virtuous, she's pure and innocent. Generally speaking, she's Less Miserable than anyone else in the book.
Meanwhile, Eponine took a swan dive off the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. She's got nasty parents, not a dime to her name, maybe like two teeth in her nasty mouth, has serious codependency issues and tries WAY too hard to get Marius to like her. She lies, she steals, she throws hissy-fits, and stalks the man she's obsessed with. Generally speaking, she's the Most Miserable of anybody else in the book. Save for maybe Fantine. But who cares about her, right? She wasn't in love with a hot young stud who didn't love her back.
But all the girls like Eponine more than Cosette (or "That [expletive] Cosette" as someone from my high school days remembered her). Let's break it down. Let's say you're in the middle of the French Revolution. You don't have a toothbrush. You don't have make-up. You don't have clothes. You live in filth. You're destitute.
You'll probably look a lot less like this:
Eponine's hot!
and a lot more like this:
Eponine's not!
But give toothless, nasty Eponine a song like 'On My Own' and suddenly every girl in every high school show choir across America not only wants to be Eponine...she thinks she is Eponine. You know the type. They're the ones who made the Jekyll and Hyde such a hit. They look around their high school and purposely develop impossible crushes on the star quarterback just so they can wander around outside in the middle of the night and sing "On my own...pretending he's besaaaaahde muuuueeeeee..."
Fortunately for Broadway, they've figured out that unrequited high school-style romance is a goldmine. Wicked was in serious trouble until they started marketing the show to teeny-boppers. Now it's a huge hit. And the secret to the show's success? Not one unrequited love song...but an entire score of 'em! Everybody's running/flying around the stage singing ballads about how nobody loves them. And audiences pay out the nose to see it every time.
I'm tellin' ya, fill a show with a bunch of girls who love guys who don't love them back and you'll have a hit on your hands. And you can take that to the bank.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Hellzahoppin'!
The good readers of the 42nd Floor have spoken! It was a long and fierce battle and, at times, it appeared that Christmas, a.k.a. the Feast of Babylon, would emerge triumphant. But in the end, Easter, a.k.a. the Feast of Ishtar, pulled through, scoring a whopping 12 votes and winning itself the coveted title of "Most Evil Holiday" or, as we like to call it up here on Floor 42, "Most Evil Hell-iday"!And is it any surprise? Though considered by many to be the most Christian of all the holidays on the calendar, a little investigative research will tell you that it's also the most pagan! Talk about irony!
So celebrate it if you must, but remember, if you do, you'll pay! You'll pay in hell!
Dia de los Muertos
"When there's no more room in hell, the dead will walk the earth." -the Black Dude from Dawn of the Dead
Monday, October 31, 2005
Happy Halloween!
It's finally here! Do your part and sacrifice a small animal to Samhain today! Let's get that sun back in the sky!
Voting for the most Unholy Hell-iday concludes at the stroke of midnight tonight! Be sure to give a shout out for your favorite pagan celebration!
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Friday, October 28, 2005
Halloween Makes Me...
Everybody knows you shouldn't celebrate the ancient Celtic/Druidic festival of Samhain, commonly known to we 21st century Americans as Halloween (or Hallowe'en if you're into majick and wear Hot Topic stuff). Fortunately, I've celebrated Halloween every year of my life...so you don't have to! Over the next couple of days I'll show you what celebrating Halloween makes you do!
So, without further ado...
So, without further ado...
Halloween Makes Me...
...more likely to dabble in black majick.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Hair! Part 2
Why Do You Bob Your Hair, Girls?
by Blind Alfred Reed, 1927
Why do you bob your hair, girls?
You're doing mighty wrong.
God gave it for a glory
And you should wear it long!
You spoil your lovely hair, girls,
To keep yourself in style;
Before you bob your hair, girls,
Just stop and think a while.
Why do you bob your hair, girls?
It is an awful shame
To rob the head God gave you
And bear the flapper's name.
You're taking off your covering,
It is an awful sin;
Don't ever bob your hair, girls,
Short hair belongs to men.
by Blind Alfred Reed, 1927
Why do you bob your hair, girls?
You're doing mighty wrong.
God gave it for a glory
And you should wear it long!
You spoil your lovely hair, girls,
To keep yourself in style;
Before you bob your hair, girls,
Just stop and think a while.
Why do you bob your hair, girls?
It is an awful shame
To rob the head God gave you
And bear the flapper's name.
You're taking off your covering,
It is an awful sin;
Don't ever bob your hair, girls,
Short hair belongs to men.
Why do you bob your hair, girls?
It does not look so nice;
It's just to be in fashion,
lt's not the Lord's advice.
And every time you bob it
You're breaking God's command
You cannot bob your hair, girls
And reach the Glory land.
Why do you bob your hair, girls?
It's not the thing to do;
Just wear it, always wear it,
And to your Lord be true.
And when before the judgment
You meet your Lord up there,
He'll say, "Well done! For one thing,
You never bobbed your hair!"
It does not look so nice;
It's just to be in fashion,
lt's not the Lord's advice.
And every time you bob it
You're breaking God's command
You cannot bob your hair, girls
And reach the Glory land.
Why do you bob your hair, girls?
It's not the thing to do;
Just wear it, always wear it,
And to your Lord be true.
And when before the judgment
You meet your Lord up there,
He'll say, "Well done! For one thing,
You never bobbed your hair!"
Hair!
Hey fellas! Thinking about growing your hair out? You'd better think twice before your hair-do becomes a hair-don't!
I'm in BIG trouble! I'm going to propose to my church that the missionaries also be trained in cutting hair. It's really important!
In all seriousness, this is the last of the Nutty Fundie Posts (NFP) for a while. I just couldn't resist this one! I took solace in this website, although I've probably just been deceived by the heathen!
I'm in BIG trouble! I'm going to propose to my church that the missionaries also be trained in cutting hair. It's really important!
In all seriousness, this is the last of the Nutty Fundie Posts (NFP) for a while. I just couldn't resist this one! I took solace in this website, although I've probably just been deceived by the heathen!
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Unholy-days!
Which holiday is the most EVIL?
The Devil's Birthday: Halloween
Hellzahoppin'!: Easter
Not-So-Funny: Valentine's
Evil Eve: New Year's
The Feast of Babylon: Christmas
The Stars are Alligned: Birthday
You decide! But be warned...if you celebrate any of these seemingly innocent days of mirth, you may be punished with an eternity of turning on a spit in the darkest depths of Hades! I tried to warn you!
Monday, October 24, 2005
The New Barbie
Hubba-hubba! Here she is, folks! Strutting right off the street corner and into your home! Say hello to the new Barbie!
"Bling Bling Barbie" is set to be the hot-hot-hottest Christmas gift this year! Not only does she come with a faux fur coat, she also features accesories such as a faux-diamond studded cell phone, a faux-fur purse, and lipstick to put on those big, fat collagen lips!
Seriously, is this not one of the more skank-o-rrific things you've ever seen? I can just see it now. Little Suzy trickin' on the street corner with her new Bling Bling Barbie.
What's next? Pimp-Daddy Ken?
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