Bet you thought I lost power yesterday when I stopped updating that blog post.

Wrong. I died of BOREDOM.

Snow is beautiful (it’s what we’re getting today) and it’s so much better than ice. But I am ready to throw in the towel on this winter business. I love cold weather. I love rain and thunderstorms. We’ve never reached a point where we had so much rain in Oklahoma that I have tired of it. I think I’d enjoy Seattle or London a lot.

This winter weather though? I’m tired of it. The whole thing might be different if I lived in a state that was equipped to take care of this kind of thing without any major hiccups. But the snow and ice are so rare that it doesn’t get handled very well. I know that the various groups in charge of taking care of things are working their hardest, but man oh man. I’m done. No chains to put on my tires. No back up source of heat if the power goes out. No place to get water if there’s a problem with a line (like there was this morning). First world problems, I know.

Unfortunately, this afternoon I made a deal with my husband that if he would watch William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet, I would watch Dune. I should have realized whenever he laughed maniacally and said, “Yeah, I’ll definitely watch Romeo + Juliet if you’re going to watch Dune.”

We’re only 20 minutes in and the faint of heart need to be warned. (If any of my uber-squeamish cousins are reading this, stop NOW.) There is an alien in this movie whose mouth was clearly modeled after a cow’s girlie bits.

I’m going to collect quotable lines from this movie for your entertainment (and in italics, things that they should have said):

• “The itching becomes burning.”
• “There is a place terrifying to us…to women.”
• “Stains become a warning.”
• What up. I’m Sting. Look at me rockin’ this red hair and leather.
  
• “You are so beautiful, my baron. Your skin, love to me. Your diseases lovingly cared for, for all eternity.”
• Allow me to unplug your heart, bleed yourself all over me, and sexually assault you.
• Baby blue, was the color of her eyes…
  
  Baby Blue – George Strait
  
• “Spice. Pure, unrefined spice.”
• “I want to spit once on your head. Just some spittle in your face.”
• Let me now use a type of sign language that looks like a poor attempt at vogue-ing.
• “It’s yours to squeeze, as I promised! Squeeze! Squeeze! Squeeeeeze!”
• They’ve just told a man he must milk a cat every day for the rest of his life if he wants to live. I’m so confused.
• Let us fight them with our pelvic thrusts!

And that, friends, is pretty much how today has been.

I have a few neuroses. I can admit that. When I was in 2nd grade my teacher handed out an award to each of us that was made personal by acknowledging us for one particular thing that we contributed to our class. My award was “Most Imaginative Student.” I don’t remember it, because I was too beaming and proud as I marched across the stage to take my piece of paper, but I’m certain my mom and granny were somewhere in the back stifling their laughter. Because “most imaginative” was really just the tip of the iceberg.

People, I’m the one who had an imaginary husband at age 2.

Second grade was a somewhat disturbing year for me. While I never stopped making the good grades that would follow me all of my days through public school, that year I spent a lot of time drawing pictures of “Charlie Bronw” (as I spelled it back then), writing stories, and sharing my latest nightmare with my classmates during recess. That last thing? Yeah, doesn’t go over well with teachers and definitely not with the other parents.

I was always into shocking people though. In 1st grade I got in a lot of trouble for going around to all the kids I knew that believed in Santa and telling them that he wasn’t real. It’s a wonder I never acted out as a teen.

Along with the shocking, I loved to be shocked. Stories of the macabre gave me a thrill. Probably because it was forbidden. My parents didn’t let me watch or read anything (that they knew of) that dealt with subject matter that was the least bit questionable. The school library, however tame, served to whet my appetite.

Now, thankfully, my interests in the bizarre are pretty much limited to time travel. Because…yeesh. Life was hard enough anyway. No need to ostracize myself as a freak.

All this to say, you’d think that with my love of all things freaky and weird and shocking to my mom, there wouldn’t be much that would make me shudder. Nothing that I’d find so disturbing that I’d have to turn from the TV and shout, “Change it! Change the channel!” But you’d be thinking wrong.

The first time I can remember reacting to something in this way was when I was watching a show that I wasn’t allowed to view anyway — My Little Pony (I know, but there was magic…are you starting to understand now?). I don’t remember how we landed on the show. Maybe it came on after Duck Tales. Either way, we were watching it and on this particular episode some of the ponies had fallen into quicksand and were in it up to their stomachs. My 6-year-old eyes interpreted something very different though.

I saw ponies with no legs.

There were ponies and they were missing their legs. Not cut off or injured, but cleanly removed. Nowhere to be found. It was a deformity. Something I’d never seen. And I reacted like a lunatic.

“CHANGE IT!”

Luckily my parents raised me better and I knew never to respond in such a way to a person with a birth defect or abnormality, or to someone who lost some part of their body to injury. (My dad lost part of his finger in an accident when I was in high school.) Still, my response to such things on television as a child, and to some extent even now, has been to wince in pain. Turn my head. Ache for that person or animal and just pray that it goes away. I don’t think anyone outside of my family (if they even noticed) ever witnessed this. And the one time that it happened in a group of people…well, let me tell you. It is, after all, the title of this post.

Last weekend, while I was pukey, Kevin looked over at me from behind his laptop and said, “Hey, Netflix has Johnny Tremain now. Mind if I move it to the top of the queue?”

I stared back. “Johnny Tremain?”

“Yeah. The Disney version.”

“Umm…”

–

I don’t remember what year it was. Maybe 6th or 7th grade. We were studying the American Revolution and a number of different patriots. Our reader had featured a short story on Johnny Tremain and so our teacher thought that it would be a good time to incorporate the Disney film. Not knowing what to expect, I settled in to watch what I thought would be a gentle, possibly goofy, tale of the patriot’s life. You know, like Davy Crockett. A good movie to pass notes in the middle of.

They need to put a warning on these things.

I watched, in horror, as Mr. Tremain’s hand was enveloped in molten silver. And then the bell rang. The video was stopped and we were going to finish it the next day. I sat there.

Wait. Dude. DUDE. (That was my word back then.) The guy just had his hand covered in molten hot metal! What does that do to a person? I wanted to know the facts. What was I going to come back to the next day? Severe burns? It’s not like you can pick metal off the skin like a bad sunburn. Yuck. Missing fingers? Was he going to lose his entire hand? What happens when you dip your hand in something that hot? Does it just fall off?

I had so many questions. And I was thoroughly freaked out. I had always wondered what would happen if you stuck a limb in lava. Do you pull back a stump?

I never found out the answers to my questions. Something came up and we didn’t get to finish the film. And so, for the past 13 years, I have lived in fear of the Disney film, Johnny Tremain. It never occurred to me that I might have to watch it in its entirety. Tonight I will. Not because I want to. Marriage is full of sacrifices.

But you’d better believe I’ll never watch Freaks.

I have to tell you about something I stumbled upon on the OKC Craigslist last night. Sometimes I read the missed connections for fun. They can be cute, sweet, disgusting, desperate, or downright disturbing. Let’s just say that Creepy McCreeperson lives on Craigslist. (FYI the Harkins Theater is the one in Bricktown in OKC)

Subject: New Moon midnight showing – m4w- 30 (Harkins theater)
I sat behind you at the midnight showing of New Moon a couple of nights ago. Me: medium height, dark hair, and mysterious. You: straight long blond hair, full ruby lips, you were wearing black cargo pants and a twilight hoodie. as your hair draped down behind your seat i just has to hold it and smell it deeply(pantene. great choice). i dont remember much of the movie but i will always remember the smell and texture of your hair. the way you sound when you whisper and laugh. after the movie i followed you and your friend to IHOP. i waited outside in my car so i could watch you eat and smile. i followed you home and made sure you got there safely.i noticed you left you car unlocked so i went to have a look into your life. i can tell by looking in your car that we have a lot in common. if you want your dash ornaments back you will have to meet me and we can have a great time getting to know each other. “grin”

I hope this is intended as a “joke” (possibly poking fun at the crazy stalking tendencies of one Edward Cullen), but there’s nothing funny about it. If it’s fake, you’re sick and you’re making light of a very serious situation wherein a woman has her life, home, and safety violated. If it’s real, well, it serves as a cautionary tale. There’s some weird dudes out there. Even if this person is kidding, there are guys out there who do this kind of thing. I don’t know what kind of precautions to tell you to take, but the scenario certainly is an eye-opener for me. Rarely when I have been out with a group of women or just one other am I on alert for things like this. I don’t think we need to live in fear of people who do this sort of thing, but I think we should do our best to be aware and keep our heads up.

*shudder*

Much like my grandmother, as a small child I was under the impression that this was what life in the big city was like:

While I have never encountered anything quite like it, this gives me hope that one day we can live in a world where it’s okay for me to run down the street and burst into song. Whereas right now they’d cart me off to Griffin.

Mmm…Raspberries & Creme. I love flavored coffee. It makes my sugar-free life worth living. On with the show!

• I got a tumblr. And my name on there is Crumpette. You see, I’m about to marry a guy whose last name is Crumpler and who has been called Crumpy by one and all for a long time now. So, naturally, I’m Crumpette, right? He warned me that the name might stick if I’m not careful. It’s not any worse than being called Lizard Breath by your older cousins when you are 4-years-old and sensitive to things like that.
• Robyn Hitchcock is talking about making a Magnum Force (the sequel to Dirty Harry) musical. I ran into this piece of news somewhere else and then Brett wrote something on it and I had to link you all to his post. In it he points out a very serious flaw. I don’t know if that was on the part of the person who did the write-up on Broadway.com or Robyn Hitchcock–”an admitted Magnum Force obsessive.”
• Scientology Incorporated by Tim Slagle
• Thomas Jeffries brings up some great points about worship songs in Modern Worship: It’s All About Me.
• In case you missed it (it was buried beneath a lot of things in the news) — “It seems the era of Hope is to be inaugurated with a slaughter of the innocents.”
• Fireproof is now out on DVD. Go buy!
• Not really sure what to make of Obama’s comments about Robert E. Lee at the Alfalfa Club Dinner.
• Now, more than ever, I believe that John McCain never wanted or intended to be president.
• Lincoln. King. Obama? Please.
  
• We’ve gone back to the 70s.
  

  So I’m thinking we’ll have the following scenario in about four years:

  1. A Western governor who is incredibly enthusiastic and telegenic runs for President.

  2. This governor is tough, athletic, very happily married, loves the outdoors, and makes everyone feel good after an administration that bumbles its way through a single-term fiasco.

  3. The governor gets elected despite huge, active opposition from the supposedly neutral media, and the seemingly impossible occurs — the economy turns around, and a major bloc of America’s enemies fall like dominoes and freedom prospers in places where it formerly seemed impossible.

  Anybody remember Ronald Reagan?

  Okay, can you think of a Western governor with a two-syllable first name whose two-syllable last name rhymes with Reagan?

  Think about it – you can see her house from here.

  Supposedly, the Mayan calendar runs out in 2012 (so much for vision from those guys) and correlates with a Hindu prophecy from Lord Krishna that says we will enter a Golden Age on Earth. Can you hear a sitar playing? (Shut up, it’s a better idea than Edgar Cayce or $cientology or The Presidential Pledge.)

  Sounds good to me, you betchas.

• Explain this to me–why is our president carrying around a monkey god in his pocket?

Best Screenplay – The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Doubt, Frost/Nixon, The Reader, Slumdog Millionaire

Best Picture – The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Frost/Nixon, Milk, The Reader, Slumdog Millionaire

I would say that I am only including the two categories above because they matter most to me (and that is mostly true), but it’s more because I can’t type real fast (75wpm). That’s what thoughtful blogging does to a person

It’s true on the screenplay category though. I’m always most interested in that one. Been wanting to see Benjamin Button for a while, as well as Doubt, and now I’ll have to add The Reader and Slumdog Millionaire to the list. The latter has been catching my eye in the few commercials I’ve seen for it. Frost/Nixon…eh. Maybe.

Whoa. Just realized that there was no Gran Torino on there. That’s a shocker, right? I haven’t seen it yet, but it’s on the top of my list right now. I love Clint Eastwood. Nume laughed at me once when I told her that, and I understand, but it’s a guilty pleasure. In retrospect, she may have been laughing at the fact that I chose to spend hard-earned dollars on The Complete Dirty Harry. I don’t have much more to say about that. Only, gratuitous nudity much? Yeesh. Didn’t know all that was in there. That’s what I get for only watching these things on OKC’s Channel 34 on Saturday afternoons.

It’s a miracle I lasted this long. I came down with a cold on Saturday evening and am now suffering something fierce. Instead of hanging out with my fiancé tonight like I would prefer, I’ll be soaking in a Burt’s Bees milk bath, watching Arthur from the tub, drinking some hot hot tea, disinfecting my nesting areas around the house, and washing the piles of laundry I’ve been putting off. And maybe polishing the day off with the (literal) bloody mess that is Breaking Dawn.

Not much in the mood to write a lengthy post today. Had a touch of a stomach bug and have been in an altogether wretched mood and state-of-mind most of the evening.

For you, a video. A good song, a good film. The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, starring Rex Harrison and Gene Tierney (Tierney is just about the only acceptable “last name as a first name” in my book), about a widow who falls in love with a ghost, tries to move on, and realizes that it’s useless to try and fill that particular void with anything other than the love of your life. Pity he’s a dead man.

Have I told you that I’m on a quest to watch movies made in Oklahoma? Yeah, I am. And I’m watching one tonight. Four Sheets to the Wind. I’ll be posting a review about it soon. There’s a great line at the beginning.

Once in a while, something great happens in Oklahoma. Not often, but once in a while.

This feels like a Pretty in Pink kind of day. Maybe it’s because I’m crampy and I associate cramps with being a teenager and angst and being interested in one guy while having two or three more interested in you while the first one couldn’t really care less.

And maybe it’s because the only other thing I considered watching was Atonement and right now I just don’t feel like it. It’s too soon. I watched it yesterday for the first time and it devastated me. Seriously, there was nothing happy about that at all. And I know that stories aren’t always happy. But the end got me. Once you get to that point (if you haven’t read the novel already) you can begin to put things together and the typing sounds in the score really make it all make sense, but an unreliable narrator really riles me up. Especially one that I have next to no compassion for and one who thinks that writing a story and “giving” two people a happy ending is really even close to “atoning” for her “sins.” I found it quite presumptuous of Briony to state that she gave the couple their happiness and that comment alone made me seriously question her state of mind. Is she losing it by this point?

I’d like to add that I didn’t feel any sort of compassion for Cecelia either, as I don’t think she gave Young Briony half a chance. She was a little girl who saw something she didn’t understand and ended up making something much larger out of it. Honestly, an adult can tell from the first second when he appears who the real culprit is, but what is a little girl to think? Certainly that the fellow with the most evidence against him is the guilty party.

I will say that it was terribly beautiful cinematography though. The racy content at the beginning makes it something I really can’t recommend in good conscience, but it’s very, very pretty. Not the racy content — the film overall. Sigh.

The way it’s stuck with me reminds me of the feeling I had after watching A Walk to Remember for the first time. I know what you’re thinking. She’s comparing a film based on a Nicholas Sparks novel to one based on a novel by Ian McEwan? I understand. But I must tell you that at the time that film came out, it was something very close. I had never identified with a character so much as Jamie Sullivan (in the book) and the film made it all the more real (though less appealing in some ways). To see her situation and the change that she helped to spark in that boy by expressing her faith really touched me. To watch her dreams come true and then have her pass from this life to the next, well, it made me examine my life, priorities, and where I stood on a lot of things. I began to seriously consider the impact my words and the way I lived had (or could have) on people. If you can get past the cheese factor (which doesn’t bother me so much because I am a certified Cheeseball) there are some great lessons to be gleaned from A Walk to Remember. I would suggest the novel over the film though.

If you enjoyed Atonement, I recommend: Jeux d’enfants (Eng. Title: Love Me If You Dare)