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la_belle_laideBooks're good. Paradin's better.
Today I did my Christmas tradition of watching A Hard Day's Night, and I noticed that the movie means more to me (and has gotten funnier) than it used to. You know, I can't quite imagine what it must have been like to be one of those poor young girls at a Beatles concert. It sort of gets you thinking, you know, all those prim little girls screaming, crying, tearing at their bobbed hair; you can't tell if they're happy or sad or afraid. And probably most of those girls now have children and maybe even grandchildren now, isn't that weird? They got over a hysteria that deep and moved on. Heh!
My Mom was the one who sat me down and said, "I want you to see this movie; you'll like it. It's funny." (I trust her judgment, because she also said that about Monty Python when I was much younger.) My Mom was a full-on Beatles fan when she was a teenager. She never got to see them live (the closest she got was hearing them from the parking lot of a stadium once,) but she did go and see all their movies in the theaters. This was back in the day, she says, when you could pay once and stay to see the movie all day. (Imagine! Wouldn't that be terrific?!) And she'll always tell me how she can remember being in the theater and trying not to cry during the closeup of Paul when he sings the line, "dark is the sky."
Paul has always been my Mom's favorite. Johnny had always been mine. Even back before any of the biographies or books or documentaries, back when I accepted that The Beatles were as harmless and innocent and pure as they seemed (they escape from their studio and frolick together in a field! They're happy just to dance with you! Is it any wonder that young girls were hopelessly in love with them?) I could always, always tell that John Lennon was the Beatle you didn't mess with. He was walking snark. You knew that he could flatten you with a comment or even a stare. And for all his talk of peace and love and love and peace, you knew that he wasn't about to take any crap, either. And his comic timing was perfect, too. "Scientist, you're another failure, aren't you, scientist?"
Of course I remember the day he died. (Well, I guess it would be the morning after, really, since that's when we found out.) Incidentally, it was the day my pet hamster Snowball died, too. Snowball was the first pet I ever lost, and I remember that my Mom was cleaning the house. Either it was a day off or I was at home sick. I went to clean Snowball's cage and he was all stiff. I'd never seen a dead thing before, so I wasn't certain what was wrong with him, but for some reason I started crying without realizing it. It's odd how I can still remember that so clearly. I went to tell my Mom that something was wrong with Snowball, and she came in and did the Mom Thing, you know, "I'm sorry honey, but Snowball died. He was old and had a good life (etc.) and we can bury him in a nice box if you want" and blah blah. I asked her if she would do it for me and I went to sit in the stairs to be sad. Then I went in my room for a while and turned on the radio, and I remember that they were playing all of my favorite songs for whatever reason. I had no idea who did them, just that they were my favorites, like Strawberry Fields and Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds (which, to me, always sounded like "Lucy In The Sky Will Die," and I always pictured Lucy from the Peanuts.) I was looking out the window of my old bedroom into the back yard that day. After that I can't seem to remember much, except coming out of my room to sit on the steps again a while later, and my Mom was crying. I thought she was just really sad about Snowball and I went to hug her, but then, it didn't seem too much like Mom to be crying over a hamster and I asked her if she was okay, and she told me that John Lennon was dead. I had no idea who that was. Well, she got over it pretty quickly, though, and went back to cleaning, just saying that it was such a sad day, and how terrible it was the way it happened. I asked her how he died and she told me someone had assassinated him, and I guess that's when I learned what the word meant.
It wasn't until high school that I really started to idolize John Lennon, though. I went through this phase where I was totally in love with him. You know, cause like, I could, like, relate and all, dude. ;)
My poor Johnny.
Does anyone think it's maybe that grey area between possible and likely that this was a political assassination like some people think? (Not the nut jobs who think Stephen King did it, I mean, you know, the more reasonable ones.)
Yeah, yeah, and Kurt Cobain didn't kill himself. I'm sorry, he didn't. He might have done, down the road, and maybe he was considering it, but he didn't.
Layne, though? Layne killed himself.
So after Hard Day's Night, I've got Cartoon Network on with the sound down (as I always, always do,) and don't you know they are playing that one Christmas cartoon that always gives me chicken skin? "Peace On Earth", you know the one, where the little squirrels hear the phrase "good will to men" and ask their Grandpa squirrel, "what are men?" It's creepy throughout the middle, and when the last soldier is shot and dying in the water (tremendous animation for its time,) it gives you the full-on all-overs. "And that was the end of the last man on earth." And then it turns silly, but still. I understand that this was remade in the 50's and called "Good Will To Men," but I've never seen that one.
By that same token, I listen to the song "O Holy Night" (one of my favorites,) and when I hear the phrase, "the weary world rejoices," I wish I could travel back to the time of Christ just to tell these people, "you guys don't yet know what a weary world is." Wouldn't it be nice if that song was true, or if something like it was true?
Well! Enough of that nonsense.
I'm happily back on my Peter Pan kick that I left off about twelve years ago. Here's a little indicator of how stupid I am: last night as I was falling asleep, I understood a vital part of the story for the first time. I mean, something that I really should have understood back when I read the book. (Hello! English major in college! Duh!) I was falling asleep and for some reason the ticking of my clock seemed really loud over my white noise machine and I thought, "Now, that's a scary sound, isn't it? It just keeps going." I must have sat straight up (and wanted to go back to when I was in college, take my old self by the hair and bash my noggin against the wall for being obtuse,) when I realized that this was why Hook--the wicked adult who was obviously envious of Peter Pan--was afraid of the crododile. Of course it's going to eat him. It's going to eat me, too.(And now I've written the phrase "eat me" while thinking about Jason Issacs playing Captain Hook. Heee!)
I'm bored and hormonal. I have to go to Blockbuster to rent a movie after dinner. I was going to go to my parents' and try to get them to watch The Two Towers, but they don't feel like it. I totally need some ice cream, too.
Happy Christmas Eve everyone, or whatever you celebrate. I notice that at midnight or thereabouts on thi snight, every year, there's this weird stillness to the air that I don't hear any other time. Give it a whirl if you live away from constant traffic.
Addendum: I loathe the way this new version of notepad frigs (or maybe it figs!) with my formatting. >_< I have to re-space every blasted thing before I post it.
Today I did my Christmas tradition of watching A Hard Day's Night, and I noticed that the movie means more to me (and has gotten funnier) than it used to. You know, I can't quite imagine what it must have been like to be one of those poor young girls at a Beatles concert. It sort of gets you thinking, you know, all those prim little girls screaming, crying, tearing at their bobbed hair; you can't tell if they're happy or sad or afraid. And probably most of those girls now have children and maybe even grandchildren now, isn't that weird? They got over a hysteria that deep and moved on. Heh!
My Mom was the one who sat me down and said, "I want you to see this movie; you'll like it. It's funny." (I trust her judgment, because she also said that about Monty Python when I was much younger.) My Mom was a full-on Beatles fan when she was a teenager. She never got to see them live (the closest she got was hearing them from the parking lot of a stadium once,) but she did go and see all their movies in the theaters. This was back in the day, she says, when you could pay once and stay to see the movie all day. (Imagine! Wouldn't that be terrific?!) And she'll always tell me how she can remember being in the theater and trying not to cry during the closeup of Paul when he sings the line, "dark is the sky."
Paul has always been my Mom's favorite. Johnny had always been mine. Even back before any of the biographies or books or documentaries, back when I accepted that The Beatles were as harmless and innocent and pure as they seemed (they escape from their studio and frolick together in a field! They're happy just to dance with you! Is it any wonder that young girls were hopelessly in love with them?) I could always, always tell that John Lennon was the Beatle you didn't mess with. He was walking snark. You knew that he could flatten you with a comment or even a stare. And for all his talk of peace and love and love and peace, you knew that he wasn't about to take any crap, either. And his comic timing was perfect, too. "Scientist, you're another failure, aren't you, scientist?"
Of course I remember the day he died. (Well, I guess it would be the morning after, really, since that's when we found out.) Incidentally, it was the day my pet hamster Snowball died, too. Snowball was the first pet I ever lost, and I remember that my Mom was cleaning the house. Either it was a day off or I was at home sick. I went to clean Snowball's cage and he was all stiff. I'd never seen a dead thing before, so I wasn't certain what was wrong with him, but for some reason I started crying without realizing it. It's odd how I can still remember that so clearly. I went to tell my Mom that something was wrong with Snowball, and she came in and did the Mom Thing, you know, "I'm sorry honey, but Snowball died. He was old and had a good life (etc.) and we can bury him in a nice box if you want" and blah blah. I asked her if she would do it for me and I went to sit in the stairs to be sad. Then I went in my room for a while and turned on the radio, and I remember that they were playing all of my favorite songs for whatever reason. I had no idea who did them, just that they were my favorites, like Strawberry Fields and Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds (which, to me, always sounded like "Lucy In The Sky Will Die," and I always pictured Lucy from the Peanuts.) I was looking out the window of my old bedroom into the back yard that day. After that I can't seem to remember much, except coming out of my room to sit on the steps again a while later, and my Mom was crying. I thought she was just really sad about Snowball and I went to hug her, but then, it didn't seem too much like Mom to be crying over a hamster and I asked her if she was okay, and she told me that John Lennon was dead. I had no idea who that was. Well, she got over it pretty quickly, though, and went back to cleaning, just saying that it was such a sad day, and how terrible it was the way it happened. I asked her how he died and she told me someone had assassinated him, and I guess that's when I learned what the word meant.
It wasn't until high school that I really started to idolize John Lennon, though. I went through this phase where I was totally in love with him. You know, cause like, I could, like, relate and all, dude. ;)
My poor Johnny.
Does anyone think it's maybe that grey area between possible and likely that this was a political assassination like some people think? (Not the nut jobs who think Stephen King did it, I mean, you know, the more reasonable ones.)
Yeah, yeah, and Kurt Cobain didn't kill himself. I'm sorry, he didn't. He might have done, down the road, and maybe he was considering it, but he didn't.
Layne, though? Layne killed himself.
So after Hard Day's Night, I've got Cartoon Network on with the sound down (as I always, always do,) and don't you know they are playing that one Christmas cartoon that always gives me chicken skin? "Peace On Earth", you know the one, where the little squirrels hear the phrase "good will to men" and ask their Grandpa squirrel, "what are men?" It's creepy throughout the middle, and when the last soldier is shot and dying in the water (tremendous animation for its time,) it gives you the full-on all-overs. "And that was the end of the last man on earth." And then it turns silly, but still. I understand that this was remade in the 50's and called "Good Will To Men," but I've never seen that one.
By that same token, I listen to the song "O Holy Night" (one of my favorites,) and when I hear the phrase, "the weary world rejoices," I wish I could travel back to the time of Christ just to tell these people, "you guys don't yet know what a weary world is." Wouldn't it be nice if that song was true, or if something like it was true?
Well! Enough of that nonsense.
I'm happily back on my Peter Pan kick that I left off about twelve years ago. Here's a little indicator of how stupid I am: last night as I was falling asleep, I understood a vital part of the story for the first time. I mean, something that I really should have understood back when I read the book. (Hello! English major in college! Duh!) I was falling asleep and for some reason the ticking of my clock seemed really loud over my white noise machine and I thought, "Now, that's a scary sound, isn't it? It just keeps going." I must have sat straight up (and wanted to go back to when I was in college, take my old self by the hair and bash my noggin against the wall for being obtuse,) when I realized that this was why Hook--the wicked adult who was obviously envious of Peter Pan--was afraid of the crododile. Of course it's going to eat him. It's going to eat me, too.(And now I've written the phrase "eat me" while thinking about Jason Issacs playing Captain Hook. Heee!)
I'm bored and hormonal. I have to go to Blockbuster to rent a movie after dinner. I was going to go to my parents' and try to get them to watch The Two Towers, but they don't feel like it. I totally need some ice cream, too.
Happy Christmas Eve everyone, or whatever you celebrate. I notice that at midnight or thereabouts on thi snight, every year, there's this weird stillness to the air that I don't hear any other time. Give it a whirl if you live away from constant traffic.
Addendum: I loathe the way this new version of notepad frigs (or maybe it figs!) with my formatting. >_< I have to re-space every blasted thing before I post it.
