I came to the realization this morning that I have a tendancy to start off every conversation with my sister with the word, kill. I'm not sure why I feel like hostility is the best place to start a conversation, but it seems that's my main objective these days. Maybe that's because I'm struggling with my job or because I'm in the middle of a move. Maybe it's because I feel like I'm being smothered by one of my friends or that the existance of my love life has mysteriously disappeared yet again.
Actually, I don't think it has to do with any of that. I think my hostility to my sister is caused by my lack of backbone. You see, I'm too afraid of everyone else to tell them how frustrating, rude, or stressful they are to me. So instead, I bottle it up until I can vent it to someone I'm not afraid of: my sister.
I have a sinking suspicion that this isn't an effective way to deal with my problems.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Twilight: The Movie
Ok, I'm the first to admit that I'm a huge Twilight fan. I've read all the books(several times), obsessed over Stehpenie Meyer's website, gone to book signings, bought memorabilia, and even went on a tour through the Olympic coast to see landmarks from the book.
I really like Twilight.
I'll even admit to being excited when I heard news that a possible movie was in the making. But I'm here to say that I've officially changed my mind, and I'll tell you why.
(spoiler alert)
For those of you who haven't gotten on the bandwagon yet: Twilight is a book about a girl (Bella) who meets and then falls in love with a vampire (Edward). The whole point of the story is that Bella is completely ordinary and Edward is inhumanly gorgeous, and yet they have this amazing connection that defies logic and instinct.
And let me just say, Edward is the perfect guy. There's nothing he isn't good at. He's got the looks and the brains and the skill, and he's got this whole tortured soul thing going on (which is incredibly attractive, even for a fictional character). Did I mention that he is really, really, really, incredibly, good-looking? Their love story is epic. It's what every girl dreams about - aside from the vampire thing. Which is why almost every woman I know has died over this book as soon as she cracked the cover.
So why are you upset about the movie, you might ask. I'll tell you why...
Because of THIS:
THIS is who they cast as Edward...
I KNOW!!
(For those of you who don't recognize him, this is the guy who played Cedric Diggory in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.) Now, I realize that some people think he's attractive, but I say to those people, "ARE YOU MENTAL!?"
He looks like a caveman!!!
How is that attractive? Whoever cast this movie must have been high! Did they forget the all-too-important fact that Edward is supposed to be drop-dead gorgeous?!?
Now I'm a pretty positive person. I try to keep up a positive attitude when it comes to things like books being made into movies because I generally like to be happy. So when I first found out about the casting of Edward, I tried to keep a hopeful attitude going about the movie (despite the obscene casting choice). For a while I was bouyed up by the knowledge that they did a pretty good job casting Bella.
The actress herself kind of annoys me, but I think she'll be a pretty good Bella, regardless. In fact, I even went so far as to hope that she could make Robert Pattinson (the caveman) look better.
That was, until my co-worker showed me an update on Stephenie Meyer's website this morning. This is the cast for the cullen family:
...
Oh, no. It's get's better...
Meyer's Website
I'm not even gonna comment on those. Instead, I'm going to move on to the more crucial information we found out this morning: this article from the MTV Movies Blog. In it, Kristen Stewart (the pick for Bella) speaks about her excitement for the movie. For the most part, it was pretty cute the way she gushed about it. At first she seemed to be a fan of Twilight. Well, at least until this part:
"But don’t get fooled into thinking this is going to be 'The Notebook' for the undead. 'The main character is like, superhuman,' Stewart said of the action scenes in the script. 'He’s a vampire, but with really [heightened powers]; he can run faster than a car can drive, and he’s super strong. He throws me over his back [in one scene], right before he’s going to tell me that he’s a vampire, and then he runs over the treetops. And we’re going to be in real treetops; we’re not just going to CGI it. We actually get to go up there, and that’s what I’m stoked on.'"
I'm sorry. WHAT? When, in any of Meyer's three Twilight series books did Edward and Bella run over tree tops? And furthermore, why the heck is Edward running in any forest with Bella before he tells her what he is??? Does this mean that they're cutting out the Port Angeles section, because that just can't happen!
I'm not kidding about this.
The Port Angeles section is one of the best parts of all three books! It's the part I giggled like a school-girl about when I first read it, the part I re-read over and over again during my really obsessed time. It simply cannot be skipped! If I were any more passionate about this, I would be picketing in front of the studio.
It was bad enough that they cast a caveman for the role of Edward, that was already a huge blow. Casting a bunch of average people (with bad wigs) to play the Cullen family just added to the already teetering foundation. But skipping the Port Angeles scene and having Edward all but fly was the last straw!
I'll be honest. I am so disappointed.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
AARGH!
I have been angry for a solid week now. I can't say exactly what's making me so mad because it's all the little things that send me into flames.
Like when I come home to find someone parked in my favorite parking spot..."flames".
Or when my boss comes to ask me why I didn't get that major project done in time when he never gave it to me in the first place..."on the sides of my face."
Or when my phone at the office rings off the hook for 3 days, and no one else will bother to pick it up but me (it's not like any of the calls are actually for me anyway!)..."heaving, breathl-- heaving breaths."
Or when my house is a complete disaster because my parents are moving back in and taking all of China with them (a 3 bedroom town house CANNOT fit 50 years of accumulated junk...it's humanly impossible. Try explaining that to my dad though)..."heaving...!"
Now I understand why Mrs. White killed Yvette.
Like when I come home to find someone parked in my favorite parking spot..."flames".
Or when my boss comes to ask me why I didn't get that major project done in time when he never gave it to me in the first place..."on the sides of my face."
Or when my phone at the office rings off the hook for 3 days, and no one else will bother to pick it up but me (it's not like any of the calls are actually for me anyway!)..."heaving, breathl-- heaving breaths."
Or when my house is a complete disaster because my parents are moving back in and taking all of China with them (a 3 bedroom town house CANNOT fit 50 years of accumulated junk...it's humanly impossible. Try explaining that to my dad though)..."heaving...!"
Now I understand why Mrs. White killed Yvette.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
I Love Photoshop
I've had so much fun creating art from pictures using Photoshop, that I decided to show my work off. I'm sure it's primitive and/or ugly to some people, but I love it! I feel like a real artist when I use photoshop. It's my new best friend.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
On Kissing and Chance Encounters
I had a little visit from my past this evening. An old flame of mine came up to me in the cafe at Borders. He sat down for a moment to chat, and we discussed trivial things. He couldn't stay long because he was spending the evening with his mother, and she was waiting for him, so we hugged, and said we'd keep in touch and then he was gone.
Now he and I were never an item, in fact I think we only went on one date, and it was just watching a video on my living room couch. But he and I definately have a past. He was my first kiss, and let me tell you, it was an amazing first kiss. People only dream of having such good first kisses. The circumstances around the kiss weren't ideal: we weren't alone on beach, or on my doorstep saying goodnight. We were at my house on New Year's Eve, and my roommates were in the room with us.
When the clock struck midnight, he kissed me in front of my roommates. I can still hear my sister (one of my roommates at the time) screaming in the background when I remember that night. She was so grossed out. I don't blame her really, she was sitting next to me on the couch. I remember her saying, "Do you guys have to kiss so LOUD!"
The kiss itself was perfect. It wasn't a peck, and it wasn't a mouthful. It was more like the perfect kisses you see in the movies. It was lingering, but didn't last too long, and it was enough to make my head spin afterwards. It was also enough to make me write a journal entry about it that night before I went to bed. In the journal entry, I went into painful detail about the kiss because I never wanted to forget it and how it made me feel. I was going to insert an excerpt from the journal entry into this blog, but I can't find it at the moment. Too bad, because it was some juicy writing.
Pardon me, I digress. This guy and his amazing first kiss had a lasting affect on my life. I became, for whatever reason, so much more outgoing and sure of myself after that experience. I learned to love myself and have respect for myself because of him and because of something he said to me - both of which were a result of our first kiss. There is obviously a story around that one, but I'm not going into it at this time.
What I wasnted to do instead was point out the fact that seeing him tonight brought all of those feelings back from the days when we hung out. When he got up to leave, I was sad to see him go. I wanted him to stay and talk with me. I wanted to catch up more and see how he was doing. And, to be completely honest, I really wanted to kiss him again. I wanted that feeling again, the feeling that - so far - he's the only one to instill in me. And for this reason, I'm glad that he had to leave, because I don't trust myself or what I may have said or done.
So, instead, I sit here and sigh at his memory. I sip my hot chocolate and daydream of better days. I write sappy blog entries and wish my life away.
Now he and I were never an item, in fact I think we only went on one date, and it was just watching a video on my living room couch. But he and I definately have a past. He was my first kiss, and let me tell you, it was an amazing first kiss. People only dream of having such good first kisses. The circumstances around the kiss weren't ideal: we weren't alone on beach, or on my doorstep saying goodnight. We were at my house on New Year's Eve, and my roommates were in the room with us.
When the clock struck midnight, he kissed me in front of my roommates. I can still hear my sister (one of my roommates at the time) screaming in the background when I remember that night. She was so grossed out. I don't blame her really, she was sitting next to me on the couch. I remember her saying, "Do you guys have to kiss so LOUD!"
The kiss itself was perfect. It wasn't a peck, and it wasn't a mouthful. It was more like the perfect kisses you see in the movies. It was lingering, but didn't last too long, and it was enough to make my head spin afterwards. It was also enough to make me write a journal entry about it that night before I went to bed. In the journal entry, I went into painful detail about the kiss because I never wanted to forget it and how it made me feel. I was going to insert an excerpt from the journal entry into this blog, but I can't find it at the moment. Too bad, because it was some juicy writing.
Pardon me, I digress. This guy and his amazing first kiss had a lasting affect on my life. I became, for whatever reason, so much more outgoing and sure of myself after that experience. I learned to love myself and have respect for myself because of him and because of something he said to me - both of which were a result of our first kiss. There is obviously a story around that one, but I'm not going into it at this time.
What I wasnted to do instead was point out the fact that seeing him tonight brought all of those feelings back from the days when we hung out. When he got up to leave, I was sad to see him go. I wanted him to stay and talk with me. I wanted to catch up more and see how he was doing. And, to be completely honest, I really wanted to kiss him again. I wanted that feeling again, the feeling that - so far - he's the only one to instill in me. And for this reason, I'm glad that he had to leave, because I don't trust myself or what I may have said or done.
So, instead, I sit here and sigh at his memory. I sip my hot chocolate and daydream of better days. I write sappy blog entries and wish my life away.
Borders Journal Archive3
11/8/06
Just write. Write anything that comes to your mind. I’m very anxious. I feel like there’s a knot in my stomach that is tightening its grip ever-so slowly. Soon it will squeeze so hard it will begin to bleed. In fact, I think it’s already bleeding. I can feel the acid in my stomach roil around as it feeds on the knot. And now for something different:
The leaves are blood-red against the sharp green of the lawn. They spray across the black-top of the parking lot. The wind blows and pushes them along the ground. It herds them like a bull man with a whip. Snapping above and beneath them and scaring them into motion. They move in jerking motions around the parking lot. Sometimes they move as one, sometimes they all move in different directions, but they always move. The wind won't let them rest. It won't leave them alone. I realize it's the first time I ever felt such menace from the wind, ever felt the leaves as being so helpless before. It makes me want to cry. As soon as I realize this, I am ashamed of myself. They are only leaves after all. And it is only the wind. But then why do I feel the wind's cold arms grab at me as if it's trying to take my soul with it? Why do I feel as if it's out for blood? Can a thing so transient and shapeless really be that harmful? That's when I remember the water from that night. I feel it's claws on my chest an neck and suddenly I can't breathe. I grasp my throat, pulling on it with my hands, hoping that it will somehow bring the oxygen back into my body. It helps a little I think, because I start to feel cool air in my lungs once more. I try to breathe deeply, remembering to count my breaths as the doctor instructed me. After a few moments, my heart rate is back to normal and I feel calm again. Yes, it's definitely possible to be harmful without having a shape, to be menacing and evil and out for blood. The water wanted to kill me. It would have succeeded too. If it weren't for him. The thought of him makes me warm from the inside. I hug myself to keep the warmth in, a gentle smile playing at the corners of my mouth. Yes, he would save me again if I were in danger, and he's nowhere around, so I must be ok. I begin to walk again at this thought. The angry wind is clutching at me still, and the blood-red leaves are screaming against the street as they pass me, but my courage has returned and I don't want to loose it before I'm out of danger. He will keep my safe. He has to.
Just write. Write anything that comes to your mind. I’m very anxious. I feel like there’s a knot in my stomach that is tightening its grip ever-so slowly. Soon it will squeeze so hard it will begin to bleed. In fact, I think it’s already bleeding. I can feel the acid in my stomach roil around as it feeds on the knot. And now for something different:
The leaves are blood-red against the sharp green of the lawn. They spray across the black-top of the parking lot. The wind blows and pushes them along the ground. It herds them like a bull man with a whip. Snapping above and beneath them and scaring them into motion. They move in jerking motions around the parking lot. Sometimes they move as one, sometimes they all move in different directions, but they always move. The wind won't let them rest. It won't leave them alone. I realize it's the first time I ever felt such menace from the wind, ever felt the leaves as being so helpless before. It makes me want to cry. As soon as I realize this, I am ashamed of myself. They are only leaves after all. And it is only the wind. But then why do I feel the wind's cold arms grab at me as if it's trying to take my soul with it? Why do I feel as if it's out for blood? Can a thing so transient and shapeless really be that harmful? That's when I remember the water from that night. I feel it's claws on my chest an neck and suddenly I can't breathe. I grasp my throat, pulling on it with my hands, hoping that it will somehow bring the oxygen back into my body. It helps a little I think, because I start to feel cool air in my lungs once more. I try to breathe deeply, remembering to count my breaths as the doctor instructed me. After a few moments, my heart rate is back to normal and I feel calm again. Yes, it's definitely possible to be harmful without having a shape, to be menacing and evil and out for blood. The water wanted to kill me. It would have succeeded too. If it weren't for him. The thought of him makes me warm from the inside. I hug myself to keep the warmth in, a gentle smile playing at the corners of my mouth. Yes, he would save me again if I were in danger, and he's nowhere around, so I must be ok. I begin to walk again at this thought. The angry wind is clutching at me still, and the blood-red leaves are screaming against the street as they pass me, but my courage has returned and I don't want to loose it before I'm out of danger. He will keep my safe. He has to.
Borders Journal Archive4
11/13/06
Tonight, my friend and I discussed the differences between our writing styles. My friend, Heidi, likes to write technically – articles and analysis papers that are very organized and are very much line-of-thought writing. She likes to write her feelings, and her thoughts on life, but she writes it logically, and with organized thought.
I am not that way.
We decided that I am more of a poetic writer. Instead of thinking about, or analyzing my emotions and then writing about them, I use the writing as a medium in which to analyze and figure out what I’m feeling. I use descriptive words, and dramatic language. I am abstract to the extreme. I write about concepts instead of ideas. My writings can almost pass off as poetry than stories or papers. I describe, describe, describe.
As we were discussing this fact, the question was inevitably posed: Which style of writing is better? Is it better to state your ideas plainly, or work out your ideas with your reader? Is it better to be straight and to the point, or to wallow in the question and enjoy the sense of asking why?
For myself, I have to say that the abstract is always better. The abstract allows you to think more and explore the world around you. The abstract is freedom. The abstract is the question, not the answer, and the question is beautiful.
For my friend, she enjoys the straight-forward approach much better. She likes to feel quickly, to analyze that feeling, and to come to a conclusion on it. She prefers the answer. The question is just a way of getting to the answer for her. She is very goal oriented, and I think that’s why. I also think that’s why I prefer the question. Because I love the experience more than the destination. I love the journey.
But that still doesn’t answer the question of which one is better. But then again, I rather like the question better when it is unanswered.
Tonight, my friend and I discussed the differences between our writing styles. My friend, Heidi, likes to write technically – articles and analysis papers that are very organized and are very much line-of-thought writing. She likes to write her feelings, and her thoughts on life, but she writes it logically, and with organized thought.
I am not that way.
We decided that I am more of a poetic writer. Instead of thinking about, or analyzing my emotions and then writing about them, I use the writing as a medium in which to analyze and figure out what I’m feeling. I use descriptive words, and dramatic language. I am abstract to the extreme. I write about concepts instead of ideas. My writings can almost pass off as poetry than stories or papers. I describe, describe, describe.
As we were discussing this fact, the question was inevitably posed: Which style of writing is better? Is it better to state your ideas plainly, or work out your ideas with your reader? Is it better to be straight and to the point, or to wallow in the question and enjoy the sense of asking why?
For myself, I have to say that the abstract is always better. The abstract allows you to think more and explore the world around you. The abstract is freedom. The abstract is the question, not the answer, and the question is beautiful.
For my friend, she enjoys the straight-forward approach much better. She likes to feel quickly, to analyze that feeling, and to come to a conclusion on it. She prefers the answer. The question is just a way of getting to the answer for her. She is very goal oriented, and I think that’s why. I also think that’s why I prefer the question. Because I love the experience more than the destination. I love the journey.
But that still doesn’t answer the question of which one is better. But then again, I rather like the question better when it is unanswered.
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