I just discovered that The Secret Garden is now on Netflix Watch Instantly, so of course I’m watching it. That was a terrible idea. You should not watch this movie when you’ve been lonely and missing your mother.
I’m fairly certain that I will get two things (and only two things, or money which will only be used towards these two things) for Christmas: a Kindle and a cheap but decent IKEA loveseat so that more than one person can hang out at my apartment comfortably.
Knowing this, I’ve been looking up which books in the extensive “Saved for Later” section of my Amazon.com shopping cart are available on Kindle. And the idea of having these books and many others (including lots of free classics!) at my beck and call whenever I please (and can spare the 10 bucks) is very appealing. At the same time, I still have a total obsession with actual, physical books, an obsession which I feel the Kindle is all but incompatible with. I imagine this is something like what record (even CD) collectors felt when the iPod happened. Sure, it’s convenient and wonderful and you can listen to/read anything, anywhere, anytime, and all the non-obsessed people are embracing it without looking back, and how can that amount of convenience be resisted?, but there’s something not quite right. A sacred bond is being broken by using such a thing.
And you can’t lend things to your friends (although the music DRM thing is really quite easy to get around, I found in college [I almost never do that anymore, record company spies. I pay for stuff.]), or leave anything tangible to your heirs (yes, I think about this). That sucks. But you also don’t have to either spend $25+ and wait 5-10 days for things you want to read on a drunken whim, or pay for shipping.
Perhaps the key will be to become wealthy and buy hard copies of the books that really matter to me, even if I read them on Kindle originally.
Another consideration: Some classics I can read for free on Kindle, whereas I would have to either read them on my computer (ick!) or print them out to read them for free otherwise, or pay to read them comfortably as actual books.
Also, this might mean that I can actually bring myself to get on with Little Brother.
Really, I can’t get The Lion King even on DVD? That’s messed up.
Postscript: I understand if you need to forward this to Disney, whom I suspect is the real culprit.
Post-postscript: Disney, if you are reading this, you should also hook up the Super Nintendo/SEGA game Aladdin on Wii Virtual Console. I mean, I knew you were evil, but withholding these things from me is just mean (though not as bad as how you treat your employees, from what I hear).
Post-post-postscript: Don’t worry Disney cartoons from my childhood. I love you no matter how evil Disney is, or how messed up I now realize you are.
I watch you on hulu sometimes. Not often, but occasionally. I just have one important question: why is it that you have some really cool dance routines accompanied by great, catchy songs that are still sort of fun to listen to despite producing the crap talent out of your voice talent, but pretty much everything else about you makes me want to throw things at my computer screen. You know, more than my shitty computer itself usually elicits. Every time you try to teach the audience a lesson, you go so totally wrong that it is completely horrifying. And yet, this has led to a horrified fascination which will probably lead to me watching tonight’s episode sometime after it pops up on hulu, despite just seeing the shit show that was last week’s. (But again, “Singing in the Rain” and “Umbrella” together with Gwyneth Paltrow and sweet sets that no high school would ever have — kind of awesome.) You know, I’ll probably end up watching the whole series on Project Free TV, because I like pain — mixed with great dance routines.
He was nice, and tall, and cute, and we got along, and then exchanged numbers so we can hang out again, and he was the one who brought it up, which is good, since I already knew that I wanted to. Also, we have mutual acquaintances. Small town.
He’s from Virginia, he’s a Ph.D student at UT in Sociology, he seems cool and we have common interests, and if his picture is at all current, he has a pretty decent beard going on.
Also, it’s the last push I needed to get rid of this shaggy mop. Off to the barbershop. I chose a quirky Austin joint where they give you a free beer while you wait and the walls are all painted by local artists.
I’ve decided that this weekend is gtf out of the house weekend. On Saturday, there is a Law School Admissions Council (LSAC) Law School Forum in Houston, wherein you get to sell yourself to law schools, or if you’re lucky, have them sell themselves to you (I hope, and frankly expect, for the most part, to be lucky in this way). But why stop there? Since it’s a 4 hour drive and I expect to be alone, I thought I’d stay the night, and maybe drive to Galveston on Sunday, and walk along some nice beaches, and some wrecked, depressing hurricane hit beaches, and generally have an experience outside the everyday, run-of-the-mill stuff I do. Maybe I can find a friend to come with me. But probably they will all be busy working or leading lives, so it will be a nice, solitary experience. I’m amenable to that. On the way back home, I will stop at any parks I see to climb trees.
I’m looking forward to the whole thing quite a bit.
I have all but given up. My story lost steam very, very early on. By the time I changed it to an indecisive, catch-all situation, I had lost all the hope and promise I had earlier in the year. BUT. I would much rather say I wrote 2 shitty novels that I’ll never let anyone read than just 1, so if I can get a whole lot done on my day off, enough that I can keep it going on the other days (I’m thinking it will take at least 10,000 words in that one day), then maybe I can make this thing happen. And no, you can’t read it after it’s done, because it is really really awful. Not as bad as last year’s, yet, but still unsharably bad.
at Offscreen, probably, at UVa, between 2007 and 2009, about a piano player who wouldn’t play unless nobody could see him, and then he got caught in this parallel world type thing, where his lost love didn’t commit suicide in the river, or where he realized she did because of him, or he did because of her, sort of thing, and then he played the most beautiful concert of his life, or didn’t? I want to watch that movie again. What was it called?
Update: Apparently, according to Offscreen archives, the film is called Allegro, and I saw it on September 16th, 2007, a week after I saw Wristcutters: a Love Story . And looking at the archives, I wish I had most of their films, and if I happen to go back to UVa for law school (not totally out of the question), I’ll maybe attend more regularly.
is that he is at once too much like the Tenth Doctor, and also not enough like him. I could see the continuity and the difference between Chris Eccleston and David Tennant, but I don’t know if it’s because Matt Smith is too young, or too different, but it just seems … discontinuous, while at the same time, some of his reactions are mimicked. I don’t really sense any kind of real connection. And maybe if I watched some old Doctor Who’s that would seem totally normal and okay, but Chris Eccleston to David Tennant just sort of flowed, and maybe that was just because Rose stuck around, but I don’t know, it’s entertaining, but it just doesn’t feel right with Matt Smith.
Anyway, I’ve already decided on my Halloween Costume for next year, if I can find the right clothes. And if I can’t find Tenth Doctor clothes, then I’ll be a cardboard and styrofoam ball Dalek. Oh man, now I almost want to be one of those more. I guess we’ll see which one wins out next Halloween. Maybe I can find a fellow Doctor Who fan to go with me and we’ll do both? Wow. If only I hadn’t moved from Washington, then Heather and I could do it. OOooooh! Bay to Breakers! We are so going as the Doctor and his enemies, if I have anything to say about it (odds are I don’t, with Rita in charge).
Having a pet is great. I think Rambo will eventually get over the hands thing. I’m just not sure if tonight was a set back or a bonding moment.
Let me start this story 7 years ago, when I was just 16. We had a cockatiel named Barnie who was kind of the jerk but was nevertheless the family pet. We all loved him, and I could go on and on with funny stories about him. We got him when he was just a baby, and me too. I was 4. Then Barnie got sick. Birds don’t really show you that they’re sick until they’re really, really, sick. After a traumatic experience at the vet, my mother decided to give him a day to chill out before she force fed his meds down his throat, since there was only a slim chance they’d work, anyway.
When I got home from school the next day, my mom was at work, my dad was on a business trip, and Jordan was away at college. And Barnie was lying there, on the bottom of his cage, with his eyes open. Cold.
A few months later, my guinea pig had a stroke and we put her to sleep. She was 4. That was much less traumatic, since they did it while I was at school, and I never saw the body (though seeing her half paralyzed and not being able to do anything about it was horrible)
Fast forward to the present day. It’s the first time I’ve had a pet of my own (Otto and Lucy don’t count) in 7 years. And every time I come home from being out, and every time I wake up and uncover him, if he hasn’t been talking to me first, I compulsively look at the bottom of the cage to make sure he isn’t there. I can’t help it.
So imagine my terror when I got home from work at 11 pm and he was not on his perch. But he wasn’t on the bottom of the cage, either. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen. Then I realized that the door to the cage was ajar, and I must not have latched it properly, and Rambo was loose somewhere in the house, may have been all day, and wasn’t making any sound. After a frantic few minutes looking under furniture and even under the refrigerator, flipping out and wondering where he could have gotten to, since he can’t fly, he can only hop and flap to slow the descent, I hear this strange meowing/growling noise outside my sliding glass door. After hearing it a second time, I realize Rambo must be somewhere near the door while Paul, the neighborhood cat who followed me to my door, sings a song to him about how tasty he looks. That’s how I found him on my bike chain.
So there I was, relieved, but with a new problem on my hands: a bird covered in bike chain grease. And it was 11:00 at night. I debated between letting him clean himself, to possibly get poisoned by grease and die, or try to wash him in the middle of the night, which might freak him out so much he has a heart attack dies or if not, is wet and catches his death of cold. So of course, I called my mother. 12 am Eastern Time. Her sleepy advice (well, not really advice. She just told me what to do.) was to wash him off with Dawn, dry him in a towel, and then hold him to keep him warm while he finished drying, which shouldn’t take long. Which is all well and good, except that thing where he hates it when I hold him.
So I did all that, and Rambo freaked out and almost had a heart attack, and I dried him and he looked pathetic but was too frightened to run away from the towel. When he had recovered enough, he jumped onto my shoulder and burrowed into my neck. Despite my sleepiness, I decided a couldn’t leave him alone until he was totally dry, and cuddled him under my chin, and with my cheek, until that happened. Which was until 2 am. Then I wrote a long rambling post about how much having a pet freaks me out, and now I’m going to bed. Hopefully tomorrow I won’t wake to find that the little spots of grease that I missed killed him. I couldn’t bring myself to put him back in the water to wash off, and I think that probably would have been too much for his tiny little heart.
But having a pet is still totally worth it, and will be even more so when we get over this hand issue. I might get him a friend, too, once we do that. And at least he’s not Winky, Gwen’s cat from hell, who is doing everything in her power to make recovery from getting spayed as painful, scary, drawn out, and expensive as possible for both Gwen and herself (aside from the expensive part). She is living in a dog crate on Gwen’s kitchen table with a giant cone around her neck and she’s still managing to pull her stitches out. With birds, little ones at least, it can be scary and tragic, but it’s not usually drawn out or expensive. They’re here, they’re healthy, then suddenly they’re not, or something happens, and that’s pretty much it. And it terrifies me.
Okay, I need to sleep this cold away. Rambo will be fine, probably.
Rambo is growing some new wing feathers, and gradually getting used to my hands. Still freaked out a bit, but I can pet him more without him trying to fly away with his stubby little clipped wings. But he’s growing some new feathers! He’s got these feathers with deep black stripes on one of his wing tips that are new. Soon he’ll be able to fly for real, and not just in his imagination. In the meantime, he hides from my hands by burrowing into and cuddling with my neck so I can turn and chuck him under my chin, while his talons tickle me like crazy and I try not to giggle him off. So, that’s pretty adorable.
Also, I got my LSAT scores back. I only improved 3 points, despite the major difference in how I felt about the whole thing during and afterward, and yet, the difference between a 6 and a 7 in the second digit seems to have made quite a difference to UVa, William and Mary, and UCLA, who have all offered to waive my application fee today. If UT and UW decide to do the same, I’ll only have to pay for the schools that are a stretch, like Columbia and NYU, which I could never afford anyway. But UVa is $75 bucks in my pocket, since I was definitely going to apply there. Also, it’s nice to feel validated once in awhile.
And, NaNoWriMo has started. I’ve written 517 words, which puts me 1150 behind the daily goal, with only an hour and 5 minutes to spare, but I wrote the 517 in about 20 min, and I have all day tomorrow off to work on my resume, start my law school app personal statement(s), and write my novel. Maybe I should try to plot it out a bit, too. My to do list also includes continuing to train Rambo to not be afraid of my hands.