In Coffee Spoons

Shut up. About. Your damn. Kids.

Every single one of the twelve of you, shut up shut up shut up.

Post something, anything, fucking anything that is not about your kids. Just once.

There is a thread on our discussion board for chattering about every family anecdote ever. Use it. Keep every family anecdote ever off the fucking seminar discussion board where I am obligated to read every single post.

Isn't it amazing that so many of your kids have ADHD and isn't that some kind of psychology thing and doesn't your toddler come up with the most precious insights and doesn't that just say so much about early development and isn't behavior modification like rewarding kids for doing chores shut UP.

Can you seriously not discuss any topic except via your children? Has motherhood seriously narrowed your worldview so much that you can only relate to anything through that lens? Is a subject this fucking fascinating irrelevant to you if it doesn't filter through that lens?

No, don't answer those questions. Don't. Just shut up.

Monday:

"I'm sorry, we can't send someone to turn your power on today because it's Memorial Day."

"Of course, I should have thought of that. No problem, I can spend another night in my old apartment."

Tuesday:

"I'm sorry, we can't send someone to turn your power on today because you need to fax your personal information to our Detroit office for verification."

"Okay...I can spend another night in my old apartment...I guess."

Wednesday:

"I'm sorry, we can't send someone to turn your power on today because the verification process takes three to four days."

"But...but...no way to speed the process up? No? Nothing? Well, I can ask my landlord if he'll let me stay a few extra days in the old apartment."

Friday:

"I'm sorry, we can't send someone to turn your power on today because we can only turn on so many meters in a day and we're already booked full. We can send someone out on Monday."

"I WOULD LIKE TO SPEAK WITH A MANAGER. PLEASE."

I tried three different departments and was told by five different people that I'm not getting my power turned on until Monday, but that it is absolutely scheduled.

My incredibly understanding landlord says he doesn't care if I stay in the old apartment until then, as long as I have it clean so he can show it to prospective tenants.

BLARGH nonetheless.

Erin has been having quite the streak of good luck with her disturbing cartoon collection recently, and one of her YouTube finds was Felidae.

It's a murder mystery involving animal experimentation, freaky science, and religious cults. I've found it invariably compared to Watership Down; because it's told from an animal POV, and because a book was turned into a horrific animated nightmare never intended for children and inevitably shown to them anyway. (Given the experimentation angle, I'd call Plague Dogs a better comparison.) It's not great, it's got flaws, but it's original enough and scary enough to be more than worth your time.

So this left us all looking for the book. Apparently Erin's streak of good luck passed on to me, because I found it quite by accident in the library. Gulped it down in one sitting last night.

The verdict: Not so good.

It does, of course, flesh out certain characters and scenes much better than a movie can. Especially the professor and his deterioration, which is told in a chapter of journal entries. It's wonderful and much more convincing.

The surreal dream scenes are just as horrifying as in the movie. There's even an additional one involving endlessly murdered kittens.

But for the most part, this was just painful to read. It's poorly written. Very, very poorly. Ham-fisted and overeager.

It's like he's very self-consciously adding "I AM A WRITER, LOOK AT ME WRITE" elements. Long, ridiculous analogies and purple-prosed similes. Equally purple, cliche descriptions of setting and character. Long emphatic tirades on human nature with no basis whatsoever in believable dialogue.

When he drops his self-conscious writing "act" and actually just *writes*, it's not bad. The dream sequences, as I've said, are great. There are quite a few scenes towards the end where he cuts the crap and goes into clear, captivating storytelling mode with very suspenseful results.

It's just a pity that he takes an entire book to hit that stride.

(P.S. nitpick: There are also too many moments in which one character finds himself expositioning to another. In CSI, it is ludicrous that a lab tech needs to explain to another lab tech how he used his lab technology. In Felidae, it is ludicrous that a cat needs to explain to another cat how he used his cat senses.)

(P.P.S. There's apparently a sequel.)

Okay, I expected liberties to be taken with Prince Caspian. I did. It's one of the shortest books in the series, and fairly weak on its own.

But...

Good idea: Expand the existing plot, using the substantial chapters of backstory provided in the beginning and a better overview of the significant changes that have taken place in the last centuries.

Bad idea: Ignore the chance to develop backstory and, in fact, cut quite a bit of it out in favor of battle scenes copied from the first movie.

Worse idea: Ignore the chance to develop backstory and, in fact, cut quite a bit of it out in favor of battle scenes copied from the first movie. THEN completely make up a ridiculous romantic pairing.

Worst idea: Ignore the chance to develop backstory and, in fact, cut quite a bit of it out in favor of battle scenes copied from the first movie. THEN completely make up a ridiculous romantic pairing. THEN completely make up a contrived story midway through that screws up the religious content, completely goes against both the character's motivations/personalities *and* their relationships in the book, and adds weird, negative dimensions to the entire damn thing. But will allow you to add MORE battle scenes!

@$!@^!#^!#$@#@#!&%&()&(*)^%!#$@$!@$WTFJesusballs. Seriously.

Also, way to undermine this series' improved portrayal of women.

In the first movie, I was pleased to see lines like "Battles are ugly when women fight" cut/changed, and Susan actually involved in the battles and fighting well.

In the second movie, I was considerably less pleased to see an extra scene written in with Susan falling over like a horror movie bimbo and requiring rescue from the dashing prince. (Did I mention that this relationship is ridiculous?)

Yes, a series already controversial for sexist content really needs some sweepin'-off-the-feet added. Bravo.

So I'm looking forward to Dawn Treader and dreading Last Battle.

Dawn Treader is my favorite, and a much more adaptation-friendly story, what with the decent length and the high seas adventurin' and whatnot, and I really want to see this series pull itself back up to the level of the first movie.

Last Battle, the most important chance to either condemn or redeem Susan as a female character, is probably not going to pick the right option. God damn it.

P.S. EDDIE IZZARD AS REEPICHEEP THE SWASHBUCKLING MOUSE.

Check out Erin's journal first for her very, very short and very, very perfect review of the Burton adaptation.

If you'd like to learn more, or just have an appetite for incoherently expressed anger and excessive profanity, by all means read on.

Okay, I did enjoy some parts of this movie. Burton continues to rock his gothic mis-en-scene to good effect. Sacha Baron Cohen was a bit of really inspired lunatic casting. Singing ability aside, Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter were great together and great with their characters. If they could sing, they'd have been perfect choices. Ditto Alan Rickman.

If they could sing. I basically could have forgiven this movie almost all of its sins if anyone in it could sing.

Burton, we all know you and Johnny Depp are BFF. Totally BFF. But one of the lessons in Directing 101 is "Your friend needs more qualifications for the part than being your friend".

This also relates to the very first lesson of Directing Musicals 101: "Musicals have music in them. Your cast should be able to sing the music that makes it a musical".

Johnny Depp would be great for his role, except that he cannot fucking sing. He sounds like he has something unpleasant and possibly alive caught in his throat.

Helena Bonham Carter would be great for her role, except that she cannot fucking sing. Her performance is basically a cracked, strangled series of failed high notes.

Alan Rickman would be great for his role, except that he cannot fucking sing. (He does manage the best of anyone despite this, since Judge Turpin has a very narrow range of notes.)

Congratulations on your wonderful cast that can't fucking sing!

Anthony Stewart Head, who has a gorgeous voice, has a one-line spoken cameo, and the best vocal performance comes from a small boy playing a role intended for an adult man. That's fantastic.

That is my main complaint and the one that really kills this movie. I am now going under a cut with my other various complaints, mostly pertaining to the theatre-to-film slaughter. Expecting one, maybe two people to bother reading it, either out of a similar film/theatre obsession or a similar terminal amount of free time.

( A funland of vitriol and spoilers! )

If you haven't seen the movie yet, please do yourself the favor of listening to a Broadway version at some point. The 2005 revival is a great one.

FUCK YOU TOO, WINTER.

The first couple days taking care of Dad went just fine. Because he was on a ton of meds and sleeping most of the day.

As he gets better, he turns more and more into...well, into himself.

And it's not that I don't understand. It sucks being laid up. Anyone in our family would be restless if they were laid up. And it's not that I mind helping him, because he needs it, and anyone in our family would do the same for me (have done, actually). He certainly didn't choose to need help.

I am not trying to be bitchy and resentful about being the one to take care of Dad while Mom works and Erin's in school. But I do need to rant about some of it. Especially since telling Dad himself is useless.

When I'm upstairs, I have my door open. I can hear you call me. You know this. But it does take me more than two seconds to get up, go to the stairs, and go down the stairs. You don't need to keep calling me, because I'm not ignoring you. I'm busy getting to the fucking stairs.

I don't mind getting things for you, Dad, but I can only multitask to a certain point. If you just asked me to clear your dishes and I'm on my way to the kitchen, don't call me when I'm halfway there to get you something from the living room, and then remember you also need something from the basement. Let me do one thing at a time, because you know when I come back I'll ask if you if you need anything else.

I don't mind fixing your meals, but you make it harder than it has to be. If I give you coffee, don't call me once and tell me it needs more cream, then call me a second time because it needs to be warmer, then call me a third time because it needs something else. Ditto foods that need more salt and then need a different fork and then need gravy and then need another napkin. Look at your mug/plate, take a little inventory of what it needs, and maybe save me three or four trips to the kitchen.

There are other things I do while Mom and Erin are gone. If I'm taking laundry upstairs, don't ask me to get something from the kitchen when I'm halfway up the stairs. Ask me if I can do it first, or wait for me to come back down, because you *know* I will come back down and ask if you need anything. If I'm doing the dishes, don't call me five times because you can't remember which movies are your Tivo and which are mine, because that can wait until I come back and ask if you need anything else.

Every time I go out to the porch, I can see him resisting the urge to say something about it, and of course it's only a matter of time until he does. Guess what? I don't fucking smoke most of the time! I smoke when I'm stressed!

Okay, rant over. I'm dealing with this a lot better than this entry makes it seem like, honestly. That's what entries like this are for.