Molly Burkhart's Blog, page 7
October 28, 2012
Dear Charlie:
Well, Legends of the Ozarks is over, though Strangler's Grove is still rocking until Tuesday. We got through, despite a migraine one week and a streaming cold that stole most of my voice the next. But we got through. Now, on to DickensFest. Whew!
Unfortunately, the family had a shock this week. My mother's father had a stroke Thursday. He's 87 years old and has a pacemaker, so any stroke is a bad stroke. It didn't kill him outright, but he's still in the ICU. He had a brain bleed that they stopped, but now he's having mini seizures. Those are fairly common after stroke in older patients, but it's still not good.
Mom saw him before the seizures and said that, while the doctors didn't think he was capable of communicating, she thought differently. She made a joke about how he must be getting used to riding in a helicopter (he's been in and out of hospitals a lot in the past several years), and he winked at her. Her sister asked if he recognized her, and he smiled. When they asked if his head hurt, he frowned. Those don't sound like involuntary responses, but the nurses, at least, were unconvinced.
I'm not. Those sound like appropriate responses to questions when you can't talk. Yes, the brain bleed seems to have killed his language centers. We'll see if he regains any ability to speak, but he clearly is still capable of communication.
They were getting ready to move him into a regular room when the mini seizures started, but that's been put on hold. If they can get them under control, he still might pull through. Don't get me wrong -- he's had a good, long life, and he wouldn't want to survive as a vegetable; he has a living will that specifies no extreme measures. But he's conscious. He's trying to communicate. He's not gone yet, and as long as there's still hope that he can retain some capacity, as long as he's still aware, the family will try to keep him around.
So, if you don't mind, it'd be awesome if you could send good thoughts his way. He definitely needs them.
I'm making some homemade chicken noodle soup. Homemade broth from boiling the bones is a great curative, so I'm hoping it gets me back on my feet so I can go see him next weekend. I wanted to go today, but they wouldn't have let me near him like this.
See? I'm already sending positive thoughts. He's still gonna be around next weekend for me to see. And he's going to recognize me, or at least realize that family is there and loves him. It's a start.
Unfortunately, the family had a shock this week. My mother's father had a stroke Thursday. He's 87 years old and has a pacemaker, so any stroke is a bad stroke. It didn't kill him outright, but he's still in the ICU. He had a brain bleed that they stopped, but now he's having mini seizures. Those are fairly common after stroke in older patients, but it's still not good.
Mom saw him before the seizures and said that, while the doctors didn't think he was capable of communicating, she thought differently. She made a joke about how he must be getting used to riding in a helicopter (he's been in and out of hospitals a lot in the past several years), and he winked at her. Her sister asked if he recognized her, and he smiled. When they asked if his head hurt, he frowned. Those don't sound like involuntary responses, but the nurses, at least, were unconvinced.
I'm not. Those sound like appropriate responses to questions when you can't talk. Yes, the brain bleed seems to have killed his language centers. We'll see if he regains any ability to speak, but he clearly is still capable of communication.
They were getting ready to move him into a regular room when the mini seizures started, but that's been put on hold. If they can get them under control, he still might pull through. Don't get me wrong -- he's had a good, long life, and he wouldn't want to survive as a vegetable; he has a living will that specifies no extreme measures. But he's conscious. He's trying to communicate. He's not gone yet, and as long as there's still hope that he can retain some capacity, as long as he's still aware, the family will try to keep him around.
So, if you don't mind, it'd be awesome if you could send good thoughts his way. He definitely needs them.
I'm making some homemade chicken noodle soup. Homemade broth from boiling the bones is a great curative, so I'm hoping it gets me back on my feet so I can go see him next weekend. I wanted to go today, but they wouldn't have let me near him like this.
See? I'm already sending positive thoughts. He's still gonna be around next weekend for me to see. And he's going to recognize me, or at least realize that family is there and loves him. It's a start.
October 9, 2012
Dear Charlie:
Lookie lookie, it's my favorite month! Oddly enough, it's also my busiest month.
The "Legends of the Ozarks" storytellings are going well. I know Miss Dinah and I are having a ball, and it's pretty clear that the audiences are, too. We've had some really fun, really interactive groups, and those always push us to do our best.
And, man, do we have some brutal stories in this neck of the woods. Heheh.
Writing is also going astonishingly well. I'd been mulling over an idea for a month or so when another popped in there and rolled around for about a week. All of a sudden, they latched onto each other and became the same story idea, and I've been frantically taking dictation from the ether ever since. Here's hoping this one makes it past the dreaded third-of-the-way-done hump, because it has the potential to be done incredibly fast if I can just... keep... writing!
I know it's just a mental block. Unfortunately, GI Joe can't help me with this one. I just need to bull past it a couple of times and deal with the resulting brain damage.
So, no complaints.
HA! We're human beings (or at least pretend to be). There's no such thing as no complaints!
Okay, so this is actually more a lament. I'm just so saddened that there's no karaoke/instrumental version of Alice Cooper's "This House Is Haunted" out there. How is this not a thing yet??
When Amazon failed me, I thought surely there'd be a terrible cover version on YouTube somewhere, but no. I even tried to make my own no-vocals track with a couple of different freebie (but highly recommended) software programs, but to no avail.
Mr. Cooper's voice simply refuses to go away. In all, I think that's probably for the best.
But I'm hunting down something to sing for October's Third Thursday in a couple of weeks. It's the last one of the year, and we're trying to make it really big and awesome, especially since we're promoting the last two weekends of both the haunt trail and our Legends. I've been listening to my Midnight Syndicate station on Pandora while in my writing mania, and that's awesome, but that music is intentionally instrumental only. I need a creepy vocals song with a karaoke version to sing, darn it!
I do think we'll probably add Mr. Cooper's angsty teen version of Annabelle Lee to the filler music on Third Thursday, though. It's just too perfect.
The "Legends of the Ozarks" storytellings are going well. I know Miss Dinah and I are having a ball, and it's pretty clear that the audiences are, too. We've had some really fun, really interactive groups, and those always push us to do our best.
And, man, do we have some brutal stories in this neck of the woods. Heheh.
Writing is also going astonishingly well. I'd been mulling over an idea for a month or so when another popped in there and rolled around for about a week. All of a sudden, they latched onto each other and became the same story idea, and I've been frantically taking dictation from the ether ever since. Here's hoping this one makes it past the dreaded third-of-the-way-done hump, because it has the potential to be done incredibly fast if I can just... keep... writing!
I know it's just a mental block. Unfortunately, GI Joe can't help me with this one. I just need to bull past it a couple of times and deal with the resulting brain damage.
So, no complaints.
HA! We're human beings (or at least pretend to be). There's no such thing as no complaints!
Okay, so this is actually more a lament. I'm just so saddened that there's no karaoke/instrumental version of Alice Cooper's "This House Is Haunted" out there. How is this not a thing yet??
When Amazon failed me, I thought surely there'd be a terrible cover version on YouTube somewhere, but no. I even tried to make my own no-vocals track with a couple of different freebie (but highly recommended) software programs, but to no avail.
Mr. Cooper's voice simply refuses to go away. In all, I think that's probably for the best.
But I'm hunting down something to sing for October's Third Thursday in a couple of weeks. It's the last one of the year, and we're trying to make it really big and awesome, especially since we're promoting the last two weekends of both the haunt trail and our Legends. I've been listening to my Midnight Syndicate station on Pandora while in my writing mania, and that's awesome, but that music is intentionally instrumental only. I need a creepy vocals song with a karaoke version to sing, darn it!
I do think we'll probably add Mr. Cooper's angsty teen version of Annabelle Lee to the filler music on Third Thursday, though. It's just too perfect.
September 23, 2012
Dear Charlie:
I don't have cable, so I don't get to indulge my penchant for ghost hunting shows very often. My beloved sister sometimes DVRs me some episodes, but that's really about it.
That's probably a good thing. I get kinda frustrated watching those shows because it's clear they can hear things that the cameras don't pick up, that they see things before the camera can swing over to them, that they feel changes in the air, touches, cold spots, etc., that we, as an audience, simply can't experience from our cushy armchairs. Episodes like that make me wish I could go there myself, experience those intangibles.
Heck, I haven't even gone to the Crescent Hotel, and it's only like an hour or so away. If it didn't cost to stay there, I'd be there every weekend. Man, if I were independently wealthy....
But anyway, as I said, I don't get to watch these shows very often, but last night I rented a couple of Ghost Hunter discs and popped them in. The first one was from an asylum, which is always creepy, and they found some pretty interesting stuff, whether you believe in the paranormal or not.
However, this time, I found my dissatisfaction wasn't from not being able to experience those things for myself. Okay, MOST of my dissatisfaction wasn't from that. It was from all the stupid graffiti on the walls and all the pointless destruction of the site. Why do people feel the need to break into abandoned buildings and just be pointlessly destructive?
Whether or not you believe in supernatural events, that was an historic building with a century of perfectly mundane but still fascinating stories to tell. Preservation of that history is difficult enough for an investor to buy into, but when stupid brats (I could use a stronger word, but these little rodents are too pointless to earn a cuss word) have tagged every single wall and broken windows and kicked down doors and sliced up paintings and wall hangings, it's that much more difficult to talk anyone into spending the money to bring the place back to its prime.
The more I watched, the more I was just disgusted by all the stupid crap scribbled all over the walls and just the trash and mess. Just a bunch of disrespectful, brain-dead brats with no sense of history, no respect for either the dead or the few poor patients who did manage to escape and hopefully recover even a piece of their sanity, no concept of the suffering of others, and absolutely no care for how much more difficult they make saving these places.
With a piece of history right down the road under constant threat of demolition -- the Steffleback Bordello, which I'll be talking about in my part of the "Legends of the Ozarks" haunted history event in October (in tandem with the Strangler's Grove haunted trail) -- I might have a bit more sensitivity to the issue than these little brats, but still. It just burns my butt to see all that stupid crap scribbled on the walls. If I were a ghost haunting the place, I'd be pissed, too.
Please, people. A little respect for the past?
That's probably a good thing. I get kinda frustrated watching those shows because it's clear they can hear things that the cameras don't pick up, that they see things before the camera can swing over to them, that they feel changes in the air, touches, cold spots, etc., that we, as an audience, simply can't experience from our cushy armchairs. Episodes like that make me wish I could go there myself, experience those intangibles.
Heck, I haven't even gone to the Crescent Hotel, and it's only like an hour or so away. If it didn't cost to stay there, I'd be there every weekend. Man, if I were independently wealthy....
But anyway, as I said, I don't get to watch these shows very often, but last night I rented a couple of Ghost Hunter discs and popped them in. The first one was from an asylum, which is always creepy, and they found some pretty interesting stuff, whether you believe in the paranormal or not.
However, this time, I found my dissatisfaction wasn't from not being able to experience those things for myself. Okay, MOST of my dissatisfaction wasn't from that. It was from all the stupid graffiti on the walls and all the pointless destruction of the site. Why do people feel the need to break into abandoned buildings and just be pointlessly destructive?
Whether or not you believe in supernatural events, that was an historic building with a century of perfectly mundane but still fascinating stories to tell. Preservation of that history is difficult enough for an investor to buy into, but when stupid brats (I could use a stronger word, but these little rodents are too pointless to earn a cuss word) have tagged every single wall and broken windows and kicked down doors and sliced up paintings and wall hangings, it's that much more difficult to talk anyone into spending the money to bring the place back to its prime.
The more I watched, the more I was just disgusted by all the stupid crap scribbled all over the walls and just the trash and mess. Just a bunch of disrespectful, brain-dead brats with no sense of history, no respect for either the dead or the few poor patients who did manage to escape and hopefully recover even a piece of their sanity, no concept of the suffering of others, and absolutely no care for how much more difficult they make saving these places.
With a piece of history right down the road under constant threat of demolition -- the Steffleback Bordello, which I'll be talking about in my part of the "Legends of the Ozarks" haunted history event in October (in tandem with the Strangler's Grove haunted trail) -- I might have a bit more sensitivity to the issue than these little brats, but still. It just burns my butt to see all that stupid crap scribbled on the walls. If I were a ghost haunting the place, I'd be pissed, too.
Please, people. A little respect for the past?
September 19, 2012
Quickie Sidebar:
Just a quick fly-by to say....
ARRR! Ye better've talked like a pirate today, mateys! I didna lift a mug and I be fresh out o' rum, but I shivered me timbers and hoisted me colors. While I didna go full fathom five and dress meself out in style, in me heart, I did me best.
Now, though, it be time to douse canvas and hit the hammock. Until next year, ye land lubbers, avast!
Also, I didn't get the Sally award, but our play, The Foreigner, took four of the seven categories. I call that a helluva lot of win! Hopefully, after ghost tours and DickensFest and a wee break in January, I'll audition for something come February. I can hope, right?
ARRR! Ye better've talked like a pirate today, mateys! I didna lift a mug and I be fresh out o' rum, but I shivered me timbers and hoisted me colors. While I didna go full fathom five and dress meself out in style, in me heart, I did me best.
Now, though, it be time to douse canvas and hit the hammock. Until next year, ye land lubbers, avast!
Also, I didn't get the Sally award, but our play, The Foreigner, took four of the seven categories. I call that a helluva lot of win! Hopefully, after ghost tours and DickensFest and a wee break in January, I'll audition for something come February. I can hope, right?
September 4, 2012
Dear Charlie:
By Jove, I seem to have blinked and missed August. I've been a busy little bee, but geez!
Ghost tour preparation is starting up, so that's pretty much September and October, there. After that, we'll start the work-up for DickensFest, which will take up November and December. I'm covering another lady at work (she had back surgery - yikes!), and the fund sources I've temporarily taken over are like four times my main one. Luckily, if I really need it, I can get overtime, so I'm trying not to stress too bad.
Been writing up a storm, but never for very long on any given project. I've been spazzing around, flitting from this to that to the other like the immortalized Wounded Bee. It's netted me a lot of pages, but very little forward progress toward finishing any one project. Gah!
On the other hand, I'm up for a Sally Award. What's a Sally Award, you ask? Well, it's like the Oscars, but for community theater over at Stone's Throw. Heh. The play I did back in February/March is up for an award in every category, and -- lo and behold -- someone nominated me for Best Supporting Actress for my portrayal of Froggy. Awesome!
Of course, I know the competition, so I won't be upset if I lose to them. We really do have some good local talent. But it's pretty cool to see your name on that list. Woot!
Um... I think that may be it for now. I'm in a fantasy football league for the first time in years, but I have a feeling I'll stink at it. The guy who usually wins got all my good picks. Luckily, again, I won't mind too much. It's been a good decade since I did traditional fantasy football, though I usually rule at regular picks.
Anyway, this one's just a quick drive-by to acknowledge that, holy crap, it's SEPTEMBER already. How did that happen??
Ghost tour preparation is starting up, so that's pretty much September and October, there. After that, we'll start the work-up for DickensFest, which will take up November and December. I'm covering another lady at work (she had back surgery - yikes!), and the fund sources I've temporarily taken over are like four times my main one. Luckily, if I really need it, I can get overtime, so I'm trying not to stress too bad.
Been writing up a storm, but never for very long on any given project. I've been spazzing around, flitting from this to that to the other like the immortalized Wounded Bee. It's netted me a lot of pages, but very little forward progress toward finishing any one project. Gah!
On the other hand, I'm up for a Sally Award. What's a Sally Award, you ask? Well, it's like the Oscars, but for community theater over at Stone's Throw. Heh. The play I did back in February/March is up for an award in every category, and -- lo and behold -- someone nominated me for Best Supporting Actress for my portrayal of Froggy. Awesome!
Of course, I know the competition, so I won't be upset if I lose to them. We really do have some good local talent. But it's pretty cool to see your name on that list. Woot!
Um... I think that may be it for now. I'm in a fantasy football league for the first time in years, but I have a feeling I'll stink at it. The guy who usually wins got all my good picks. Luckily, again, I won't mind too much. It's been a good decade since I did traditional fantasy football, though I usually rule at regular picks.
Anyway, this one's just a quick drive-by to acknowledge that, holy crap, it's SEPTEMBER already. How did that happen??
July 25, 2012
My Dearest Charles:
I have fallen in love with Papa Stour.
Who is Papa Stour, you ask? Ha ha, you transparent Straw Man! Papa Stour is not a person, it's a place. My heart belongs to Gerard Butler. And sometimes to Vin Diesel. And, of course, to Jayne Cobb, the hero of Canton.
Anyway, it's a place. An island. One of the Shetland Islands in Scotland, to be exact. And oh, do I love it, and I loved it at first sight.
It was a story idea, of course. I've been writing almost every day for weeks, it seems like, but on different ideas. A few pages on this one, a few pages on that one. A long spurt on one story in particular. But, of course, there's always YET another idea glimmering in the back of my mind.
This one had been percolating after a dream I had. Not necessarily a good dream, and I knew the story wouldn't necessarily be a nice story. Plus, I knew the location had to be very specific. I needed an island, a real island, but not a warm, sunny, lay-on-the-white-sand-in-a-bikini island. Not a touristy, come-see-the-dolphins-and-all-our-lovely-merchandise kind of island.
I needed... populated but not heavily populated. Picturesque but nothing like a tourist trap. Cool if not outright cold, and definitely cold water. I wanted it to even have a broody feel, if possible -- not dangerous, but... isolated and weather-roughened, which would feel otherworldly to someone used to cities and well-lighted, well-traveled, noisy and well-populated places. Worst of all, cliffs and beaches.
Plus, I totally wanted it to be in the Scottish islands. What? I love me some Scotland. I've been in love with Scotland since, like, the second grade. And, ya know, they have the best legends about fantasy creatures.
So, I kept shoving this idea to the back burner. Seriously? I didn't think any real island would have the qualities that would really make this story sing. The island itself would be so important, would be a character in itself -- sometimes helping, sometimes hindering, sometimes a friend, sometimes the antagonist -- that not finding the right one (or worse, just making one right the hell up) would throw the whole thing off.
But the idea niggled, and I finally bit. I googled the Scottish islands, then narrowed it down to either the Orkney or the Shetland islands. Then, because I had a Shetland pony when I was a little girl, I decided to look there first.
As I'm reading a little wiki info on Shetland as a whole, I learn that some of the islands are inhabited, while some aren't. I looked at the list of links for inhabited islands and out of the sixteen, one jumped out. I don't know why. It just did.
Papa Stour.
I could tell you it was the unusual name, but... let's be real. We got East and West Burra. We got Tondra. And much more eye-drawing, we got Muckle Roe. But I click on Papa Stour, and I never look back.
Every next thing I find out about it is perfect. For the story of course. It has that perfect British Isles weather -- rainy and foggy enough that the sunny days are to be treasured to their fullest measure. It's definitely isolated. It's a forty-ish minute ferry ride to the nearest more populous island. Speaking of population, it's currently (as far as I can divine with the 'net) down to nine. Yes. Single digit. The all-time high was over 300, but that was many moons ago. Sparsely populated, much?
Best part? Cliffs and beaches. Sometimes at the same time! In fact, I found one picture -- regrettably un-right-clickable, which I understand, but it's not like I was planning to use it for profit! -- that shows exactly the place where the inciting incident of the whole damn story takes place. Exactly. When I saw that picture, I could practically see my characters there.
Unfortunately, the island wasn't just perfect for my story. It's... dammit, it's perfect for me.
I wanna go there so bad I can almost taste the sea breeze. I want to walk its entire coastline -- all twenty-one miles of it, though the island itself is just over three square miles. I want to look out over the skerries and stacks as the waves either lap them or pound them. I want to stand snug in my little house and watch the mist and let my imagination run wild. I want to see if the residents are friendly and inviting or a little standoffish, because island people are some of the most fascinating people in the world. I want to take the ferry over to the Shetland Mainland (enjoying the ocean the whole trip) for all my supplies and stop in at a pub for a pint.
And, on weekends, I could totally explore the rest of Scotland. I mean, I'd already be there! If I had the funds to be there in the first place, I would likely have the funds to go walkabout.
So... maybe one of these days, I'll make my way to my new love. If it will wait for me, I will come to it. My heart is already there. Some day, my love. Some day.
Who is Papa Stour, you ask? Ha ha, you transparent Straw Man! Papa Stour is not a person, it's a place. My heart belongs to Gerard Butler. And sometimes to Vin Diesel. And, of course, to Jayne Cobb, the hero of Canton.
Anyway, it's a place. An island. One of the Shetland Islands in Scotland, to be exact. And oh, do I love it, and I loved it at first sight.
It was a story idea, of course. I've been writing almost every day for weeks, it seems like, but on different ideas. A few pages on this one, a few pages on that one. A long spurt on one story in particular. But, of course, there's always YET another idea glimmering in the back of my mind.
This one had been percolating after a dream I had. Not necessarily a good dream, and I knew the story wouldn't necessarily be a nice story. Plus, I knew the location had to be very specific. I needed an island, a real island, but not a warm, sunny, lay-on-the-white-sand-in-a-bikini island. Not a touristy, come-see-the-dolphins-and-all-our-lovely-merchandise kind of island.
I needed... populated but not heavily populated. Picturesque but nothing like a tourist trap. Cool if not outright cold, and definitely cold water. I wanted it to even have a broody feel, if possible -- not dangerous, but... isolated and weather-roughened, which would feel otherworldly to someone used to cities and well-lighted, well-traveled, noisy and well-populated places. Worst of all, cliffs and beaches.
Plus, I totally wanted it to be in the Scottish islands. What? I love me some Scotland. I've been in love with Scotland since, like, the second grade. And, ya know, they have the best legends about fantasy creatures.
So, I kept shoving this idea to the back burner. Seriously? I didn't think any real island would have the qualities that would really make this story sing. The island itself would be so important, would be a character in itself -- sometimes helping, sometimes hindering, sometimes a friend, sometimes the antagonist -- that not finding the right one (or worse, just making one right the hell up) would throw the whole thing off.
But the idea niggled, and I finally bit. I googled the Scottish islands, then narrowed it down to either the Orkney or the Shetland islands. Then, because I had a Shetland pony when I was a little girl, I decided to look there first.
As I'm reading a little wiki info on Shetland as a whole, I learn that some of the islands are inhabited, while some aren't. I looked at the list of links for inhabited islands and out of the sixteen, one jumped out. I don't know why. It just did.
Papa Stour.
I could tell you it was the unusual name, but... let's be real. We got East and West Burra. We got Tondra. And much more eye-drawing, we got Muckle Roe. But I click on Papa Stour, and I never look back.
Every next thing I find out about it is perfect. For the story of course. It has that perfect British Isles weather -- rainy and foggy enough that the sunny days are to be treasured to their fullest measure. It's definitely isolated. It's a forty-ish minute ferry ride to the nearest more populous island. Speaking of population, it's currently (as far as I can divine with the 'net) down to nine. Yes. Single digit. The all-time high was over 300, but that was many moons ago. Sparsely populated, much?
Best part? Cliffs and beaches. Sometimes at the same time! In fact, I found one picture -- regrettably un-right-clickable, which I understand, but it's not like I was planning to use it for profit! -- that shows exactly the place where the inciting incident of the whole damn story takes place. Exactly. When I saw that picture, I could practically see my characters there.
Unfortunately, the island wasn't just perfect for my story. It's... dammit, it's perfect for me.
I wanna go there so bad I can almost taste the sea breeze. I want to walk its entire coastline -- all twenty-one miles of it, though the island itself is just over three square miles. I want to look out over the skerries and stacks as the waves either lap them or pound them. I want to stand snug in my little house and watch the mist and let my imagination run wild. I want to see if the residents are friendly and inviting or a little standoffish, because island people are some of the most fascinating people in the world. I want to take the ferry over to the Shetland Mainland (enjoying the ocean the whole trip) for all my supplies and stop in at a pub for a pint.
And, on weekends, I could totally explore the rest of Scotland. I mean, I'd already be there! If I had the funds to be there in the first place, I would likely have the funds to go walkabout.
So... maybe one of these days, I'll make my way to my new love. If it will wait for me, I will come to it. My heart is already there. Some day, my love. Some day.
June 15, 2012
Dear Charlie:
So I was finally able to watch the second Sherlock Holmes movie.
It took a full twenty-four hours to step back enough to write about it without the squee factor. Yes, I enjoyed it that much. I found the urban camouflage particularly priceless.
Honestly, they did so many things right with this flick that it's difficult not to just recap it ad nauseum. Hollywood has such a horrible reputation with sequels that I feared the worst even as I hoped for the best. Luckily, this one proved true. The characterizations were spot-on, the action classic and flashy without being ridiculous, the storyline just convoluted enough that I had to stop writing (yes, still on that writing jag and loving every minute of it) to pay attention so I could catch all the little nuances, and the music spectacular.
I now need to steep myself in some Don Giovanni. After this story's done. It seems to respond best to Celtic tunes, whether lilting or mournful. However, in a very short time, I will be downloading some Don Giovanni. I'm seriously.
Anyway, with a pleasant sort of surprise, I learned a great deal of respect for Dr. Watson's new bride. It would be so easy for them to make her an annoying character, someone Holmes can despise with impunity, but they don't. They make her not only likable and very much in love with her John, but also incredibly brave for a mere governess-turned-doctor's-wife. And clever.
I should have known she had backbone from how she tossed her wine in Holmes' face in the first movie, but when she holds a gun to a man's head, I believe she fully intends to shoot if he doesn't do as she says. Sure, she feels faint afterward, but hell. For a woman in that time period, she probably should have swooned tragically the moment she realized her new husband carried a gun at all.
As for the clever, she manages to put together the information Holmes sends her and participate in the great money transfer. Holmes knew that if he sent that information directly to Lestrade, nothing good would happen. He not only trusted Mary enough to give her the key to undoing his nemesis but knew her to be intelligent enough to understand and follow through with that knowledge.
If Sherlock Holmes, with all of his observational brilliance, sees and acknowledges her grit and worth, how can I not?
I'm so impressed that they wrote her this way (and that the actress pulls it off so perfectly). She's a strong, important, intelligent woman in a movie who isn't a butch or a bitch. She's a lady in every sense of the word, but that doesn't stop her from kicking some ass and dishing out a little snark while she's at it.
Irene Adler was good in her way, but in many ways, Mary Watson is her perfect foil -- bad girl to ministering angel, physically dangerous to dangerous wit.
Oh, and Holmes and Watson were good, too. I just figured you guys already knew that.
Okay, so I'm just really really really impressed with Mary's portrayal. So well done.
Anyway, this is definitely a keeper on the pride-of-place shelf, right next to the other one. In many ways, this one is superior, as it's no longer an origin story. However, in other ways, it makes me love the first one even more. In all, spectacularly well done on all parts.
It took a full twenty-four hours to step back enough to write about it without the squee factor. Yes, I enjoyed it that much. I found the urban camouflage particularly priceless.
Honestly, they did so many things right with this flick that it's difficult not to just recap it ad nauseum. Hollywood has such a horrible reputation with sequels that I feared the worst even as I hoped for the best. Luckily, this one proved true. The characterizations were spot-on, the action classic and flashy without being ridiculous, the storyline just convoluted enough that I had to stop writing (yes, still on that writing jag and loving every minute of it) to pay attention so I could catch all the little nuances, and the music spectacular.
I now need to steep myself in some Don Giovanni. After this story's done. It seems to respond best to Celtic tunes, whether lilting or mournful. However, in a very short time, I will be downloading some Don Giovanni. I'm seriously.
Anyway, with a pleasant sort of surprise, I learned a great deal of respect for Dr. Watson's new bride. It would be so easy for them to make her an annoying character, someone Holmes can despise with impunity, but they don't. They make her not only likable and very much in love with her John, but also incredibly brave for a mere governess-turned-doctor's-wife. And clever.
I should have known she had backbone from how she tossed her wine in Holmes' face in the first movie, but when she holds a gun to a man's head, I believe she fully intends to shoot if he doesn't do as she says. Sure, she feels faint afterward, but hell. For a woman in that time period, she probably should have swooned tragically the moment she realized her new husband carried a gun at all.
As for the clever, she manages to put together the information Holmes sends her and participate in the great money transfer. Holmes knew that if he sent that information directly to Lestrade, nothing good would happen. He not only trusted Mary enough to give her the key to undoing his nemesis but knew her to be intelligent enough to understand and follow through with that knowledge.
If Sherlock Holmes, with all of his observational brilliance, sees and acknowledges her grit and worth, how can I not?
I'm so impressed that they wrote her this way (and that the actress pulls it off so perfectly). She's a strong, important, intelligent woman in a movie who isn't a butch or a bitch. She's a lady in every sense of the word, but that doesn't stop her from kicking some ass and dishing out a little snark while she's at it.
Irene Adler was good in her way, but in many ways, Mary Watson is her perfect foil -- bad girl to ministering angel, physically dangerous to dangerous wit.
Oh, and Holmes and Watson were good, too. I just figured you guys already knew that.
Okay, so I'm just really really really impressed with Mary's portrayal. So well done.
Anyway, this is definitely a keeper on the pride-of-place shelf, right next to the other one. In many ways, this one is superior, as it's no longer an origin story. However, in other ways, it makes me love the first one even more. In all, spectacularly well done on all parts.
May 27, 2012
Dear Charlie:
Don't you just hate when you decide to try something new, only to realize you can't find anything you like locally?
So a lady at work has this mind-boggling assortment of nifty pendants. She hits all the antiques shops and flea markets, and she just hangs them from generic narrow-band chokers around her neck. Because I'm not much for jewelry myself, I admire that kind of simplicity, but until now, I'd been unable to find just the generic chokers. I didn't want to mess with chains, as they tend to tangle (because I tend to just throw them in a box with other stuff I rarely wear), so I never bothered trying to find any nifty pendants.
Of course, now that I have the nifty little chokers, I'm having trouble finding pendants that suit my slightly-off taste.
Okay, that's not entirely true. I've googled plenty of pendants I like. Unfortunately, I apparently have ungodly expensive tastes. I've found awesome Cthulu pendants... that cost like $50. Pirate ship pendants that soar into the triple digits. Dragon pendants whose price tags make me cringe.
I did find a couple today at Wal-Mart, but honestly, I only bought one because it reminded me of my beloved sister, whom I know has taste. The other is a square cross. I like it, but it has dangly silver chains on it that I'm not sure about. I may just disconnect them.
I guess I'll just have to ask Edie where she gets all of hers, or maybe learn how to make my own. Because I need another hobby I don't have time to pursue, heh.
Or maybe I should just stop watching the Pirates of the Caribbean movies all in a row.
...
Nah. Make 'em myself, it is. To the crafts store!
So a lady at work has this mind-boggling assortment of nifty pendants. She hits all the antiques shops and flea markets, and she just hangs them from generic narrow-band chokers around her neck. Because I'm not much for jewelry myself, I admire that kind of simplicity, but until now, I'd been unable to find just the generic chokers. I didn't want to mess with chains, as they tend to tangle (because I tend to just throw them in a box with other stuff I rarely wear), so I never bothered trying to find any nifty pendants.
Of course, now that I have the nifty little chokers, I'm having trouble finding pendants that suit my slightly-off taste.
Okay, that's not entirely true. I've googled plenty of pendants I like. Unfortunately, I apparently have ungodly expensive tastes. I've found awesome Cthulu pendants... that cost like $50. Pirate ship pendants that soar into the triple digits. Dragon pendants whose price tags make me cringe.
I did find a couple today at Wal-Mart, but honestly, I only bought one because it reminded me of my beloved sister, whom I know has taste. The other is a square cross. I like it, but it has dangly silver chains on it that I'm not sure about. I may just disconnect them.
I guess I'll just have to ask Edie where she gets all of hers, or maybe learn how to make my own. Because I need another hobby I don't have time to pursue, heh.
Or maybe I should just stop watching the Pirates of the Caribbean movies all in a row.
...
Nah. Make 'em myself, it is. To the crafts store!
May 5, 2012
Dear Charlie:
Just when you think humanity can't get any worse, someone steps up and says, "No, but I can totally do better."
I was trying to kill two birds with one stone a bit ago by taking the trash to the dumpster on my way to the store. I had two big bags, one in each hand, and had my keys in one hand. Yeah, you can see where this is going.
What makes it worse is that, even as I trudged over to the dumpster, I was thinking, Gotta make sure I don't throw my keys in. I even shifted my grip to loop one of the rings around a finger. Unfortunately, the keychain I use is a big ring, like a janitor's keyring, right? And the connecter at the top is getting a little loose, so it gaps. Hey, I've had it since high school, and that was a really long time ago. I can't bear to part with it.
But part, I did. Almost dislocated the finger I'd looped one of the smaller rings around, but there they went, into the big ol' dumpster with the bag that loose part had caught on. And I'm not talking a little dumpster you can hike yourself up on and reach into. I'm talking about a 10x10x6 dumpster that you could hide a cult's bodies in.
Crrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaap.
And it occurred to me that I'd left my cell phone in my apartment, which I now couldn't get back into because I'd locked it because I was leaving. Can't drive anywhere, either.
Double crrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaap.
I glanced around and saw a couple chatting -- guy in a car, girl standing next to it -- and moved closer (the other trash bag still in hand because, hey, why cover up the bag I needed, right?) to ask for help. Honestly, I was going to ask if either of them had a cell phone I could borrow to call the office (surely they have a procedure of some kind for this, right? I mean, I can't be the first person this has happened to... right??), but as I started to explain my retardedness, the girl just up and headed for the dumpster. To my surprise, she hopped up on the edge and started to crawl inside.
Thankfully, I wasn't so surprised that I didn't protest, but she just smiled it off and found stable footing. I looked around, but there didn't seem to be any wet, disgusting trash, so I just kept an eye out in case something shifted while she reached for the bag I indicated, snatched the keys off the tie loop, and handed them back. Then, nimble as can be, she just jumped right back out again.
All with a smile on her face. Not laughing at me being idiot enough to do something so dumb, but just good cheer and apparent happiness at being able to help. I mean, seriously. How many people would crawl into a dumpster for a total stranger?
I thanked her profusely, but she just shrugged it off and went on her way, so I went on mine. I hope I have a chance to return the favor sometime, because I was really up a creek there for a minute. My keys weren't gone forever, by any stretch, but I was looking forward to a real pain in the butt to get them back.
So thanks, nameless lady who saved me I don't know how much trouble, and thank you for being so cheerful about the whole thing. I hope someone gives you some free food or something!
I was trying to kill two birds with one stone a bit ago by taking the trash to the dumpster on my way to the store. I had two big bags, one in each hand, and had my keys in one hand. Yeah, you can see where this is going.
What makes it worse is that, even as I trudged over to the dumpster, I was thinking, Gotta make sure I don't throw my keys in. I even shifted my grip to loop one of the rings around a finger. Unfortunately, the keychain I use is a big ring, like a janitor's keyring, right? And the connecter at the top is getting a little loose, so it gaps. Hey, I've had it since high school, and that was a really long time ago. I can't bear to part with it.
But part, I did. Almost dislocated the finger I'd looped one of the smaller rings around, but there they went, into the big ol' dumpster with the bag that loose part had caught on. And I'm not talking a little dumpster you can hike yourself up on and reach into. I'm talking about a 10x10x6 dumpster that you could hide a cult's bodies in.
Crrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaap.
And it occurred to me that I'd left my cell phone in my apartment, which I now couldn't get back into because I'd locked it because I was leaving. Can't drive anywhere, either.
Double crrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaap.
I glanced around and saw a couple chatting -- guy in a car, girl standing next to it -- and moved closer (the other trash bag still in hand because, hey, why cover up the bag I needed, right?) to ask for help. Honestly, I was going to ask if either of them had a cell phone I could borrow to call the office (surely they have a procedure of some kind for this, right? I mean, I can't be the first person this has happened to... right??), but as I started to explain my retardedness, the girl just up and headed for the dumpster. To my surprise, she hopped up on the edge and started to crawl inside.
Thankfully, I wasn't so surprised that I didn't protest, but she just smiled it off and found stable footing. I looked around, but there didn't seem to be any wet, disgusting trash, so I just kept an eye out in case something shifted while she reached for the bag I indicated, snatched the keys off the tie loop, and handed them back. Then, nimble as can be, she just jumped right back out again.
All with a smile on her face. Not laughing at me being idiot enough to do something so dumb, but just good cheer and apparent happiness at being able to help. I mean, seriously. How many people would crawl into a dumpster for a total stranger?
I thanked her profusely, but she just shrugged it off and went on her way, so I went on mine. I hope I have a chance to return the favor sometime, because I was really up a creek there for a minute. My keys weren't gone forever, by any stretch, but I was looking forward to a real pain in the butt to get them back.
So thanks, nameless lady who saved me I don't know how much trouble, and thank you for being so cheerful about the whole thing. I hope someone gives you some free food or something!
March 31, 2012
Dear Charlie:
Whoa. I have been a busy, busy little monkey. Woot!
The play is on its last weekend, but we have had an amazing run. We've made near-record ticket sales and continually get great comments from the crowd. Surprisingly, I've had tons of people tell me how amazing my British accent is and how they can't believe I can just turn it off and on like that. I usually (and ruefully) tell them it's a lot harder to turn it off than on. Heheh.
Ray (the director) insists that we'll win some local awards, but that's not why I'm enjoying it so much. It's just a good play. If you get a chance, look it up sometime. The Foreigner. Even a mediocre cast can make it funny, but with great people like ours, it's priceless!
My beloved sister brought her monsters down to see it, and now they're quoting "blasny blasny!" at each other like crazy. Good times!
Unfortunately, between work, rehearsals six days a week for this, and Saturday rehearsals for Third Thursday last month, I haven't had an evening to myself in an age and a half! Whew! And, of course, we have our "press night" tour for the April haunted walking tours Monday.
Yes. The play ends Sunday.
That's the very next day. STRESS!
But I'm assured that no one is worried about my ability to roll from one to the other, so... I guess I'll just have to believe them. I'll actually have week nights to come home and chill during the walking tours, so even though I'm giving up my weekends, it's still a break.
After that... well, I've been talked into auditioning for a summer musical, so... yeah.
*sigh*
Who needs free time? I'm not sure I even remember what it was like. Heheh.
The play is on its last weekend, but we have had an amazing run. We've made near-record ticket sales and continually get great comments from the crowd. Surprisingly, I've had tons of people tell me how amazing my British accent is and how they can't believe I can just turn it off and on like that. I usually (and ruefully) tell them it's a lot harder to turn it off than on. Heheh.
Ray (the director) insists that we'll win some local awards, but that's not why I'm enjoying it so much. It's just a good play. If you get a chance, look it up sometime. The Foreigner. Even a mediocre cast can make it funny, but with great people like ours, it's priceless!
My beloved sister brought her monsters down to see it, and now they're quoting "blasny blasny!" at each other like crazy. Good times!
Unfortunately, between work, rehearsals six days a week for this, and Saturday rehearsals for Third Thursday last month, I haven't had an evening to myself in an age and a half! Whew! And, of course, we have our "press night" tour for the April haunted walking tours Monday.
Yes. The play ends Sunday.
That's the very next day. STRESS!
But I'm assured that no one is worried about my ability to roll from one to the other, so... I guess I'll just have to believe them. I'll actually have week nights to come home and chill during the walking tours, so even though I'm giving up my weekends, it's still a break.
After that... well, I've been talked into auditioning for a summer musical, so... yeah.
*sigh*
Who needs free time? I'm not sure I even remember what it was like. Heheh.
