Sunday, February 26, 2012


So I broke down yesterday and rented the first Twilight movie. I've read snips from the book, and because of my - er - disdain may not be a strong enough word here - of the writing quality, I have never finished the book. Any of them.

But it's such a huge fad, and so I thought that it seemed likely that whoever made the movie would clean up a lot of the garbage so that the movie would sell. Makes sense - right?

Oh - how wrong I was. 

The movie is laughable. Inane. Pedestrian. Seventh grade. Not better than the book.

But look at the picture Doesn't Edward look like he should be deep, and brooding? Tough and worldly? He is, after all, elderly by anyone's standards, and must have survived a thing or two.

Here's the naked truth: Edward is a wimp, and that these two fall in "love" with each other after one conversation is beyond ridiculous. Upon what basis do they rest even a liking of one another? He wants to drink her blood for God's sake and she wants to - - well, do what girls want to do with the object of their romantic interests.

And there are some very disturbing occurrences in this movie. Edward follows Bella out of town even before they're friends - and he visits her bedroom at night to watch her sleep. Um - - hello, Mr. Creepy-Pants! I think we in law enforcement call that stalking and have little things called restraining orders for people like you!

But is Bella creeped out when she finds out? No - she isn't. Not at all. And not only that, but no matter how much danger Edward puts her in, Bella clings only more tightly to a fellow who could be her great-great grandad. And she begs him not to leave her.

Some of this is pure teen love: The utter stupidity of those in "love," and the subsequent decisions completely devoid of reason or sense. But there is a proclivity for abuse underneath here that we shouldn't be overlooking. 

Yes; Edward didn't hurt Bella, but she didn't know that he wouldn't. Do you want your teen daughter taking those kinds of risks for a boy - or a man (or a girl - woman - as the case may be)?

Adding insult to injury, for me anyway, is the piss-poor writing and plotting, and the fact that Edward's character seems like such a wimp. 

I am not exaggerating about the poor writing and plotting. The movie is yawn-yawn trite, and the characters sometimes know things they shouldn't (because the things haven't been revealed to them). The dialogue is painful at times as well. 

I honestly imagined that after I saw the movie I would (secretly) understand the draw to it, but I'd be lying if I said I did. I don't. 

For many reasons, it belongs in the trashcan.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Dental Dilemma

So. So today was the day when I was going to have my four second molars pulled. 

I spent the last two days mentally preparing because I'd booked this procedure without any tranquilizers. (I had to drive myself home, you see, and take care of my 8-yr-old son afterward.) And so. 

So I showed up, hung up my coat, and let the assistant adjust the headrest in the chair of tortureThe dentist came in. I laid back, and the fun began.

Those shots hurt. Not unbearably, but they hurt a lot more than I remember them hurting. And why the hell were there so many?

As the fourth or fifth straw-sized needle pierced the tender spot in the back of my mouth, a streamer of pain shot down my neck, and up into my jaw, and my eye. Without thinking, and maybe before a thought could form, I grabbed his hand and yanked it out. 

"Ow?" he asked.

Mmm hmm.

And then: "Open your mouth." 

But when I did, pain began. And grew, until nearly unbearable torment filled my head, and flowed into my sinuses. Ever had dry sockets? It felt like every tooth on that top right was driving a mack truck into a Denali-sized dry socket.

Well, the short version of all this is that my experience is apparently labeled "a reaction to anesthesia." And so now I have to make an appointment with an oral surgeon, and be put out for the procedure. The problem, however, is getting those thirteen miles home afterward, and of course looking after my son is another. (I've got no family here close, and imposing on friends for this kind of thing makes me cringe.)

And so.

But at least now the ibuprofen I took is working, and I'm not writhing on the floor. The other details I'll work out.

Monday, February 13, 2012

Be My Valentine

What was it he just said? Her gaze lifted from her hands, twisting a knot in her lap, and washed across his face before skittering back to the pale yellow knot circled beneath the salt shaker.

Still, at the furthest edge of her vision, across two tables, she caught his smile. A prick of fluorescent orange wanting bunched beneath her ribs, expanded with her lungs, and she had to press the edges of her lips down, else match his. 

As she exhaled, she tried to pretend that she wasn't thinking about how those smiling lips would feel pressed against hers.

Happy Valentine's Day, my loves!

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Fils Sur La Lune

Did you hear? NASA is putting together a plan to send astronauts to the far side of the moon. In fact, they're trying to put together a plan to build a permanent outpost there - on the far side.

Maybe it's because Valentine's Day is so close, but sending folks to see - to live on - the far side of the moon seems like such a . . . romantic idea. 

Imagine it. Traveling to see a face that billions have never, and will never, see. Every day, with just a casual glance, your eyes would brush a beautiful, barren landscape few will ever see.

I would go. I would live there. 

Of course, I'd have to take my cats, my son, my kindle, and my laptop. No small undertaking. And I'd have to have vacations - - time away when I could drink a coke,  eat good Italian food, and visit my loved ones.

What about you? Would you go? Would you live for a half a year on the far side of the moon?

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Kitties Are People, Too!

It's morning, and I always feed my cats canned cat food in the morning. One has to have his medicine, which I dispense by hiding it in a spoonful of juicy canned food, and so of course the others get a treat then, too. To be fair.

Rhiannon -- the oft thief.
This morning, the one who often, and quite shamelessly, steals the others' food did indeed steal one of her "brother"'s treat. I was standing there, watching. Amun Ra, the one whose food got stolen, looked up at me and made the cutest wail of protest. "Help me! Fix this!" 

I smiled at his cute little face and spooned him out another bite or two, which he ate with a satisfied mewl.

Amun Ra - the aggrieved.
And at that moment I had a epiphanal flash. How can anyone say - with a straight face - that animals don't feel emotion? That they don't think "like we do"? That they don't talk - communicate ideas - like we do? That they don't feel pain, or understand, or develop relationships? 

We humans have a long history of lying - making up stories - to attempt to justify what we feel guilty about. 

Like how we treat animals. What we do to them, and allow them to endure. What horrors we say nothing about.

When we're big enough - emotionally and intellectually mature enough - to examine the matter with true objectivity, our shame will be endless. As it should.