Listmania. Amusing (?) and practical (ergo highly effective) ways to deprive oneself of the healthful, necessary and (usually) strictly recommended, restoring night-time activity (commonly) known as SLEEP. Think I've actually done something similar to this before. And just like back then, it's all about tiring myself. Tap-tap-keyboard. Please exhaust my struggling mind and aching body. But it doesn't really...work. Instead, I do. Continuously.
1. Packing/unpacking. Not experiencing travel fever, just planning. And, like I said, packing. Wherever, whenever, I'm leaving the next day. I always plan the night before. And the head just won't enter sleeping mode when full of practical problems to be addressed. And issues. I've got bloody issues in a lot of departments. Also related to the familiar "need for tidying up just because I don't want to wake up to a mess" and "cleaning the bathroom sink at two o-clock cos whilst brushing my teeth, I saw it was a bit dirty somewhere".
2. TV-series on DVD. So accessible, it's hard to describe. And not just DW. We've got House M.D., and everything else available through Dailymotion as well. Whey. Very...soporific, for someone with my amount of enthusiasm. Medically speaking, that is.
3. Blogging and brainstorming. Writes for itself. This is, what, yet another chatty babble-blogpost from the mind of the Queen Lady? Remarkable. Lol. Critics galore! I'm an easy, distracted target!
4. Dancing. Sudden urge to turn up the volume on the completely "wrong" music playing on my stereo; meaning discopop ála Sophie E-B, and the Sisters. Can't help this need to move around a bit, either, so now I've changed record and am listening to Snow Patrol which, again, has me all angsty, moody and soppy - which, third phase, leads me to:
5. Wandering down Memory (Shipping) Lane. Watching old fanvid's, reading old and melancholy fan-fiction, listening to tracks that signify a particular moment of my life or someone elses life or fate, which I've been observing and engaged in; in short doing things that makes me remember and recollect and associate and SOB. Very wise, my ass.
6. Midnight snacks. Well, past midnight to be accurate. Does anyone remember when Amy and Maxine got up and had ice cream in the middle of the night and discussed Amy's man-troubles? One of the few times of the day when the two women could actually manage a proper chat, surrounded by the peace and quietness of an otherwise sleeping house; and how much poesy and wisdom-wise came out of it. When I experience this kind of late hunger, I usually turn to (chocolate) sweets or (chocolate) muffins. Yummy, tummy, fatty, stuffed-y. Full of energy-increasing substances, doesn't calm me down at all. Tastes heavenly nice, though.
7. Coffee. Yeah, you heard me. Sudden lust for stain-black, oil-consistency liquid. Coffein is just great for insomniacs, isn't it? No? Hmmm, what could I possibly have been thinking! Being a bit ironic there, too. I love a late night movie, wave of inspiration or a round of slow dancemoves - and I need to stay awake! Ok, so I was trying to sleep but that didn't work. Coffee machine-puffing instead, and it doesn't sound like a lullaby. Unfortunately.
8. More effects: like tormenting my neighbours; humming, clicking my fingers, tapping along to the rhythm of "Chasing cars", world's finest rock ballad anthem right now, doing backing vocals, ooh-ing and aah-ing (and I learnt that term from reading "P.S. I love you", btw!) to the scenes from some...series, or phrases from songs, sighs of frustration when my computer's various programmes go all FAILING on me, a bit too loud that too - and, oh, the tapping from my above-mentioned keyboard is probably bound to disturb someone as well. It ain't easy, yo. Now I might want to give the pillow a try. Good night, and sleep like a croc. Which is yet another modification of the "seeyalater aligator"-theme. Scara attempts to bid farewell, for now.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Scara's NTA-appeal!
Be careful, all ye arrogant outsiders and ignorants critcs! The following post includes overly exaggerated use of exclamation-marks, fake cuts, direct and indirect links and angsty mentionings. Also featuring non-objective, lascivious (lol) praise of Scotsmen and moping over Billie Piper's irreversible departure from her most suitable employment so far. You are hereby warned.
You've got a chance to make a difference in the world! Please read on! ;) This is not some money-craving charity event or an act of religious hypocricy. This is serious! This is Doctor Who-related! This is important!! As most of you may still recall, last year the Best Sci-fi Programme in the Universe (Imdb has finally put up some new images from the series, quite recently too in fact, the majority of which feature Rose! And the Tylers! And CHRIS! Check out, and enjoy!!) swept the awards and won THREE prizes, for what was the second year in a row. We surely want a repetition of this succesful incident, and thus:
THE NTA IS ON!!!
You've got a chance to make a difference in the world! Please read on! ;) This is not some money-craving charity event or an act of religious hypocricy. This is serious! This is Doctor Who-related! This is important!! As most of you may still recall, last year the Best Sci-fi Programme in the Universe (Imdb has finally put up some new images from the series, quite recently too in fact, the majority of which feature Rose! And the Tylers! And CHRIS! Check out, and enjoy!!) swept the awards and won THREE prizes, for what was the second year in a row. We surely want a repetition of this succesful incident, and thus:
THE NTA IS ON!!!
[Image: Happy winners from the 2006-event; David, Billie, Camille, Noel. All rights served, probably, and some weird copyright restrictions definitely apply. Jeje. I don't own anything, I just found it at some point during my image-acquisition history. Please respect.]
Dear TV-viewers, fangirls, Tennantholics and everyone else. This is a message from Scaramouche, moderator of - er - Scara's Stories, infamous blogging service, very influential and bitchy if you don't agree and obey, who proposes a sincere pledge that you take 5 minutes of your precious time and cast a vote! NTA (National Television Awards) in Britain is coming up shortly and amongst the nominees are many significant people we know! And love! You have a rare opportunity to show your appreciation for some of the finest performers out there, a.o. David Tennant, Catherine Tate and Hermione Norris!! Do not miss it! Pity is, one can't vote both for Wire in the Blood AND Doctor Who, and although both will do nicely, and either one will be most appropriate, Scara would prefer that you vote for Doctor Who. After all, Hermione the Heroine has left WitB and despite the fact that we (I) adore Robson Green, it just isn't quite the same any longer. Not without Carol Jordan! However, you can vote for solo-actress Hermione in her other shows and she is certainly more deserving than one certain Martha Jones, aka Freema Agyeman. Well, it's not forbidden to support the latter, but is she really really worthy...? Njaaaaaaao. Billie, on the other hand! Where is she?! Mansfield Park, Ruby in the Smoke, hellooo...? This is, moreover, the first Awards in a good while where she will neither appear as part of the Who-crew, or alongside D.T. or as a nominee, which is so unfair and sad. Ever heard of the rememberance-prize, anyone? Most loved-actress on TV ever, or something? Just a thought! But - as for the other categories, it is important that you decide for yourselves, yet at the same time make sure that Doctor Who win as many as possible. Everything else is far from being relevant. Nice to be nominated, hooray and happy salutes to anyone accomplished, but it's simply irrelevant! The Doctor is King and needs a third Crown. (And, if cheering for Freema is, somehow, crucial in order for DW to win, cheer for her. By all means. But it shouldn't be!) Remember also to vote for Lauren Cooper in any context imaginable - go Catherine! - and Jo Joyner (anyone remember Lynda Moss - who made Rose show off her true feelings for Doc in the first place??) on EastEnders. Such a small and short notification, but let's not forget. Thanks to you all, in advance, and don't boycott, do NOT work against, do NOT bullshit and do NOT skip it! VOTE NOW!!! You might need to register with a random e-mail adress, but then you do get the chance to win a ticket to some celeb show. And your votes will COUNT!
THE DIRECT LINK IS HERE: http://www.nationaltvawards.com/
NOTE: David Tennant, best actor. Doctor Who, best show. Catherine Tate, best comedy.
(and please wait for the animation on the front page to complete itself, then you can see a beautiful photo of David from "The Lazarus Experiment" and of Catherine Tate from her show!!)
**
P.S.: MORE VOTE-OPTIONS:
You may also vote for David at the TVquick awards, but there you need to register and fill in a lot of personal details (boring). You can, however, cast your vote for him more through a slightly less complicated (and thus, less boring) procedure at Specsavers.com, yet still having to provide some personal info, for being the sexiest spec-wearer alive!! (Whey! Go nerdy spec-wearers!) Which is, of course, well-earned! In addition, the Doctor Who-homepage has a vote going on for the audience's favourite series 3 moments, where you can vote for Rose! You may select "The Journal" through the designated link, and can thus support the scene in which Billie featured as a drawing in the Doc's Notebook of Impossible Adventures! As seen on Scara's blog, at numerous occasions, and included in an essay! ;) And please do so; please remember!
Bit of this and a bit of that
AND FINALLY, SOME INSPIRATION.
From an old hero, whom I still read with great joy. Today, the English variants. Slightly reminiscent of a certain couple I...ship. A lot. Just capturing the tone and feel between them, and so wonderfully accurate too. Touching. Of course, the writer wouldn't have known. He won't ever know. But it amazes me, and delights me, to read such fabulous poetry that suits such poetic dynamic. It proves, once more, how everything and everyone are connected. Bits of this and that mould and tie up, continuously, and the links subsequently discovered are surprising and hilarious and - sometimes sad. I still find it extremely fascinating, though. Along with the number of other strange facts originated from our old planet earth. Here are some excerpts:
First, from the epic "One of a million midnights" by Gunnar Alme. Breathtakingly beautiful. Basically brilliant. Me love and adore. © 1950, all rights served.
"Him
do I meet
here in the shadow of you,
and I follow his fottprints
from nowhere
to nowhere.
I can see him grow old
although he is ever young.
I can see him grow young
although he shall always be old.
It is all the same
with the things that were
and the things that are
and the things that are yet to be - "
From "A dream" by Gunnar Alme, who remains the po(t)et's poet idol. Like picturing the places they went. And the places they'll both dream of going. Together. Again. © 1950, all rights served.
"The city of crystallized smiles
and the tower of frozen tears.
The ruins of burned wishes
and the forest of faded aspirations.
The caves of petrified kisses
and te meadwo of stolen adventures.
And last
the pond of forgotten beauty."
From - oh, heck, I couldn't resist this time either. This is me, mine, mimicry. "Unmerited/Theft". By Scaramouche, the po(t)et. Stealing sensory material and mood skills. Yay. © 2007, all rights served.
"I was empty
like a water bucket, once a drained
tomorrow morning
Fed on grass
I could not generate a single drop
of common poision
As the rifer sand
spilled through the hands of mighty
souls who profess
Fallacy indictment
whilst they bear the bundled keys
to concave vision
Slaughter much;
admittance to, unlimited, totality
they eschew nothing
Whilst, I cannot spare
I don't excell, I have been tugged
too scanty on their scale
They named profiency
of what was brimming, fringeless
never unfamiliar but rapt
And I was formed
not fabricated, maladjusted, yet upright
some sort of token
Too opalescent for them;
although in lack of water to be mirrored in;
I'll shun the ordained masses
Ceased to consumate
what I must not embrace, but rather stole
I seek no more"
From an old hero, whom I still read with great joy. Today, the English variants. Slightly reminiscent of a certain couple I...ship. A lot. Just capturing the tone and feel between them, and so wonderfully accurate too. Touching. Of course, the writer wouldn't have known. He won't ever know. But it amazes me, and delights me, to read such fabulous poetry that suits such poetic dynamic. It proves, once more, how everything and everyone are connected. Bits of this and that mould and tie up, continuously, and the links subsequently discovered are surprising and hilarious and - sometimes sad. I still find it extremely fascinating, though. Along with the number of other strange facts originated from our old planet earth. Here are some excerpts:
First, from the epic "One of a million midnights" by Gunnar Alme. Breathtakingly beautiful. Basically brilliant. Me love and adore. © 1950, all rights served.
"Him
do I meet
here in the shadow of you,
and I follow his fottprints
from nowhere
to nowhere.
I can see him grow old
although he is ever young.
I can see him grow young
although he shall always be old.
It is all the same
with the things that were
and the things that are
and the things that are yet to be - "
From "A dream" by Gunnar Alme, who remains the po(t)et's poet idol. Like picturing the places they went. And the places they'll both dream of going. Together. Again. © 1950, all rights served.
"The city of crystallized smiles
and the tower of frozen tears.
The ruins of burned wishes
and the forest of faded aspirations.
The caves of petrified kisses
and te meadwo of stolen adventures.
And last
the pond of forgotten beauty."
From - oh, heck, I couldn't resist this time either. This is me, mine, mimicry. "Unmerited/Theft". By Scaramouche, the po(t)et. Stealing sensory material and mood skills. Yay. © 2007, all rights served.
"I was empty
like a water bucket, once a drained
tomorrow morning
Fed on grass
I could not generate a single drop
of common poision
As the rifer sand
spilled through the hands of mighty
souls who profess
Fallacy indictment
whilst they bear the bundled keys
to concave vision
Slaughter much;
admittance to, unlimited, totality
they eschew nothing
Whilst, I cannot spare
I don't excell, I have been tugged
too scanty on their scale
They named profiency
of what was brimming, fringeless
never unfamiliar but rapt
And I was formed
not fabricated, maladjusted, yet upright
some sort of token
Too opalescent for them;
although in lack of water to be mirrored in;
I'll shun the ordained masses
Ceased to consumate
what I must not embrace, but rather stole
I seek no more"
Monday, July 09, 2007
Probably too late and overdone
Can't go on if I'd get out. By Scaramouche, the po(t)et. Soundtrack: Tito and Tarantula. Opened my eyes late, then dressed up quickly. Fixed the flaws and scrubbed the face. Too easily. I laid myself upon the old drycleaner's bench and stretched out, to be washed away with tides. My toes got wet. I didn't see the moon, I shot the clouds. I drank my tea and took another nap before I woke. I think, or maybe I was never fully 'wake, perchance was I outside. Found the shoes and took a stroll. I can't remember where, but it was short. Forgot a lot, and more I will, I open boxes, leave the doors unshut, the changes not affecting me. Later headache, later apetite for sweet, but hardly any notice taken of the reparations. As though the world has happend less to some, and held too little much too slowly. Then I came home and sat down straight and couldn't tell, could not decide, or settle any scores. The screens went blank. I watched some people act. I thought them dead, but they swam on. They smiled and kissed, guess that's what lovers do, 'cos categories fit when humans ask them to. When we make sure, accomodate. Some close one sense to clarify a second. Distant echoes, rusty sorts. Rifts and broken, leaking mugs. I listened to a jarring song, then turned it off. That's how it'll pass. Much overdone, and much too far, too much exposed, majority seeped through and vanished. For now; and that is how the day goes by, if I am unaware. And next, it ends. The fluctuating weather drifs, the raindrops cease. And to exist, I step on in. I enter back. I put myself to sleep, before I'm drawn to consciousness and repetition strikes. A nerve. But only if it may. And if I let it be; this steadyness of hours, never interrupted, altered seldom by a strange occasion. Oh, but not today. I tear a page from my calendar pad. Behind it, starts anew, as comes the dawn, and I shall breathe again. The fresher air of future moments not yet come. Know life need nurture. I always liked the dusk, and better. I open up my eyes.
Getting my test results
So, last time I was reinCARnated into a station wagon - and this time I've gone into gardening! And jewellery! According to the brilliant Blogthings-site, my personality is best represented with the following definitions;
| You are a Dark Red Rose |
 You represent unconscious beauty and deep passion. Your vibe: sophisticated and worldly Falling in love with you is: wildly carnal and forbidden |
Nice to know! Can't say I aim to disagree either. Mindless summer-joy, naturally, but it's about a...Rose! And I managed to take the test without even having mentioned THE Rose! Plus, I love searching for reasons why I was destined to be passionate about my various obsessions. What did Phantom leave on Christine's grave, everyone? A DARK RED ROSE and a ring! How the contents of this small, small world come together and are connected in the most fascinating ways. Hooray! And this also adds to the completeness, the absolute certification of it;
| Your Love Is Represented By a Red Rose |
 You love passionately and fully, without any reservations. And while romantic love comes easily for you, you also love many people platonically. You are a true romantic, and you always can see the best in people. |
And speaking of rings, I just had to get (yet) another one about that particular matter of decisions...I mean; what to choose, what to wear, what do tempt unhappy, despairing, singing Phantoms with? According to the Blogthings-guys:
| Your Dream Engagement Ring Has a Heart Diamond! |
 You wear your heart on your sleeve, so of course you should also wear it on your ring. A heart diamond is the perfect choice for highlighting your passionate disposition. Only a true romantic can get away with wearing this ring. Luckily, that's you. And only a true romantic can give you this ring, so make sure you find him...! |
Could surely fit as part of a flower-shaped diamond bouquet on a ring around my neck, or what? Right now, and I can't help it, I picture myself sweeping the ballroom floors of the Paris Opera House, in the arms of one handsome, red-dressed Ghost. Love these tests. They are so true! And REAL!
'Cause after all, and I quote; "Your Blogging Type is Artistic and Passionate...You see your blog as the ultimate personal expression - and work hard to make it great. One moment you may be working on a new dramatic design for your blog...And the next, you're passionately writing about your pet causes. Your blog is very important - and you're careful about who you share it with." INDEED! :)
**
More about me, more or less ridiculous and/or sensible and/ord totally strange:
"You" in all cases being, of course, myself. I copied the text directly from the page and added some comments. You might wonder why I find this so horribly interesting - well, mostly because it's scaringly accurate. But how come anonymous computer-moderators in the US know more about my preferences than I do? And, okay, in case you begin to wonder - one mustn't take this too seriously, my enthusiasm thus remains on a level of just plain fun and happy self-confidence building. Edifying for the soul, and improves the otherwise cruel look in the mirror every morning. Sleepy eyes, bad hair day, spots and wrinkles. No good. But this is healthy! So, anyways;
Which planet should I rule, if I could travel in time and space? Answer: You Should Rule Venus! Venus is a mysterious, stormy planet - shrouded in a thick layer of clouds. You are perfect to rule Venus, because you are quite emotional and volatile yourself. Your emotions change as rapidly as the weather on Venus, and both you and the planet are incomprehensible to others. While you are not a logical thinker, you are quite empathetic. You can care for and understand others, but your emotions swirl too quickly to truly understand yourself.
And - probably the most flattering one, in particular for an Augusr child: You Are Fall! (Autumn, that is, for all you Brits) You are: Thoughtful, Expressive, Creative, Poetic, Smart. Similarly, about what Scaramouche Means: S is for Spiritual, C is for Casual, A is for Animated, R is for Rich, A is for Alert, M is for Misunderstood, O is for Overwhelming, U is for Unreal, C is for Cheerful, H is for Hot, E is for Enchanting.
Furthermore, as for what to eat: You Are a Chocolate Cake! Fun, comforting, and friendly. You are a true classic, and while you're not super cutting edge, you're high quality. People love your company - and have even been known to get addicted to you.
Your Monster Profile: Ultima Dictator (THE MASTER?!). You Feast On: Hot Dogs. You Lurk Around In: Closets. You Especially Like to Torment: Cops. (Moahaha!)
Whilst; although I claim to be a bit of a geeky girl - You Are (only!) 52% Nerdy. You may be a bit surprised with this score, but your more of a closet nerd than an actual nerd. Stop denying your inner nerd! You're truly dorkier than you think.
And, alright, now I'm SCARED...or just very very very happy! I've really got something to look forward to:
| If You Were Born in 2893... |
 Your Name Would Be: Iara Neyr And You Would Be: A Time Traveler |
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Criminal Minds
Criminally Clever Costner.
*SPOILERS AHEAD!!*
Went to see "Mr. Brooks" last Friday afternoon. And, in short, it was a wonderful event. As a long-time, devoted Kevin Costner-fan, attending the premieres of his new films is more of an obligatory duty which I can't miss, than a random choice of late night entertainment. I'm working my way down his list of works, and I must say - seldom have I enjoyed it that much. The new Costner-piece is a brilliant (literally) story with fantastic actors and a chilling twist. It is indeed a role very unlike my hero; he usually stars as the lonesome, kind rider or the troubled, kind bodyguard or the fussy, kind knight. As Earl Brooks, he was a scaringly realistic schizophrenic; cold-hearted, manipulative and psychopathic killer mixed with a suspicious, quiet, tormented businessman. His alter ego, Marshall, urged him to continue nursing his addiction and keep on with the murders. The more normal self, the father and loving husband and talented boss - American dream all over - prayed to God that his lust might be quenched. What made the film especially satisfying in my opinion was the turn away from the traditional, American "happy ending, all solved"-ending and instead give us a creepy final chapter of "loose ends not tied up" and a totally open, final scene which left all possibilities possible. The dialogue was puzzling and poetic, although a little cliché (and too far out) at times. I'd say it was actually the weakest element, but I must admit it added to the whole "ordinarity" of the plot. The most frightening part of the film truly was the fact that Mr. Brooks and his world and his words were all extremely ordinary, which gives the audience a feeling that this could've happened to them or their next door neighbour. You can't often identify with madmen on film, but this time it was the only option. He was an average guy, with an average life. And ironically, the turn of the story showed that what we consider to be tediously normal is often the exact opposite. We never know what lurks behind the "perfect facade". Very consistent, never slipping into the tempting outrageousness of most thrilers, just very thought-through. I love this kind of mysteries! It was also great to see how they took advantage of the split personalities to raise the question of what is real and what is pure imagination. What takes place in Earl's mind, and what really happens. They allowed some intervention and cuts here, which some may find rather annoying but which I myself found excellent. It reminded me of "Secret Window", employing some of the same techniques, but with the more eccentric and weird character of Johnny Depp taking the lead. Mr. Brooks was less fantastic and more vicious, and I'd regard him as more...well, scary. Never over the top, just plain mad. Grotesque, of course, and with gallons of blood and heavy use of noises. Still, they seemed stranegly appropriate. The best part was the chemistry between Costner and William Hurt, who played the evil self. Plus, the seemingly innocent daughter. And the wonderful Michelle (Reiko Aylesworth) from "24" made a small, but memorable appearance. Nicey! But most of all; this was Costner's film. He owned the character and his portrayal worked magically. The dogged, dodgy, subtle, angry, bitter, insecure killer. It all fit. What a great opportunity for my beloved cowboy, and he nailed it! Highly recommended, and not just for Costner-fanatics!
Miraculously mindfull memorandum.
Shipper couples! More to come, if I...can decide.
(That song will never be the same again.)
Memories brought back, for various reasons. Required a paragraph or two. Thus; having a particular couple to cheer for whilst watching a film or a TV-series always brightens up the viewing experience. I've been a shipper for as long as I can remember, and here are some of my favourite and most cherished on-screen couples, in no specific order. And, strange as it might seem, it would appear that most of these couples have been (or are still) split either by death, horror, time, sickness and/or lethal monsters (possibly aliens). Some never to be reuinted (sob!!), some hopefully to be reuinted and married and live happily ever after and have lots of time travelling babies (guess who) and some...er...to reuinte and hug awkwardly. (Bad bad mov(i)e!)
1. Tony and Michelle, "24". As mentioned above. I spent hours clenching my fists, wanting them to get together and wanting whoever was threatening their union to be tortured to death or something. Didn't take many hours, either, before they were happily snogging one another. And, later, come to think about it, it only took one day (although it seemd somewhat longer, hoho) before they got together again - after Tony initially attempted to ruin their marriage. I quit watching "24" after season, er, four I think - so as far as I'm concerned they drove into the sunset together. Happily-go-luckily. And by the way; this particular obsession was also a bit affected by my love for Carlos Bernard, who plays Tony, and who is absolutely gorgeous. Of course.
2. Neo and Trinity, "The Matrix", as mentioned some posts below. I love the Matrix-films, mostly because of their affair and the undeniable, all-important connection that can never be broken, not even by killing robot sentinels. Keanu Reeves will never be as clever or as handsome ever again. And he will never get a more perfect on-screen partner. Oh, and "Matrix Revolutions" is one of perhaps - er - no other films which has had me cry both because I loved the characters and the characters died AND because the whole thing was so...unfulfilling and poor and awfully religious. I'm divided between a want for another one, which could bring Trin back and improve the lousy ending, and the fear for such a film because I don't trust the makers enough to believe it'd be satisfying. Well, well - we'll see!
3. The Doctor and Rose, "Doctor Who", as mentioned a lot. Goes unsaid and remains my top shipping-obsession, and the one I heart the most. Nine/Ten, no matter. "They both" loved her, and "they" (meaning he) sure miss her. The Perfect Team, The Perfect Companion, The Perfect Series. Am currently working on a campaign, in this respect, stay tuned!
4. Peter Parker and Mary Jane Watson, "Spider-Man", as mentioned somewhere recently. I loved number 1 and the upside-down kiss. I loved number 2 and the runaway bride-thing. And I hated how number 3 lacked all every such moment. Still, Tobey and Kirsten are incredible together - and Spider-Man will always need his girl-next-door soulmate, by his side, to save him from the burdens of being a superhero and shine a little love-light on his world of chemical monster-horror. Even if the films suck.
5. House and Stacy, "House M.D.", alright alright, tempting to say House and Wilson, but I would actually prefer to have Stacy stay and their relationship develop further. They were so sweet together, and a super match - in my honest opinion. She's one of very few people, lest to say women, who could handle House (or, as she called him, Greg) and who wasn't apalled by his unstable, intractable behaviour. Not all the time, anyway. And the Steve McQueen The Rat-episode is still one of my absolute favourites. Genius has side effects, and the genius needs his sidekick.
*SPOILERS AHEAD!!*
Went to see "Mr. Brooks" last Friday afternoon. And, in short, it was a wonderful event. As a long-time, devoted Kevin Costner-fan, attending the premieres of his new films is more of an obligatory duty which I can't miss, than a random choice of late night entertainment. I'm working my way down his list of works, and I must say - seldom have I enjoyed it that much. The new Costner-piece is a brilliant (literally) story with fantastic actors and a chilling twist. It is indeed a role very unlike my hero; he usually stars as the lonesome, kind rider or the troubled, kind bodyguard or the fussy, kind knight. As Earl Brooks, he was a scaringly realistic schizophrenic; cold-hearted, manipulative and psychopathic killer mixed with a suspicious, quiet, tormented businessman. His alter ego, Marshall, urged him to continue nursing his addiction and keep on with the murders. The more normal self, the father and loving husband and talented boss - American dream all over - prayed to God that his lust might be quenched. What made the film especially satisfying in my opinion was the turn away from the traditional, American "happy ending, all solved"-ending and instead give us a creepy final chapter of "loose ends not tied up" and a totally open, final scene which left all possibilities possible. The dialogue was puzzling and poetic, although a little cliché (and too far out) at times. I'd say it was actually the weakest element, but I must admit it added to the whole "ordinarity" of the plot. The most frightening part of the film truly was the fact that Mr. Brooks and his world and his words were all extremely ordinary, which gives the audience a feeling that this could've happened to them or their next door neighbour. You can't often identify with madmen on film, but this time it was the only option. He was an average guy, with an average life. And ironically, the turn of the story showed that what we consider to be tediously normal is often the exact opposite. We never know what lurks behind the "perfect facade". Very consistent, never slipping into the tempting outrageousness of most thrilers, just very thought-through. I love this kind of mysteries! It was also great to see how they took advantage of the split personalities to raise the question of what is real and what is pure imagination. What takes place in Earl's mind, and what really happens. They allowed some intervention and cuts here, which some may find rather annoying but which I myself found excellent. It reminded me of "Secret Window", employing some of the same techniques, but with the more eccentric and weird character of Johnny Depp taking the lead. Mr. Brooks was less fantastic and more vicious, and I'd regard him as more...well, scary. Never over the top, just plain mad. Grotesque, of course, and with gallons of blood and heavy use of noises. Still, they seemed stranegly appropriate. The best part was the chemistry between Costner and William Hurt, who played the evil self. Plus, the seemingly innocent daughter. And the wonderful Michelle (Reiko Aylesworth) from "24" made a small, but memorable appearance. Nicey! But most of all; this was Costner's film. He owned the character and his portrayal worked magically. The dogged, dodgy, subtle, angry, bitter, insecure killer. It all fit. What a great opportunity for my beloved cowboy, and he nailed it! Highly recommended, and not just for Costner-fanatics!
Miraculously mindfull memorandum.
Shipper couples! More to come, if I...can decide.
(That song will never be the same again.)
Memories brought back, for various reasons. Required a paragraph or two. Thus; having a particular couple to cheer for whilst watching a film or a TV-series always brightens up the viewing experience. I've been a shipper for as long as I can remember, and here are some of my favourite and most cherished on-screen couples, in no specific order. And, strange as it might seem, it would appear that most of these couples have been (or are still) split either by death, horror, time, sickness and/or lethal monsters (possibly aliens). Some never to be reuinted (sob!!), some hopefully to be reuinted and married and live happily ever after and have lots of time travelling babies (guess who) and some...er...to reuinte and hug awkwardly. (Bad bad mov(i)e!)
1. Tony and Michelle, "24". As mentioned above. I spent hours clenching my fists, wanting them to get together and wanting whoever was threatening their union to be tortured to death or something. Didn't take many hours, either, before they were happily snogging one another. And, later, come to think about it, it only took one day (although it seemd somewhat longer, hoho) before they got together again - after Tony initially attempted to ruin their marriage. I quit watching "24" after season, er, four I think - so as far as I'm concerned they drove into the sunset together. Happily-go-luckily. And by the way; this particular obsession was also a bit affected by my love for Carlos Bernard, who plays Tony, and who is absolutely gorgeous. Of course.
2. Neo and Trinity, "The Matrix", as mentioned some posts below. I love the Matrix-films, mostly because of their affair and the undeniable, all-important connection that can never be broken, not even by killing robot sentinels. Keanu Reeves will never be as clever or as handsome ever again. And he will never get a more perfect on-screen partner. Oh, and "Matrix Revolutions" is one of perhaps - er - no other films which has had me cry both because I loved the characters and the characters died AND because the whole thing was so...unfulfilling and poor and awfully religious. I'm divided between a want for another one, which could bring Trin back and improve the lousy ending, and the fear for such a film because I don't trust the makers enough to believe it'd be satisfying. Well, well - we'll see!
3. The Doctor and Rose, "Doctor Who", as mentioned a lot. Goes unsaid and remains my top shipping-obsession, and the one I heart the most. Nine/Ten, no matter. "They both" loved her, and "they" (meaning he) sure miss her. The Perfect Team, The Perfect Companion, The Perfect Series. Am currently working on a campaign, in this respect, stay tuned!
4. Peter Parker and Mary Jane Watson, "Spider-Man", as mentioned somewhere recently. I loved number 1 and the upside-down kiss. I loved number 2 and the runaway bride-thing. And I hated how number 3 lacked all every such moment. Still, Tobey and Kirsten are incredible together - and Spider-Man will always need his girl-next-door soulmate, by his side, to save him from the burdens of being a superhero and shine a little love-light on his world of chemical monster-horror. Even if the films suck.
5. House and Stacy, "House M.D.", alright alright, tempting to say House and Wilson, but I would actually prefer to have Stacy stay and their relationship develop further. They were so sweet together, and a super match - in my honest opinion. She's one of very few people, lest to say women, who could handle House (or, as she called him, Greg) and who wasn't apalled by his unstable, intractable behaviour. Not all the time, anyway. And the Steve McQueen The Rat-episode is still one of my absolute favourites. Genius has side effects, and the genius needs his sidekick.
And here's our man!
LIVE EARTH: I waited and waited and bored myself to death through seemingly ages of bands to whom I am essentially indifferent, including Beatie Boys - oh gross, just to get a glimpse of this one bloke. And guess what? They cut it! Msn and SVT2 bloody cut the whole seance! 1 o'clock in the morning, tired and furious, and I couldn't find the clip online either. BUT; this morning, I made another search, and there it was. And it was so unbelievably brilliant, it was worth the whole while of impatient waiting too. I just have to share it with the lot of you: hence, here comes The Doctor, as played by David Tennant, wearing a Lou Reed t-shirt, talking about global warming, joking about Chris Eccleston and Dan Radcliffe, shaking his booty (and all associated areas) and screaming his introductions into the microphone so to make sure that the back rows may also hear him quite clearly. After him came the Pussycat Dolls, but who cares. I finally got what I'd been full of expectations over and it sure lived up to the announcements. The Doctor's become all rock and roll, and David's the main star. Reminding me that next time I want a compère or a toastmaster, no wonder who I'm gonna call! The man knows how to win a crowd and make them (esp. the girls, lol) shout! Woohoo!
All rights probably served, etc etc, but first and foremost a treat to all fellow fans. And for the record, David was there with his Lady friend, our very own Reinette (Sophia Myles) and they looked adorable and cosy together, sitting in one of the V.I.P areas so casually cute as is humanly possible. The infamous Doctor Who-couple. Lovely!! ;) I enjoyed bits of the concert as well; Keane was actually quite good, Crowded House's Sydney-act was brill, KT Tunstall rocked New York and Eddie Izzard was a pleasant surprise. But I'm still a wee bit cranky that the broadcasters skipped our favourite Doctor. I wanted to see him on my telly, not only on YouTube. But I guess you have to sacrifice a little in life - and in the big scheme of things, this must have been a small price to pay! Cos I got to see him, and I love his style!
Friday, July 06, 2007
Welcome to the Real World.
Ja, alright, så er jeg litt datanerd. I blant, i allefall. Jeg liker små duppeditter, og guttejenten i meg nyter å vandre mellom reolene på Clas Ohlsson og Expert. Jeg liker å mekke PC og utforske programmer og kode HTML, noe de fleste sikkert har skjønt gjennom bloggen min. Kan ikke skryte på meg å være så ekstremt dyktig på området, men interessen er absolutt tilstede. Og samtidig er det en mer romantisk del av meg som omformer dette materialistisk-relaterte, og kanhende maskuline til øm poesi. Eller, om ikke fryktelig vár så i det minste ganske mye mer emosjonell. Her kommer et lite dikt som er inspirert av The Matrix (favorittfilm; Neo og Trinity utgjorde Scara's førse shipper-lidenskap) og forkjærligheten for artifistisk intligensia, også kjent som kunstig intelligens. Min er derimot helt ekte. Hihi.
"Matrixen" - til Pappa, som lærte meg opp - fra Quake til Matrix til PhotoShop.
Av Scaramouche, po(t)eten, ekte online-babe. Nemlig.
ute er regnet, og skyene
bak vinduer vasket mørkegrå av dråper
tidvis glinsende grønne
og inne er jeg, akk lengtende
foran vinduer mot en annen virkelighet
av filtre og koder og oppførte bytes
lar meg forville inn blant
prosessorenes prosesser
og navn bakenfor setningslinjer
omveltninger, titler, røper intet
kun skrivende hender klaprende imot
de gyngende grunner mellom fiktiv og faktisk
som er skjerm og tastatur
leser i kataloger; jeg, registrert
på en ufarget basis av ledende tekst
og blinkende lys varsler snarlige brudd
allting er svart når du ikke ser mønstre
kneler for taster hvis instrukser var løgn
som jeg bak stengsler for værguders vrede
var offer for maskinens ukuelighet
det eneste rom som var åpent for søkning
var passende påskrevet,
lukket
"Matrixen" - til Pappa, som lærte meg opp - fra Quake til Matrix til PhotoShop.
Av Scaramouche, po(t)eten, ekte online-babe. Nemlig.
ute er regnet, og skyene
bak vinduer vasket mørkegrå av dråper
tidvis glinsende grønne
og inne er jeg, akk lengtende
foran vinduer mot en annen virkelighet
av filtre og koder og oppførte bytes
lar meg forville inn blant
prosessorenes prosesser
og navn bakenfor setningslinjer
omveltninger, titler, røper intet
kun skrivende hender klaprende imot
de gyngende grunner mellom fiktiv og faktisk
som er skjerm og tastatur
leser i kataloger; jeg, registrert
på en ufarget basis av ledende tekst
og blinkende lys varsler snarlige brudd
allting er svart når du ikke ser mønstre
kneler for taster hvis instrukser var løgn
som jeg bak stengsler for værguders vrede
var offer for maskinens ukuelighet
det eneste rom som var åpent for søkning
var passende påskrevet,
lukket
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Artistic Contributions
Warnings ahead. Pure Fandom-business, this. Meaning; I'm one of these fortunate, devoted girlies who still can't forget. Oh my, oh my. More Rose-moping. Don't know if it's a good thing, but my own art continues to move me and bring tears to the corners of my eyes. Especially my WHO-inspired art. Sniffing, getting myself together, then sniffing some more. Sentimental mood today, apparently. Here's a pic/banner and a poem to follow!
"Lucky just to have been with you" - old topic, old angle, new angst - dedicated to all the like-minded shippers out there. We're right!
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, and genuinely hoping. Works better! The poem is, of course, based on earlier writings - but is also set to go with the pic., hence the words and rhyme choices.
one day you'll summon
if just to remember
that the look still says it all
how her head tilted
barely onto your shoulder
the way she let her golden hair fall
second, you might wonder
just a sudden impulse
and many a such you'll always recall
later, you wander back
to see her face in the crowds
telling yourself stories that never come true
waiting and hoping for miracles
your hear her voice like a siren's song
an order to travel on, don't stop but continue
you don't answer the questions
but inside, still asking yourself
nothing more important than what she would have you do
pick up her jacket, her phone
can't call her number, can't call her home
never to settle with somebody else
you'd both sail the oceans to reach long lost trails
one day you'll figure, but you might also be wrong
still the vision of her keeps your hearts always strong
Tourism
Jeg er forbi stadiet av å være bloggy, nå er jeg jaggu blitt helt selv-utleverende eksibisjonist. Merkverdig. De aller fleste bloggere synes å skrive om utenlandsreiser og egne (underlige) opplevelser - nå også jeg. Likevel, jeg legger ikke ofte ut bilder av meg selv i forskjellige situasjoner her på bloggen, men for én gangs skyld vil jeg altså gjøre et unntak. I og med at jeg la ut slik om min beundring for turist-møtepunktet Brandenburger Tor; her er et bildebevis på at jeg faktisk har vært der! Bildet er tatt av min gode venninne Katrin, tusen takk til henne, og legg merke til min egen kamerataske på venstre hofte; alltid med! Tasken er for øvrig tom siden Katrin fotograferte med mitt kamera, fabelaktig som det er - kvalitet skal det være. Merk: bildene er forminsket på grunn av plassbegrensning og publiseringsvansker på Blogger.
Men; dessverre kan man ikke her se de berømmelige hestene på toppen, så derfor måtte jeg nesten legge ut et bilde til. Fine statuen. Og hoho, som den ligner.
Og videre, andre ting man kan se i dette området: ambassadene, Tiergarten-parken, gullesel-statuen (som kan skimtes laaaangt i bakgrunnen på det øverste bildet) og reichtagsbygget. Tror jeg nevnte noe av dette i går, men det bør gjentas. Byggene er kjempeflotte og staselige. Det berømmelige, gamle palasset der DDR-styresmaktene møttes - som nå bare er et skall og en ruin - bør likeledes tas med, da det er et bemerkelsesverdig symbol på forgagne tider. Vi vandret derfra og Unter den Linden, bokstavelig talt, hvilket virkelig var skjønt. Turistbutikkene i området er altfor dyre, men det er morsomt å titte. Gateselgerne er bittelitt rimeligere, men selger mye søppel. Men overalt er det mennesker og arkitektur å observere. Dessuten kan man fotografere Ampelmännchen når man først er der, for som vi alle vet; de må reddes! I (det tidligere Øst-)Tyskland er mennene i trafikklysene et begrep og de har egne souvenirbutikker fulle av stash dekorert med grønne og røde, rare figurer. Jeg kjøpte stor plakat og postkort og er svoren støttespiller. Selvsagt må man bevare et slikt særegent varemerke! De er jo kjempenusselige! ;) Så, folkens: "Wie gesagt, jetzt rettet die Ampelmännchen!"
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Live to tell
CLARIFICATIONS. HUGE SPOILERS.
AND SOME ANGSTY RECOLLECTIONS.
First of all; with a humble nod to Master May, whose SoapBox had also been updated whilst I'd been away, and whose writings I still take great pleasure in perusing: "Oh God, I am getting Bloggy after all..." - as spoken by a brilliant philosopher of the strange things in life and, enough said, that was a quote too true for myself as well. And maybe a bit of explanation was required, seing that he started off that post with "I climbed a small mountain today." Brian surely knows how to put the facts down in words. I look forward to the lyrics on the new Queen-album. :) But apart from that, speaking of bloggy, I just read through my post from yesterday and must apologize to all those who hadn't seen the actual episode - for my lack of explanatory material and overuse of internal catchphrases and speculations. And possible spoilers. Remember, there is a constant spoiler-alert regarding my WHO-related posts. Suppose the actual point wasn't very easy for everyone to grasp either. But, in short, the Ep. was called "Last of the Time Lords", part of a threeparter hereafter referred to as the "could've been something-saga", and it depicted the final battle between the two remaining Gallifreyan Lords on earth, The Doctor and The Master, and saw a "new and braver" side to The Doc's sidekick Martha Jones ("I am such a smart and Doctor-equal girl, I kick so much ass and I try to look like John McClane"). Ok, I'm not objective and I'm a bit mean, and I swore not to be so emotional. Thus, here we go: The Master holds the world hostage and the Doctor has fallen captive to the vicious Lazarus-effect which has turned him into a spellbound, old man. All his 900 years brought physically into light. Icky. The Master sings a bit of Scissor Sisters, gets a massage, kills a lot of people, builds a lot of weapons with his alien tech. and conquers Cardiff, which is of course where it all takes place, laughs in his evilly manner, swings about like a maniac with the Doc well seated in a wheelchair, cuddles around with his Rani - sorry; wife - and all this time, Jack is locked up in a cellar with big chains to his wrists and feet. Kinky. Meaning every fangirl's dream. Drool and dream and all I could focus on. His dirty, hunky face and wicked grin. Not objective, there, again! Anyways, with a bit of glorifying hero worshipping, rushed storylines and moralistic babble plus some "28 days later"-zombiestuff and Star Wars-ripoff's, everything is solved, resolved and all the troubles thereafter sorted out. We even get a lot of hugging. In short; Martha eventually saves the day, The Master dies, The Doctor weeps - but he "will always be alright", even when Martha later deserts him in order to comfort her brokenhearted family and, well, tend to her own broken heart. Heroic, ethic, proper woman. "This is me getting out!" Very sad indeed. Conclusion is; Billie Piper can come back now. Catherine Tate is coming back (whey!) and Kylie Minogue will leave. John Barrowman might have to take care of Freema, as she is now bound, under contract, to enter onboard RTD's Torchwood-ship - whereas The Doc currently has two ships to handle, seeing that the original TARDIS just bumped into the other TITANIC. Painfully, and as previously mentioned. Freema might also come running back to the Doc in series four, but I might not be watching. Of course I will be, but I might close my eyes the very moment when she tries to snog him. Meh. "Doctor Who" remains the best sci-fi-drama TV-series ever made, and David Tennant is superb, when he's actually there. So, shouldn't have to say this, but: MORE DOCTOR - and less pompousness! Limit the ambitions and the CGI, and work on the dialogue and the plots. Put in some more funny aliens and beautiful sceneries. Versions of the brown suit and the accessories. Screwdrivers and gags. Bananas. Dancing. French mistresses and tourism. Norwegian beaches. Parallell universes that are once more united. Brilliant lines that'll make the shooting scripts worth reading again. Last, but most essentially; all fan(girl)s will know that we have yet to see the adventure Rose had with The Doc on the planet with the sea-birds and the sunset. So that's what we'll want next. Two lovebirds reuinted at the "stay with you forever"-place. Some flashbacks and hopes for the future. These are my ideas; and as a true fan and analyzer, I'd even go as far as to ay expert, of the show - always with an opinion; and concerning all the space I dedicate to thoughts and opinions here on this blog - my advice should be taken into consideration! ;)
NEW POETIC INSCRIPTIONS, AT LAST, INCLUDING SOME BLAHBLAHBLAH.
"In secrecy" - from a while ago
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, keeper of the hidden shallows
secret places, could be
secret faces
secret sorrows kept inside
bringing me back up
as I head down,
reminding me,
whilst I keep spending
money and my time
alert, at once
but hiding from too much
MORSOMME TINGENE.
DVS.: JEG LÆRER AV BRIAN MAY OG BEGIR MEG UT I EN VERDEN AV BLOGGY TENDENSER.
Min studievenninne Grete og jeg har fått utvidet våre horisonter av selvinnsikt gjennom en internett-test som fortalte oss at rent personlighetsmessig likner vi på stasjonsvogner. Spørsmålene inkluderte blant annet yndlingsfarge, favorittfag på ungdomsskolen og hvorvidt man drømte om en villa med svømmebasseng. Jeg sier ikke mer.
Jeg traff verdens desidert barskeste turist på bussen i dag. Han snakket pent amerikansk, lignet litt på Daniel Craig, og enda mer på Steve McQueen, hadde noen grå hår og hettegenser og caprishorts og ansiktet hans så ut som det var skåret ut av stein. På en meget billedvakker måte. Mysende Clint Eastwood-øyne, meget markert hake, krum nese. Kortklipt sveis, veltrent, casual look, så lite forfengelig og så mandig som vel fysisk mulig. Skjeggstubber og smale lepper. Sjarmerende kroppsholdning, til og med. Fyren var så kjekk at jeg fikk pusteproblemer. Og høylytt hjertebank. Ooolala.
Wir Sind Helden er det desidert beste tyskspråklige rockebandet akkurat nå. De har også veldig fine og tankevekkende tekster som på en ubesværlig måte kan utvide ordforrådet til en deltids-tysktalende nordmann. (Veldig stor innsats her nå for ikke å komme med henvisninger til et annet tysk favorittband, Tokio Hotel, som driver og oversetter sangene sine til engelsk. Aargh!) Men jeg tror ikke jeg skal prøve meg på "Guten Tag" med det første. Rasende fort tempo, masse fremmedord, råhøyt stemmeleie? Nja. Men gruppen er da fantastisk og vokalisten er nydelig. Fine videoer har de også. Anbefales. Ellers, ang. Tyskland, må jeg bare si at Knut (isbjørn) er noe overvurdert som underholdningselement, i og med at alt han gjorde var å ligge og sove, men som kosedyr er han da ubetalelig herlig. Selv når han blir større. Og, eh, barskere. Synes bare han blir søtere, jeg. Og det var kult å endelig få sett ham i levende live! Dog må jeg innrømme at som dyreverner, dyreelsker og bjørnefanatiker egner jeg meg ikke helt for zoo-vandring. Holdt stadig vekk på å ringe både Amnesty og WWF og reportere dyremishandling. Ikke liker jeg apatiske geiter med kokainblikk som lar barn dra dem i hornene uten så mye som å blunke heller. Og ulver hører hjemme i den Canadiske villmarken, ikke bak høye gjerder med piggtråd i tyske varmegrader. Huff. Men for å oppleve ville dyr på nært hold var det en nødvendig og spennende tur. Selv om jeg var uvel i timesvis etterpå. Stakkars pandabamsen og neshornene som ikke ville se på turistene. Stakkars organgutangen som la et teppe over hodte og snudde seg demonstrativt mot veggen for å unngå blitzregnet. Paris og Britney forfulgt av paparazzier, my ass. De aner ikke hvor godt de har det. Og ved nærmere ettertanke hadde de passet vesentlig bedre i bur - kunne slått to fluer i én smekk også, ved at folk hadde villet betale enorme summer bare for å glo på dem, og man hadde hatt dem under full kontroll 24 timer i døgnet. All year all time-Big Brother, anyone? Med gitter? Paris tilbake i fengsel, og alle er glade. Kunne kanskje fått en banan eller tre i ny og ne, så ville hun sikkert blitt happy hun óg. Hva var vel livet uten bananer!
Apropos Tyskland. Og Berlin. Brandenburger Tor er akkurat så ruvende majestetisk og imponerende som bilder og bøker tilsier. Favoritt-severdighet! Den er råstilig, og hestene på toppen minner meg om de fra den statuen Pierce Brosnan river ned i "GoldenEye", når han kjører tanks gjennom en russisk storby i Tidenes Beste Bondfilm-scene. Hoohey. Jeg ler like mye hver gang og jeg har sett den scenen en del ganger. Men jeg som da aldri pleier å være veldig fascinert av landemerker og bygninger - jeg ble helt bergtatt av den porten. Vanvittig byggverk, og skikkelig fint utformet. Ellers var Berliner Dom, riksdagsbygningen og rådhuset også verdt en titt. Fernsehturm var praktisk, for da fikk man sett ALT. På én gang. Litt dyrt, men man fikk da rikt utbytte for pengene. Kunne se nesten helt til verdens ende, hoho. Hvor vi alle vet at der ligger en diger foss. Med Johnny Depp plaskende rundt et sted under den. Ja, nemlig.
AND SOME ANGSTY RECOLLECTIONS.
First of all; with a humble nod to Master May, whose SoapBox had also been updated whilst I'd been away, and whose writings I still take great pleasure in perusing: "Oh God, I am getting Bloggy after all..." - as spoken by a brilliant philosopher of the strange things in life and, enough said, that was a quote too true for myself as well. And maybe a bit of explanation was required, seing that he started off that post with "I climbed a small mountain today." Brian surely knows how to put the facts down in words. I look forward to the lyrics on the new Queen-album. :) But apart from that, speaking of bloggy, I just read through my post from yesterday and must apologize to all those who hadn't seen the actual episode - for my lack of explanatory material and overuse of internal catchphrases and speculations. And possible spoilers. Remember, there is a constant spoiler-alert regarding my WHO-related posts. Suppose the actual point wasn't very easy for everyone to grasp either. But, in short, the Ep. was called "Last of the Time Lords", part of a threeparter hereafter referred to as the "could've been something-saga", and it depicted the final battle between the two remaining Gallifreyan Lords on earth, The Doctor and The Master, and saw a "new and braver" side to The Doc's sidekick Martha Jones ("I am such a smart and Doctor-equal girl, I kick so much ass and I try to look like John McClane"). Ok, I'm not objective and I'm a bit mean, and I swore not to be so emotional. Thus, here we go: The Master holds the world hostage and the Doctor has fallen captive to the vicious Lazarus-effect which has turned him into a spellbound, old man. All his 900 years brought physically into light. Icky. The Master sings a bit of Scissor Sisters, gets a massage, kills a lot of people, builds a lot of weapons with his alien tech. and conquers Cardiff, which is of course where it all takes place, laughs in his evilly manner, swings about like a maniac with the Doc well seated in a wheelchair, cuddles around with his Rani - sorry; wife - and all this time, Jack is locked up in a cellar with big chains to his wrists and feet. Kinky. Meaning every fangirl's dream. Drool and dream and all I could focus on. His dirty, hunky face and wicked grin. Not objective, there, again! Anyways, with a bit of glorifying hero worshipping, rushed storylines and moralistic babble plus some "28 days later"-zombiestuff and Star Wars-ripoff's, everything is solved, resolved and all the troubles thereafter sorted out. We even get a lot of hugging. In short; Martha eventually saves the day, The Master dies, The Doctor weeps - but he "will always be alright", even when Martha later deserts him in order to comfort her brokenhearted family and, well, tend to her own broken heart. Heroic, ethic, proper woman. "This is me getting out!" Very sad indeed. Conclusion is; Billie Piper can come back now. Catherine Tate is coming back (whey!) and Kylie Minogue will leave. John Barrowman might have to take care of Freema, as she is now bound, under contract, to enter onboard RTD's Torchwood-ship - whereas The Doc currently has two ships to handle, seeing that the original TARDIS just bumped into the other TITANIC. Painfully, and as previously mentioned. Freema might also come running back to the Doc in series four, but I might not be watching. Of course I will be, but I might close my eyes the very moment when she tries to snog him. Meh. "Doctor Who" remains the best sci-fi-drama TV-series ever made, and David Tennant is superb, when he's actually there. So, shouldn't have to say this, but: MORE DOCTOR - and less pompousness! Limit the ambitions and the CGI, and work on the dialogue and the plots. Put in some more funny aliens and beautiful sceneries. Versions of the brown suit and the accessories. Screwdrivers and gags. Bananas. Dancing. French mistresses and tourism. Norwegian beaches. Parallell universes that are once more united. Brilliant lines that'll make the shooting scripts worth reading again. Last, but most essentially; all fan(girl)s will know that we have yet to see the adventure Rose had with The Doc on the planet with the sea-birds and the sunset. So that's what we'll want next. Two lovebirds reuinted at the "stay with you forever"-place. Some flashbacks and hopes for the future. These are my ideas; and as a true fan and analyzer, I'd even go as far as to ay expert, of the show - always with an opinion; and concerning all the space I dedicate to thoughts and opinions here on this blog - my advice should be taken into consideration! ;)
NEW POETIC INSCRIPTIONS, AT LAST, INCLUDING SOME BLAHBLAHBLAH.
"In secrecy" - from a while ago
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, keeper of the hidden shallows
secret places, could be
secret faces
secret sorrows kept inside
bringing me back up
as I head down,
reminding me,
whilst I keep spending
money and my time
alert, at once
but hiding from too much
MORSOMME TINGENE.
DVS.: JEG LÆRER AV BRIAN MAY OG BEGIR MEG UT I EN VERDEN AV BLOGGY TENDENSER.
Min studievenninne Grete og jeg har fått utvidet våre horisonter av selvinnsikt gjennom en internett-test som fortalte oss at rent personlighetsmessig likner vi på stasjonsvogner. Spørsmålene inkluderte blant annet yndlingsfarge, favorittfag på ungdomsskolen og hvorvidt man drømte om en villa med svømmebasseng. Jeg sier ikke mer.
Jeg traff verdens desidert barskeste turist på bussen i dag. Han snakket pent amerikansk, lignet litt på Daniel Craig, og enda mer på Steve McQueen, hadde noen grå hår og hettegenser og caprishorts og ansiktet hans så ut som det var skåret ut av stein. På en meget billedvakker måte. Mysende Clint Eastwood-øyne, meget markert hake, krum nese. Kortklipt sveis, veltrent, casual look, så lite forfengelig og så mandig som vel fysisk mulig. Skjeggstubber og smale lepper. Sjarmerende kroppsholdning, til og med. Fyren var så kjekk at jeg fikk pusteproblemer. Og høylytt hjertebank. Ooolala.
Wir Sind Helden er det desidert beste tyskspråklige rockebandet akkurat nå. De har også veldig fine og tankevekkende tekster som på en ubesværlig måte kan utvide ordforrådet til en deltids-tysktalende nordmann. (Veldig stor innsats her nå for ikke å komme med henvisninger til et annet tysk favorittband, Tokio Hotel, som driver og oversetter sangene sine til engelsk. Aargh!) Men jeg tror ikke jeg skal prøve meg på "Guten Tag" med det første. Rasende fort tempo, masse fremmedord, råhøyt stemmeleie? Nja. Men gruppen er da fantastisk og vokalisten er nydelig. Fine videoer har de også. Anbefales. Ellers, ang. Tyskland, må jeg bare si at Knut (isbjørn) er noe overvurdert som underholdningselement, i og med at alt han gjorde var å ligge og sove, men som kosedyr er han da ubetalelig herlig. Selv når han blir større. Og, eh, barskere. Synes bare han blir søtere, jeg. Og det var kult å endelig få sett ham i levende live! Dog må jeg innrømme at som dyreverner, dyreelsker og bjørnefanatiker egner jeg meg ikke helt for zoo-vandring. Holdt stadig vekk på å ringe både Amnesty og WWF og reportere dyremishandling. Ikke liker jeg apatiske geiter med kokainblikk som lar barn dra dem i hornene uten så mye som å blunke heller. Og ulver hører hjemme i den Canadiske villmarken, ikke bak høye gjerder med piggtråd i tyske varmegrader. Huff. Men for å oppleve ville dyr på nært hold var det en nødvendig og spennende tur. Selv om jeg var uvel i timesvis etterpå. Stakkars pandabamsen og neshornene som ikke ville se på turistene. Stakkars organgutangen som la et teppe over hodte og snudde seg demonstrativt mot veggen for å unngå blitzregnet. Paris og Britney forfulgt av paparazzier, my ass. De aner ikke hvor godt de har det. Og ved nærmere ettertanke hadde de passet vesentlig bedre i bur - kunne slått to fluer i én smekk også, ved at folk hadde villet betale enorme summer bare for å glo på dem, og man hadde hatt dem under full kontroll 24 timer i døgnet. All year all time-Big Brother, anyone? Med gitter? Paris tilbake i fengsel, og alle er glade. Kunne kanskje fått en banan eller tre i ny og ne, så ville hun sikkert blitt happy hun óg. Hva var vel livet uten bananer!
Apropos Tyskland. Og Berlin. Brandenburger Tor er akkurat så ruvende majestetisk og imponerende som bilder og bøker tilsier. Favoritt-severdighet! Den er råstilig, og hestene på toppen minner meg om de fra den statuen Pierce Brosnan river ned i "GoldenEye", når han kjører tanks gjennom en russisk storby i Tidenes Beste Bondfilm-scene. Hoohey. Jeg ler like mye hver gang og jeg har sett den scenen en del ganger. Men jeg som da aldri pleier å være veldig fascinert av landemerker og bygninger - jeg ble helt bergtatt av den porten. Vanvittig byggverk, og skikkelig fint utformet. Ellers var Berliner Dom, riksdagsbygningen og rådhuset også verdt en titt. Fernsehturm var praktisk, for da fikk man sett ALT. På én gang. Litt dyrt, men man fikk da rikt utbytte for pengene. Kunne se nesten helt til verdens ende, hoho. Hvor vi alle vet at der ligger en diger foss. Med Johnny Depp plaskende rundt et sted under den. Ja, nemlig.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Much too much to declare
Customary customs amongst little shop of who-horrors and more. Who-hey the world goes on!
Bombs in London, William and Kate back together, Nicole Richie pregnant, Posh Spice has got Ginger Spice (and the rest of them) on a diet, and has had all of them beg for forgiveness (well, at least Ginger) and they're ready to get on tour, miming, and Natasha Bedingfield hardly shows respect for the departed by honouring Diana without bringing any panties, whereas our favourite polar star Knut is growing up into a big bear to burden, or maybe it was the other way around, and what more - a small summary, starting with the most important, and which I guess should include more exclamation marks, would go like this:
Bombs in London, William and Kate back together, Nicole Richie pregnant, Posh Spice has got Ginger Spice (and the rest of them) on a diet, and has had all of them beg for forgiveness (well, at least Ginger) and they're ready to get on tour, miming, and Natasha Bedingfield hardly shows respect for the departed by honouring Diana without bringing any panties, whereas our favourite polar star Knut is growing up into a big bear to burden, or maybe it was the other way around, and what more - a small summary, starting with the most important, and which I guess should include more exclamation marks, would go like this:
[Image: looks like someone's having fun! Copyright: The BBC, all rights served, ownership, Cardiff-shop, doctor-doctrine-classify, etc.]
Russel T. Davies is now officially proclaimed mad. Looney, balooney, bollocks. Completely, truly and utterly. Mostly because his Star Wars-hommage-fanaticism (Jedi-telepathy-grabbing, spheres and flying scotsmen, in one episode - my god!) has been taken just one step too far. When they started burning up John Simm, I was indeed hiding behind the sofa - out of shame. Cos it was simply quite lame. The Episode (with a capital E, yes) was tentatively grandeur but it did feel like something a little unaccomplished. They tried to take it all the way but got a little lost at reading directions. Doctor Who is camp and kitsch and humourous. Check. Doctor Who is wild and beyond and bigger than big and outside the scale. Check. But the nice mixtures of these elements that we saw so brilliantly portrayed in "Doomsday" and especially in the Bad Wolf-episodes were absent. Too self-conscious and serious and pompous, yes, and too overdone. Too much, too fast, too extensive. WHO is a bit domestic, and should remain so. Not go global and even universal and try to exceep what hasn't yet been exceeded. It's not that big, after all. It's not ridiculously dark. And what's with all the flashbacks? And the Gollum-shit? The stealing from other concepts was plain gross! "Gandalf?!" There were these moments when I did not know whether to laugh or cry or both or just turn the whole thing off. I love Scissor Sisters, I do. And it was funny. But also very wrong. "I can't decide" does have lyrics which are absurdly fitting, and John Simm is marvellous, but still. I couldn't bear it. Intensely hilarious, but appallingly inappropriate. Anticlimax, oh boy. Roller-coaster ride, as was announced, but too too too far. Especially since this Last Affair seemed so unfinished. It just ended. Finito. Some quick-step explanations and a short cut (very conventient teleports). Back to the old who-riddles and carelessness. No fob watch and burning up stars or satelites. Back and forth and undecided -confusing? Hell, yeah! Who'd have thought it'd be so...undramatic. The building-up, the drums, everything. And then - poff. The Master giving a last (and deliciously evil) laugh in the arms of Doctor Ten(nant) whilst the latter sheds a few (superbly) justified tears. I loved that part - which makes me even sadder that it started so poorly and got so rubbish afterwards. I mean, Martha Jones couldn't save the world even if she tried! And she certainly couldn't save this ep.! I think she did try, actually. But her character couldn't live up to the scheme and perspective of the story - nor could anybody else, not even D.T., particularly not when computer animated - for this was far too ambitious. Think that's the right word. Religious-like elements of legend (ugh!) that worked fine with the Rose as the Time Goddess, but not with a bunch of wannabe-cop show heroes. RTD wanted to overdo himself and everybody else and the Universe of TV-series making, but they should probably have provided him with more time and more consultation and less financing. And Steven Moffat. I feel like I've been cheated. A cheap trick. Something that could've been so much more and so much better. The potencial was huge! But despite outer worldly cinematography and statues RTD must have personally borrowed from Michael Jackson and a couple of nice lines; it all came down to a overly sentimental, almost pathetic conclusion. Everybody say "Doctor!" Think out LOUD! Even the final goodbye-scene didn't please me, although I should admit I am pleased to be "rid" of Martha. Finally. Yes, true, Martha is leaving! With a soap opera-speech of an outburst about unrequited crushes. Bit of Pirates, there. Keira and Freema - on deck. Girl power and trying to be somebody. Good grief. Er, good riddance, more likely. The looks, everyone, did the viewers catch the glances between the Doc and his companion, properly, did everyone see the tension? Feeeeel the tremor and epic production and heart-breaking choices, struggles, NO! Bah. Second, there was the mother and the family issues and the "you're better than him"-comment which I won't degrade myself to, well, commenting. Still, we've heard the aspiring medical student (and her mom) might be returning to her unwilling boytoy pretty soon. Or work for Captain Jack Harkness (the lovely) at Torchwood. First of all, though, she's been replaced by who else but Kylie Minogue. Can't get this into my head. Miss Tiny-Aussie is currently in Cardiff where filming has begun for the Christmas Special in which Titanic (yes, the ship) will and has in fact already (at the very end of the finale, of course) crashed into the TARDIS. I did enjoy that, but I was naturally disappointed by the fact that Leo DiCaprio didn't show up, nor did his missus. Or Catherine Tate. Where have all the fancy flowers gone? Later, however, rumours have it that Jennifer Ellison (who starred as Meg Giry in Phantom, tralala, angels of music and tutu skirts) may be up for a part as a sidekick. The Rani might be back too (love the nail polish!) and yes, did I mention, Jack Harkness is The Face of Boe. He's quite handsome too. And quite fabulous. Wouldn't mind having him tied up in my cellar, haha. Bit of a pity he was barely there, then. Along with the tension, which came and went. Randomly. All accidental. I heard some fans say RTD seemed to have just scraped together a couple of clues and made an empty bowl of spoilt resources out of it. Too true.
Consequently, we've had our first three-parter and it was only partially successful. Regardless, I spent a whole evening contemplating and examining and considering and re-considering - which makes me just as much of a fanatic as RTD himself. I do love it, too, nothing gets me more excited, enthusiastic and harshly critical. Very tired now, though, and still haven't fully grasped that the season is over - seriously! no more WHO in quite a while! (on TV, that is, we've always got a blog to remember) - and that, well, Rose might return now that Martha (and hopefully Minogue, never too soon) are gone and over with. Maybe Rose can turn out to hold enough Vortex-power to regenerate as Mrs. Rani? Let's cross our Gallifreyan-ringed fingers (coolest décor symbols!) and hope and DREAM. Tomorrow I might also reflect upon different aspects of life!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Aussichten
Und jetzt! Auf die Sprache eines meiner Lieblingsschauspieler - der Gedeon "Übersexy" Burkhard, haha - Deutsch! Kleine, blöde (vielleicht) Details die mich lustig und glücklich und hyper machen: unter anderem, dass unser Lieblingsdoctor (medizinischer, das ist) Gregory House Converse-schuhe trägt, genau wie (der Reisende) David Tennant doch nicht von derselben Farbe, und das er über die Zeit redet - tatsächlich auch auf derselben Weise wie D.T. Zeit ist keine festgestellte Struktur. Wusste ich ja, hab das sogar von Chris Eccleston mehrmals gehört. Kann sich krümmen und kringeln und ganz einfach umformen lassen. So ein Typ bin ich. (...und das war wieder David.) Ach, "Der Laut von Trommeln" war einfach super und nicht so epik und voll von Selbstbehauptung als was ich gedacht hatte - und gefürchtet. John Simm war Meisterlich und seine Frau war richtig unheimlich. Toll! Die ganze Episode war (deswegen) ziemlich grossartig - buchstäblich gesprochen - und die Spezialeffekten waren (dieses eine Mal) wunderbar. Waren der Episode ganz würdig und hatten dazu echt vollkommen gepasst. Martha hat sich besser benommen, nicht so kraftlos und gaffend. Und Jack ist ja jedenfalls back. Kann das kaum zu oft erwähnen. Übrigens hat mir diese Verwandlung des Doctors sehr gefallen (keine Spoilers hier, ihr musst die ganze Episode selbst sehen!), und auch die Regie von Graeme Harper, die Auseinandersetzung beim Handy (fantastische Gesichtausdrücke - die Mimik!!), die Schurken (neben Dem Meister, der unglaublich unterhaltend und charmant ist), die Flucht und - die Rose-gespräche. Wie gewöhnlich. Aber, um zurück zum wirklichen Thema zu wenden, die Zeit vergeht also viel zu schnell! Macht mich gar nicht froh! Die Sommerferien (unterdessen ich natürlich froh bin) haben immer zu kurz gedauert, und als sie fertig sind bin ich naiv bereit, einige neue Wochen frei zu haben. Ich hätte eigentlich Listen geschrieben, wo ich was ich nicht vergessen muss beschreiben könnte; zu tun und zu geniessen. Während der Ferien noch da ist. Ach, was mehr; das Wetter macht mich immer entusiastisch, obwohl es nicht schön ist, ich bin davon oft ganz erfüllt. Kann mich nerven und begeistern, wie wenige andere Sachen. Heute war es grau, aber warm. Bin spazierengegangen, und habe Bilder gemacht (z.B. beim "Logo", oder wie man das nennt) und Deutsche Würstchen zum Mittagessen gegessen. Habe ausserdem Deutsch bevor frühstück gesprochen. Imponierend! Weiss dass ich nur "komme gle-eich!" gerufen und mich wie den Mann dieser Fernsehwerbung gefühlt habe, sonst war es komisch und spannend. Ich hab's geschafft, und das macht mich zufrieden. Noch später ist es mir eingefallen dass ich aufräumen sollte; warum hab ich keine Ahnung. Aber, bin zumindestens vergnügt geworden (und das Zimmer wurde sauber). Norah Jones (dazu) bringt mich auch zum Lächeln. Zuletzt, was mich am meisten glückselig macht ist dies; dass ich (endlich!) ein neues Layout hier beim Blog habe - und dass ich beim selben Platz wieder auf Deutsch schreibe. Fast korrekt oder (vielleicht) nicht. Die Aussichten sind aber gut.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Who's a pirate, now?
WARNING: SPOILERS, OBSESSIVE FANGIRL-BABBLE, ANGSTY STUFF AND ROSE-MOURNING/MOPING AHEAD.
Oh my God. I've just realized. And I probably shouldn't even think about it, but I do. This is what happens when you're too far, too deep, into the universe of fandom. Might be, yeah. Excuses, excuses. But, see: Captain Jack Sparrow keeps (well, that is, kept) Davy Jones's heart in a jar. Of dirt. Which was stolen by an evil Lord, Cutler Beckett. Whereas Captain Jack Harkness still keeps The Doctors hand - in a jar. Of water. Which has now been stolen by an evil Time Lord, The Master. Both played by prominent British actors; one is Tom Hollander, who starred in "London", a British drama series which also featured both the two others; Derek Jacobi (the "first", new Master) and John Simm (the "second"). And by the way - yes! - Hollander's the one who starred opposite Keira Knightley in "Pride and Prejudice", where he proposed and was rejected! Thus, all the great and natural chemisty (or disapproval...), I believe! This is past funny, this is downright scary. And as if it's not quite enough, it follows in the wake of the whole Turner/Tyler + Swann/Smith-thing. Interestingly; both are left on a beach, reunited as friends - and/or lovers. Speculators decide. I would prefer having Rose wait for The Doctor on a glittering beach in the sunset, though. Puppy eyes, teary, beautifully dress-clad, defender of parallell earth. Always remembering, never giving up hope. Where and what were we without imagination. Now, that IS a wonderful idea for continuation. Maybe it takes 10 years for the breach to open again - by accident? No ripping apart of galaxies and burning up suns, just plain luck? And then, The Doc could arrive with the TARDIS, flying across the ocean, with the doors wide open and she could jump straight in, into his arms, happy-soppy-well deserved-hug (and snog!) and then, er, sail away with him. Leave Mickey behind and alone, who cares. Hoho. And Elizabeth could take off with Jack, next time he's ashore, being sick and bored of hanging around waiting for Will. Ask their son (silly deleted scenes!) to stay and welcome daddy when he eventually gets back and is relieved of the curse. Whilst she, on the other hand, will naturally be sailing some distant pacific with her (truly) beloved (real) Pirate. Revised Happy Endings. Great for us shippers. Furthermore, as for the mysterious trivia, we've of course got the - incidentically or not - two Sparrows ("Blink", anyone?), the dying fathers who are (tentatively) revived, and the whole "My Lady Ship"-obsession. Ships are female, end of story. And they apparently mean a lot to their captains. I dare say, I think "Pirates of the Caribbean" must mean a lot to Russel T Davies as well. Guess he simply "loves his Captains"; which sounds rather familiar. But come on, did anyone NOT think of Barbossa's skeleton-guys mixed with Jones's fishcrew when they saw The Futurekind? Plus, Lazarus was a bit of a crab, wasn't he? Looked like one, anyhow. Reminded me of the fish-guy with the T-shaped head. We've got swordfighting (Tennant would take down Orlando anytime!) and head-dropping (Cassandra, ugh!) and a guiding compass/watch. If not very obvious, I would claim that I definately saw a clear resemblance there. And, finally, I suppose both the Captain Jack's are slightly...flexible. About a lot of things. Got a thing for another man's girl too. Maybe that's how we could get rid of Martha - she could run off with Capt. Jack? Either one of them would suit me fine, as long as she doesn't stick with Le Doc! ;) I may hope! And - after all, I do love both concepts and the whole linking up is indeed very entertaining. More connections to come - when I come to think of them!
Oh my God. I've just realized. And I probably shouldn't even think about it, but I do. This is what happens when you're too far, too deep, into the universe of fandom. Might be, yeah. Excuses, excuses. But, see: Captain Jack Sparrow keeps (well, that is, kept) Davy Jones's heart in a jar. Of dirt. Which was stolen by an evil Lord, Cutler Beckett. Whereas Captain Jack Harkness still keeps The Doctors hand - in a jar. Of water. Which has now been stolen by an evil Time Lord, The Master. Both played by prominent British actors; one is Tom Hollander, who starred in "London", a British drama series which also featured both the two others; Derek Jacobi (the "first", new Master) and John Simm (the "second"). And by the way - yes! - Hollander's the one who starred opposite Keira Knightley in "Pride and Prejudice", where he proposed and was rejected! Thus, all the great and natural chemisty (or disapproval...), I believe! This is past funny, this is downright scary. And as if it's not quite enough, it follows in the wake of the whole Turner/Tyler + Swann/Smith-thing. Interestingly; both are left on a beach, reunited as friends - and/or lovers. Speculators decide. I would prefer having Rose wait for The Doctor on a glittering beach in the sunset, though. Puppy eyes, teary, beautifully dress-clad, defender of parallell earth. Always remembering, never giving up hope. Where and what were we without imagination. Now, that IS a wonderful idea for continuation. Maybe it takes 10 years for the breach to open again - by accident? No ripping apart of galaxies and burning up suns, just plain luck? And then, The Doc could arrive with the TARDIS, flying across the ocean, with the doors wide open and she could jump straight in, into his arms, happy-soppy-well deserved-hug (and snog!) and then, er, sail away with him. Leave Mickey behind and alone, who cares. Hoho. And Elizabeth could take off with Jack, next time he's ashore, being sick and bored of hanging around waiting for Will. Ask their son (silly deleted scenes!) to stay and welcome daddy when he eventually gets back and is relieved of the curse. Whilst she, on the other hand, will naturally be sailing some distant pacific with her (truly) beloved (real) Pirate. Revised Happy Endings. Great for us shippers. Furthermore, as for the mysterious trivia, we've of course got the - incidentically or not - two Sparrows ("Blink", anyone?), the dying fathers who are (tentatively) revived, and the whole "My Lady Ship"-obsession. Ships are female, end of story. And they apparently mean a lot to their captains. I dare say, I think "Pirates of the Caribbean" must mean a lot to Russel T Davies as well. Guess he simply "loves his Captains"; which sounds rather familiar. But come on, did anyone NOT think of Barbossa's skeleton-guys mixed with Jones's fishcrew when they saw The Futurekind? Plus, Lazarus was a bit of a crab, wasn't he? Looked like one, anyhow. Reminded me of the fish-guy with the T-shaped head. We've got swordfighting (Tennant would take down Orlando anytime!) and head-dropping (Cassandra, ugh!) and a guiding compass/watch. If not very obvious, I would claim that I definately saw a clear resemblance there. And, finally, I suppose both the Captain Jack's are slightly...flexible. About a lot of things. Got a thing for another man's girl too. Maybe that's how we could get rid of Martha - she could run off with Capt. Jack? Either one of them would suit me fine, as long as she doesn't stick with Le Doc! ;) I may hope! And - after all, I do love both concepts and the whole linking up is indeed very entertaining. More connections to come - when I come to think of them!
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Forhold av klaustrofobi og avhengighet
Litt skrivekick i går kveld. Mange rare tanker i tropenatten. Veel, okey, ikke riktig ekvatortemperaturer - men deilig likevel. Kunne sove med åpent vindu. Være altfor lenge oppe. Se på junihimmelen. Jeg elsker å puste inn sommernatten. Være våken i varmen. Stemmer, motordur og bilaralarmer. Folk som sitter på trappen utenfor blokken min og røyker klokken halv to om morgenkvisten. Nesten sydlandsk stemning. Som jeg nyter. Fikk skrevet et par fancy dikt også, primært på norsk (inne i en morsmålsperiode nå) og her er noen smakebiter - på det som, må understrekes, er utkast ikke nødvendigvis ferdige produkter. Uansett, det er skriverier. Og de er mine.
"stille opp/oppstilt - forholdslikninger"
Av Scaramouche, po(t)eten, om delvis symbiotisk samliv og tilhørende prøvelser i støtteerklæringer. Så uhorvelig enkelt å være utilstrekkelig eller overdrevent deltagende. Hårfin balansegang.
frender er
i hardt vær
tilstedeværende
nødvendig
(og som et onde, tidvis,
overhengende)
et vern
mot kastene
de tar imot
hvert loss og
også skytsen
som motvekt;
skytsengler
for frenders skyld
man gir
og tar
igjen
"ufaglært drømmetydning"
Av Scaramouche, po(t)eten, som har et meget anstrengt forhold til trange heisrom. God mosjon i å gå trapper, skal jeg si dere.
jeg satt fast i en heis
en glattcelle av gulv og fire dører
ville ikke åpne seg
og knappene var sammenklistret i
et uforklarlig lim
mens rester av graffitti skrek imot meg
mikrofoner ropte at jeg måtte reise opp
og krabbe ut
nei, aldri synke ned og gå (ut) fri
"utbrent og utvannet"
Av Scaramouche, the po(t)et; et slags forsøk på å bevise for meg selv at jeg kan skrive dikt om (stort sett) det meste. Til og med engangsgriller. Den lå der, ensom og forlatt og forsøplende, nedenfor Gamlehaugen - og så mer miserabel ut enn House på en god dag. Jeg syntes den fortjente en liten verselinje eller syv.
en utbrent engangsgrill, et hylster; svart mot sølv
av kull; forkrøplet; skall av gjenglemt felleskos,
man glemte hvem sin innsats, hvem som ledet an, og
presenterte sammenkomstinitiativ, hvem det enn var som tok
saken fatt, og rent i hende, men lot et minne stå
og stå dem bi, når stranden inntas neste morgen av helt nye sko,
for å la vite, her var vi, og her var vi kanhende aldri mer
"stille opp/oppstilt - forholdslikninger"
Av Scaramouche, po(t)eten, om delvis symbiotisk samliv og tilhørende prøvelser i støtteerklæringer. Så uhorvelig enkelt å være utilstrekkelig eller overdrevent deltagende. Hårfin balansegang.
frender er
i hardt vær
tilstedeværende
nødvendig
(og som et onde, tidvis,
overhengende)
et vern
mot kastene
de tar imot
hvert loss og
også skytsen
som motvekt;
skytsengler
for frenders skyld
man gir
og tar
igjen
"ufaglært drømmetydning"
Av Scaramouche, po(t)eten, som har et meget anstrengt forhold til trange heisrom. God mosjon i å gå trapper, skal jeg si dere.
jeg satt fast i en heis
en glattcelle av gulv og fire dører
ville ikke åpne seg
og knappene var sammenklistret i
et uforklarlig lim
mens rester av graffitti skrek imot meg
mikrofoner ropte at jeg måtte reise opp
og krabbe ut
nei, aldri synke ned og gå (ut) fri
"utbrent og utvannet"
Av Scaramouche, the po(t)et; et slags forsøk på å bevise for meg selv at jeg kan skrive dikt om (stort sett) det meste. Til og med engangsgriller. Den lå der, ensom og forlatt og forsøplende, nedenfor Gamlehaugen - og så mer miserabel ut enn House på en god dag. Jeg syntes den fortjente en liten verselinje eller syv.
en utbrent engangsgrill, et hylster; svart mot sølv
av kull; forkrøplet; skall av gjenglemt felleskos,
man glemte hvem sin innsats, hvem som ledet an, og
presenterte sammenkomstinitiativ, hvem det enn var som tok
saken fatt, og rent i hende, men lot et minne stå
og stå dem bi, når stranden inntas neste morgen av helt nye sko,
for å la vite, her var vi, og her var vi kanhende aldri mer
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Something artful, something forgetful
Doctor Love:
I don't often post pure art-sections on this blog, but today I'll make an exception. This is some stuff I did with photoshop this evening, to prove there's more to Scara's hand than just abilities of writing. I can even click a mouse too, and drag images into place. Whoa. I'm not saying I'm THAT good with the program, but I thought it turned out pretty okay myself. Like the mid-section and the fact that the three Doctors look scaringly similar. Suppose that is the thing with fandom; you learn more about yourself and your habits, in addition to developing them. Into perfection. And guess who's got a new desktop? Strictly speaking, it's a banner, but I've learnt from Captain Jack how to be slightly flexible when it comes to such a thing as 'terms'.
I don't often post pure art-sections on this blog, but today I'll make an exception. This is some stuff I did with photoshop this evening, to prove there's more to Scara's hand than just abilities of writing. I can even click a mouse too, and drag images into place. Whoa. I'm not saying I'm THAT good with the program, but I thought it turned out pretty okay myself. Like the mid-section and the fact that the three Doctors look scaringly similar. Suppose that is the thing with fandom; you learn more about yourself and your habits, in addition to developing them. Into perfection. And guess who's got a new desktop? Strictly speaking, it's a banner, but I've learnt from Captain Jack how to be slightly flexible when it comes to such a thing as 'terms'.
**
Morover, I've produced an icon to go along with it! For all you Doctor-lovers like myself:
Now, second, something I wrote a while ago and had saved but then completely forgotten. That's the inconvenient thing about Blogger's new "save now"-function. I tend to overuse it a bit, then ignore the fact that I've used it at all. Start writing something new instead. Anyways, I might be slightly clever at designing banners, but this is proof that such is not the case with all my spare time activities; here's a (Norwegian) kåseri-thingy about something I'm much less talented at - cooking.
Fra 2. Juni:
Jeg fikk en kraftig påminnelse om mine manglende evner på kjøkkenet i dag, da jeg skulle fikse meg "en rask middag", slik de så fint kaller det i kokebøkene som jeg dog sjelden leser, og klarte å brenne hele den unevnelige greien fast i pannen. Utrivelig, også fordi man da må finne på et alternativ, og med min ikke akkurat storslagne oppfinnsomhet når det gjelder mat (sikkert relatert til de manglende kokkelerings-talentene) ble det jaggu vrient. Endte opp med en posesuppe av disse mer praktiske (tøm innholdet i en kopp og tilsett kun vann, tralala), men jeg er ikke god på øyemål heller og klarte å helle i altfor mye væske og det ble en laber, tynn suppesak. Men mat er mat og er man sulten glir det meste ned. Mens jeg slafset i meg Den Småmislykkede foretok jeg imidlertid en drastisk beslutning om at jeg aldri skal prøve meg på en kokkelærlingsjobb. Skal man satse, bør det være på noe man har bittelitt glede av. Og istedenfor å la denne avklaringen virke nedslående på humøret, og selvbildet, lot jeg meg inspirere! Planlegger å skissere ned en (om enn ufullstendig) gjennomgang av yrker Scaramouche HELLER bør vurdere - dvs faktisk vurderer - å satse på når hun blir stor. Større. Gamlere. En eller annen gang i fremtiden, mao. Trenger ikke kunne alt her i verden. Sålenge jeg har ordene har jeg det helt fint. Mer enn nok å rute med, det.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
...and catch all the DW-references!
An ood. Sorry, ode. Sorry, dedication. A very...dedicated dedication. To a man who could certainly have said it better himself. But I'll try my best at saying what it means to me, personally, and how fascination never ends.
I love a Doctor who won't wear his labcoat because he says "it itches!", who "don't like anyone", who toys around with a yoyo while patients are dying, wears trainers with blazers and neckties with jeans, whose sentimentality is non-existent, who hardly ever smiles, but when he does is even more adorable, who is passionate only about what interests him at times when it probably doesn't interest anybody else, who makes himself inaccessible when desperately needed, who watches pathetic soaps on TV, and sometimes screws up, yet allowing no-one to meddle with his pride, whose confidence is rarely shaken - and who never stops shining, although impregnable as rocks; who listens to understand, not just to be polite; who is brute, rude, and brilliant and not afraid to say so; who is sarcastically clever; who is spectacularly superficial, yet always digs deeper; who walks with a cane, without it holding him back; who doesn't let anyone come close, literally shakes people off, but almost always keeps his cool and remains in control, when everyone else would be fainting; who breaks off, never down; reluctant but rendering; who doesn't appear to let anything get to him, but still; whose wide, blue-eyed gaze never lies; who is soft, almost tender, then sad 'cause it happened, then closed 'cause it won't ever happen again; who watches the rain, melancholy, then hard-faced; who speaks when he mustn't and jokes when he shouldn't and says nothing when all it would take is one word; whose pose is characteristic, but never a cliché, who's style is legendaric but never a let-off; who plays, while he ponders, and dreams while he doctors. Gregory House. Who'd have thought. That's my man. I've fallen in love with a Doctor again.
**
Wish I could say the following was inspired strictly by the above-mentioned, and it surely could be, it surely looks like something reminiscent of his maneouvers, but it wasn't, not solely, it was a mix - bit of him, bit of this, bit of that, bit of Leonard Cohen (as usual) and just a bit of...me. My head. Is killing me. It's this thingy I started working on which ended up completely different (often do) and I have no idea how it may continue. For now:
"must be read/out loud" - I was wondering.
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, barely forgotten (how to).
like; who do we hail
when there's nobody left
for torture and punish
or sentence to love
and where do we sail
when the oceans have dried
left waters of salt,
only, running down skins
in streams and in drops
and stinging as bloods
we may swim through the surface
they'll engulf us as floods
the soldiers up front
form the lines to the east
the west soon uncovered
who knows, all can't be pleased
the backbenchers, quiet,
are rows never heard
they dance without movements
feels free as a bird
the fronting material
shiny white teeth, work
may the drool make them drivel
while watching our feet, hurt
yet where do we look
when the turning once stops
and where do we peak
when there are no more tops
**
Plus, it got me thinking. About things. Thingies that I don't wanna share with the world. Much like Gregory House. His methods, brushing off, barring out. And his weaker points. Such I want to keep quieted down and hidden well away from nosey parkers. Peekers. Peekey-sneakey. Professional voyeurs, as sinister as The Sun's reporters. I just don't feel like it. Somehow, sometimes, there's little point. Or even less. Sometimes, you simply want to watch the cars drive by and imagine you could go with them. Away. Gone with the wind, and a smile; a last one. Massive conclusions. To end; before the first day in the rest of your life. Saying it was completed so it could be incomplete once again. Fresh. I thought everything was going to be different. One great, big bowl of change. And it was. I was wrong. Put on my specs and view the world and find the faintest odds.
I love a Doctor who won't wear his labcoat because he says "it itches!", who "don't like anyone", who toys around with a yoyo while patients are dying, wears trainers with blazers and neckties with jeans, whose sentimentality is non-existent, who hardly ever smiles, but when he does is even more adorable, who is passionate only about what interests him at times when it probably doesn't interest anybody else, who makes himself inaccessible when desperately needed, who watches pathetic soaps on TV, and sometimes screws up, yet allowing no-one to meddle with his pride, whose confidence is rarely shaken - and who never stops shining, although impregnable as rocks; who listens to understand, not just to be polite; who is brute, rude, and brilliant and not afraid to say so; who is sarcastically clever; who is spectacularly superficial, yet always digs deeper; who walks with a cane, without it holding him back; who doesn't let anyone come close, literally shakes people off, but almost always keeps his cool and remains in control, when everyone else would be fainting; who breaks off, never down; reluctant but rendering; who doesn't appear to let anything get to him, but still; whose wide, blue-eyed gaze never lies; who is soft, almost tender, then sad 'cause it happened, then closed 'cause it won't ever happen again; who watches the rain, melancholy, then hard-faced; who speaks when he mustn't and jokes when he shouldn't and says nothing when all it would take is one word; whose pose is characteristic, but never a cliché, who's style is legendaric but never a let-off; who plays, while he ponders, and dreams while he doctors. Gregory House. Who'd have thought. That's my man. I've fallen in love with a Doctor again.
**
Wish I could say the following was inspired strictly by the above-mentioned, and it surely could be, it surely looks like something reminiscent of his maneouvers, but it wasn't, not solely, it was a mix - bit of him, bit of this, bit of that, bit of Leonard Cohen (as usual) and just a bit of...me. My head. Is killing me. It's this thingy I started working on which ended up completely different (often do) and I have no idea how it may continue. For now:
"must be read/out loud" - I was wondering.
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, barely forgotten (how to).
like; who do we hail
when there's nobody left
for torture and punish
or sentence to love
and where do we sail
when the oceans have dried
left waters of salt,
only, running down skins
in streams and in drops
and stinging as bloods
we may swim through the surface
they'll engulf us as floods
the soldiers up front
form the lines to the east
the west soon uncovered
who knows, all can't be pleased
the backbenchers, quiet,
are rows never heard
they dance without movements
feels free as a bird
the fronting material
shiny white teeth, work
may the drool make them drivel
while watching our feet, hurt
yet where do we look
when the turning once stops
and where do we peak
when there are no more tops
**
Plus, it got me thinking. About things. Thingies that I don't wanna share with the world. Much like Gregory House. His methods, brushing off, barring out. And his weaker points. Such I want to keep quieted down and hidden well away from nosey parkers. Peekers. Peekey-sneakey. Professional voyeurs, as sinister as The Sun's reporters. I just don't feel like it. Somehow, sometimes, there's little point. Or even less. Sometimes, you simply want to watch the cars drive by and imagine you could go with them. Away. Gone with the wind, and a smile; a last one. Massive conclusions. To end; before the first day in the rest of your life. Saying it was completed so it could be incomplete once again. Fresh. I thought everything was going to be different. One great, big bowl of change. And it was. I was wrong. Put on my specs and view the world and find the faintest odds.
Cool(ing) Quotas
Dette - er en grei dose humor i sommervarmen! Jeg mener, hvor ofte bidrar jeg med rene humorinnlegg? Have fun! Først, noen fine sitater og andre...fine ting:
"Bart, you're no longer in sunday school! Don't swear!", The Simpsons. Ubetalelig.
"Pirates of the Caribbean" er en undervurdert eventyractionspesialeffektfilm, som ikke bør tas for å være noe annet enn det den gir seg ut for å være, og den er heldigvis ikke selvhøytidelig, i motsetning til "Spider-Man 3" som bortsett fra enkelte søte sekvenser, slutten og imponerende budsjett (ergo dataanimerte sandstormer...blæh!) var et stykke pompøst oppkok av nummer 1 og nummer 2 med dårligere manus (ubeskrivelig grusomt, faktisk, slo Star Wars ep. 3 ned i støvlene mht banal dialog og det skal godt gjøres!) og meningsløse konflikter; jeg er stor fan av Spidey (nr 1 og 2 var briljante, så det er sagt!) og var tilsvarende skuffet. Men altså, tilbake til Piratene, jeg ELSKER Johnny Depp! Keira Knightley kan dumme seg ut så mye hun vil med patetiske patriot-taler på dekk (det var ille), tulle rundt så mye hun vil med Orlando Bloom (den var da ganske drøy - dvs dristig - den scenen på stranden? I don't mind, but I think others might! Og jeg trodde dette var en familiefilm!! hoho!), produsentene burde vurdert å kutte ned på både det ene og det andre (med unntak av skjørtelengden til nevnte Keira; hørte jeg amerikansk familiefilm? Ikke for å være prippen her, men jeg foretrekker å se Gerry i sånne antrekk! Dessuten har "300" enerett på å være pornofilm in disguise...!), The Kraken burde fått anledning til å kverke noen flere, Bill Nighy og Naomie Harris og Keith Richards (!) burde fått anledning til å snakke mer, ja - savnet generelt litt mer prat og mindre slossing, MEN: Johnny Depp redder dagen, uansett! Hadde han bare fått litt mer spilletid, så, fine kapteinen! Mye morsomheter klarte han å tilføre filmen, i tillegg, og jeg er ikke enig med de som mener at den kun inneholdt "oppbrukte gags", jeg lo hvert femte sekund. Dog, jeg skal innrømme, den scenen der Jonathan Pryce spør sin datter "Elizabeth, are you dead?!" ER kanskje ikke veldig (tilsiktet) morsom - men jeg lo. Jada. Jeg var den eneste i hele salen som lo. Åpenbart ingen andre der som hadde sett "Boondock Saints". Is it dead?! Huffameg. Her er noen andre favoritter:
"Nobody move! I've dropped me brain!", Captain (nøye med det der) Jack Sparrow
"I don't have the face for tentacles.", Captain Jack Sparrow
"Wonder what would happen if we were to drop a cannonball on them...", Ragetti - OG! - "Right this way, Mrs. Fish!", Pintel - (fine duoen!)
"You may kiss! You may kiss! JUST KISS!", Barbossa (mens han vier Liz & Will, hoho)
"I leave you people alone for just a minute and look what happens!", Captain Jack Sparrow
Lord Cutler Beckett: "You're mad!"
Capt. Jack Sparrow: "Well thank goodness for that, 'cause if I wasn't this would probably never work."
Oooog, dernest, over til noe helt annet men meget Britisk. Beviset for at Paris Hilton tar etter Doctor Who: da hun ble fraktet vekk for å bli satt i fengsel, hva var det hun vrælte etter? Noen som hørte godt etter? "Mommy! I want my Mommy!" Man kan ikke bli sørgelig av sånt, man bare ler! Høyt og lenge! And is she her mommy, anyway? *Dån* (Er det ikke moro med intern humor???)
Og apropos humorrelaterte Doctor Who-episoder; jeg vet det var meningen at "Utopia" skulle være en dyster og episk følelsesmessig berg-og-dalbane (sitat RTD) for The Doctor; en reise inn i en ny epoke av umenneskelige prøvelser og grusomme fiender, men da John Simm dukket opp i TARDIS'en og begynte å hoppe rundt, gikk jeg fra melankolsk snufsepufs (Jack is luckily back, Rose-referanser og flashbacks, ikke sunt) til jubel og latterkrampe. Og da han avsluttet med "End of the universe! Have fun! Bye-bye!" knakk jeg fullstendig sammen. Bra at man kan fremdeles kan gjøre det av DW, uten at det innebærer tårer og tenners gnissel. Er vel heller ikke alene om å heie litt på The Master i Simms skikkelse. Mannen er genialt spooky, Doctor-aktig og sjarmerende! Hvem hadde forventet dét... Å, men jeg VISSTE at det ville bli bra når John'ene dukket opp! Fantastisk episode også, for øvrig, sånn rent historiemessig. Og la meg gjenta: Jack is back! Fine, halvtamerikanske, fleksible danser-skotten! :)
Og apropos en apropos, man kan jo ikke unngå å ta med følgende - i et særdeles sårbart og rørende og regelrett uutholdelig nostalgisk minneøyeblikk, fremført av en lengtende Le Doc, dvs David Tennant: "She's gone Jack. Not just living in a parallel world, she's trapped there. The walls have closed..." Også dét uttrykket i ansiktet. For å minnes litt mer; "Rose would know". Bare hun kan komme tilbake snart! Herregud, jeg har ikke godt av den serien. Men flashbacks er flott! Det som ikke er like behagelig er å finne følgende i The Sun - det er sikkert blitt dementert og benektet og latterliggjort for lenge siden, men hvorfor skriver de sånt? Pluss at egentlig er det gammelt nytt, fordi RTD uttalte for lenge siden at han skulle bruke mindre tid på DW og mer på Torchwood. Noe vi alle i grunnen kan prise oss ganske lykkelig for. Way to go, Steven Moffal & Paul Cornell! Men slutt for Doctor Who? NEI. Never give up something essentially great when it's heading towards even greater. I rest my case!
"Bart, you're no longer in sunday school! Don't swear!", The Simpsons. Ubetalelig.
"Pirates of the Caribbean" er en undervurdert eventyractionspesialeffektfilm, som ikke bør tas for å være noe annet enn det den gir seg ut for å være, og den er heldigvis ikke selvhøytidelig, i motsetning til "Spider-Man 3" som bortsett fra enkelte søte sekvenser, slutten og imponerende budsjett (ergo dataanimerte sandstormer...blæh!) var et stykke pompøst oppkok av nummer 1 og nummer 2 med dårligere manus (ubeskrivelig grusomt, faktisk, slo Star Wars ep. 3 ned i støvlene mht banal dialog og det skal godt gjøres!) og meningsløse konflikter; jeg er stor fan av Spidey (nr 1 og 2 var briljante, så det er sagt!) og var tilsvarende skuffet. Men altså, tilbake til Piratene, jeg ELSKER Johnny Depp! Keira Knightley kan dumme seg ut så mye hun vil med patetiske patriot-taler på dekk (det var ille), tulle rundt så mye hun vil med Orlando Bloom (den var da ganske drøy - dvs dristig - den scenen på stranden? I don't mind, but I think others might! Og jeg trodde dette var en familiefilm!! hoho!), produsentene burde vurdert å kutte ned på både det ene og det andre (med unntak av skjørtelengden til nevnte Keira; hørte jeg amerikansk familiefilm? Ikke for å være prippen her, men jeg foretrekker å se Gerry i sånne antrekk! Dessuten har "300" enerett på å være pornofilm in disguise...!), The Kraken burde fått anledning til å kverke noen flere, Bill Nighy og Naomie Harris og Keith Richards (!) burde fått anledning til å snakke mer, ja - savnet generelt litt mer prat og mindre slossing, MEN: Johnny Depp redder dagen, uansett! Hadde han bare fått litt mer spilletid, så, fine kapteinen! Mye morsomheter klarte han å tilføre filmen, i tillegg, og jeg er ikke enig med de som mener at den kun inneholdt "oppbrukte gags", jeg lo hvert femte sekund. Dog, jeg skal innrømme, den scenen der Jonathan Pryce spør sin datter "Elizabeth, are you dead?!" ER kanskje ikke veldig (tilsiktet) morsom - men jeg lo. Jada. Jeg var den eneste i hele salen som lo. Åpenbart ingen andre der som hadde sett "Boondock Saints". Is it dead?! Huffameg. Her er noen andre favoritter:
"Nobody move! I've dropped me brain!", Captain (nøye med det der) Jack Sparrow
"I don't have the face for tentacles.", Captain Jack Sparrow
"Wonder what would happen if we were to drop a cannonball on them...", Ragetti - OG! - "Right this way, Mrs. Fish!", Pintel - (fine duoen!)
"You may kiss! You may kiss! JUST KISS!", Barbossa (mens han vier Liz & Will, hoho)
"I leave you people alone for just a minute and look what happens!", Captain Jack Sparrow
Lord Cutler Beckett: "You're mad!"
Capt. Jack Sparrow: "Well thank goodness for that, 'cause if I wasn't this would probably never work."
Oooog, dernest, over til noe helt annet men meget Britisk. Beviset for at Paris Hilton tar etter Doctor Who: da hun ble fraktet vekk for å bli satt i fengsel, hva var det hun vrælte etter? Noen som hørte godt etter? "Mommy! I want my Mommy!" Man kan ikke bli sørgelig av sånt, man bare ler! Høyt og lenge! And is she her mommy, anyway? *Dån* (Er det ikke moro med intern humor???)
Og apropos humorrelaterte Doctor Who-episoder; jeg vet det var meningen at "Utopia" skulle være en dyster og episk følelsesmessig berg-og-dalbane (sitat RTD) for The Doctor; en reise inn i en ny epoke av umenneskelige prøvelser og grusomme fiender, men da John Simm dukket opp i TARDIS'en og begynte å hoppe rundt, gikk jeg fra melankolsk snufsepufs (Jack is luckily back, Rose-referanser og flashbacks, ikke sunt) til jubel og latterkrampe. Og da han avsluttet med "End of the universe! Have fun! Bye-bye!" knakk jeg fullstendig sammen. Bra at man kan fremdeles kan gjøre det av DW, uten at det innebærer tårer og tenners gnissel. Er vel heller ikke alene om å heie litt på The Master i Simms skikkelse. Mannen er genialt spooky, Doctor-aktig og sjarmerende! Hvem hadde forventet dét... Å, men jeg VISSTE at det ville bli bra når John'ene dukket opp! Fantastisk episode også, for øvrig, sånn rent historiemessig. Og la meg gjenta: Jack is back! Fine, halvtamerikanske, fleksible danser-skotten! :)
Og apropos en apropos, man kan jo ikke unngå å ta med følgende - i et særdeles sårbart og rørende og regelrett uutholdelig nostalgisk minneøyeblikk, fremført av en lengtende Le Doc, dvs David Tennant: "She's gone Jack. Not just living in a parallel world, she's trapped there. The walls have closed..." Også dét uttrykket i ansiktet. For å minnes litt mer; "Rose would know". Bare hun kan komme tilbake snart! Herregud, jeg har ikke godt av den serien. Men flashbacks er flott! Det som ikke er like behagelig er å finne følgende i The Sun - det er sikkert blitt dementert og benektet og latterliggjort for lenge siden, men hvorfor skriver de sånt? Pluss at egentlig er det gammelt nytt, fordi RTD uttalte for lenge siden at han skulle bruke mindre tid på DW og mer på Torchwood. Noe vi alle i grunnen kan prise oss ganske lykkelig for. Way to go, Steven Moffal & Paul Cornell! Men slutt for Doctor Who? NEI. Never give up something essentially great when it's heading towards even greater. I rest my case!
Friday, June 15, 2007
Avdekningsmanøver
Utkast til et dikt jeg skriblet ned på en biltur nylig. Med asfalten farende forbi under bilhjuelen. Som når man ser ut av vinduet og veikantene suser avsted der nede. Fargene glir over i hverandre som lange fartsstriper, streker, og utydelige konturer. Det man et øyeblikk så er snart forglemt. Kjørt ifra. Ute av synsfeltet, ute av minnet. Dyr, kirker, bensinstasjoner. Mennesker hjem og oppholdsrom. Alt blir så ubetydelig når det kun fremstår som utsiktspunkter i et landskap. Dekorasjoner å hvile blikket på mens man forflyttter seg fra et sted til et annet. De reisevante reiser ikke for å være underveis, men for å komme frem, og det meste ignoreres uansett. Bare ikke grunnlaget. Motorveien. Humper og dumper og trafikkontroller. Skilter. Vi guides gjennom terrenget på jakt etter noe som er mer interessant, når det viktigste kanskje fôr oss hus forbi i dette øyeblikk. Moralen er; senk farten, sakke av på utålmodigheten, skue ut, se etter.
"tar" - historier om det overkjørte
(clue, engelsk: tar = asfalt)
Av Scaramouche, po(t)eten, som altså ikke kjører bil men ynder å sitte på.
man tager hva man haver
og legger asfaltdekke
lag i lag og
side om hver side i
en evig oppdekningsmanøver
dekker over
elementenes forsoning
alltid
grenseløs og grunnfast,
tenke seg at
helheten
blir til av blokker;
seig og svartmalt
tjære - over, under,
inntil, mot - som
overlappes i et
evigvarende belegg
av nedbrytbart
og nedbrutt
slitesterk
men nedslitt
motorvei
"tar" - historier om det overkjørte
(clue, engelsk: tar = asfalt)
Av Scaramouche, po(t)eten, som altså ikke kjører bil men ynder å sitte på.
man tager hva man haver
og legger asfaltdekke
lag i lag og
side om hver side i
en evig oppdekningsmanøver
dekker over
elementenes forsoning
alltid
grenseløs og grunnfast,
tenke seg at
helheten
blir til av blokker;
seig og svartmalt
tjære - over, under,
inntil, mot - som
overlappes i et
evigvarende belegg
av nedbrytbart
og nedbrutt
slitesterk
men nedslitt
motorvei
Summertime Loving
No updates for the past 8 days. Think that must be my longest period of absence ever. Well well, summer holidays doesn't happen every day - a proper reason, I suppose, to stay away for a wee while! Still, to quote Bryan Ferry, "since we last met" not much has happened. Not really. Life is quiet and sunny and relaxed. Have been travelling a bit and visitied my family's cottage up in the mountains. And my "old home", which seemed kind of strange but also very nice. Feeling somewhat out of place at the only place where I should feel truly...at home. I guess. But moving out probably tends to have such an effect, on everyone, and returning there is always a genuinely pleasant experience despite the slightly awkward undertones. Regarding the mountains, I enjoyed the typical, magnificent season-atmosphere with the last snow slowly melting away and the smell of fresh flowers and the cold warmth of wind and sun. Took 150 photos and thanked heavens for my digital camera. Deletebuttons are superconvenient. But I got rather carried away as we were driving from Oslo to Bergen and the scenery was just unfolding its unbelievable beauty before my overwhelmingly impressed eyes. Did I mention I adore Norwegian fiords? And okay, as for the shopping-factor, I have indeed bought above-mentioned Bryan Ferry's album "Let's stick together" and thus completed my Ferry/Roxy Music collection. Can't believe I own everything they've ever made. But I sure do and it's wonderful. I have, moreover, watched "Blink" and (consequently) completely freaked out at some statues in Bergen centre. They're scaaaary. And they haven't even got wings. I have a strong feeling I saw one of them move. I'm counting down to the return of Captain Jack now, as well, and that is Mister Barrowman not Mister Depp! Luv both my Captains, though! Realized the other day, while searching around the net looking for pics of Hunky Harkness, that he has actually starred in a musical (presumably west end) production of Phantom of the Opera (!!!); unfortunately not as the Phantom but as Raoul. A pity, because it would make the whole choice vastly more difficult. Increase the torment for all participants, so to speak. Patrick Wilson was extremely dull and everyone was cheering for Gerry. Of course. But this guy has a cleft chin and starry eyes and fab abs - oh, fab body in general! And, I mean, he's Scottish! One Scot's hard enough - but two?! Torn between and torn apart... Would have felt very sorry for Christine! On the other hand, it's just awesome with further connections linking my two greatest passions. Plus, blimey! John Barrowman can sing! What upsets me, however, is his statements about working with Chris Eccleston - compared to David Tennant. Naturally he was asked by the papers how he felt about the change in Doctors since he was part of the original (series one) cast. Which is, of course, why I am so particularly pleased that he's back. He stated that he thought Chris was "very quiet, very serious" - as opposed to David who was much more fun and relaxed. He claimed that the two of them were a good combination because he (John) was nuts and David was silly. Cute, but a bit sad. The whole Chris-era has become a complicated thing to remember, because not only was he a dark Time Lord, he had a bit of that darkness in him as a private individual too. He's a brilliant actor, that's for certain, but I reckon he could cheer up a little. And apparently, his co-stars think so too. But to preserve his skills and role interpretation qualities, maybe he has to sacrifice something on the socializing side? After all, I will remember him as the best Doctor in history. No doubt! And rumous has it that although his character was partially written out of the show, Chris MIGHT appear in future episodes of "Heroes"! Isn't that just lovely; as old epochs come to an end, you get new things to look forward to. Continuously. I suddenly found out that Bryan Ferry's new album, "Dylanesque", is NOT in my collection! Whey! Have a great next week, everyone, and cherish the (summer) moments.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Intermission
Everybody needs a break. A pause. Some restoring peace, quiet and relaxation. I am, thus, currently enjoying my summer holidays and watching life go by pretty idly. In this context, however, "idle" doesn't mean I'm all that passive - just very calm and summer-easeful. I am also enjoying various related activities, such as sun-bathing, blockbusters ("Pirates" exceeded all my expectations - it was funny, original, overwhelming, overblown (of course), way-over-the-edge and hence unfathomably costly thing - I mean, they even called it "World's End" - probably as an indicator of box office rates and effects-and-other-records-breaking outdoing themselves and everyone else's as well!) and summer music (Sophie Ellis-Bextor's new album is absolutely brilliant, and as a long-time fan I can only say I'm proud and that she delivered what we expected. Superduper job, Sophie!) and summer food, weather, atmosphere; warm, bee-buzzing, still, pollen-filled air of early June. Lovely. And - most expectations fulfilled. Every reason to be...reasonably content. At least. And Saturday gives us the next chapter of the beloved Doctor Who, which we all look forward to A LOT - mostly because of the upswing following the fantastic two-parter we were recently presented with, and the prospects of watching Steven Moffat work his magic again as he now returns to the series as a scriptwriter. Apart from this, though; the whole idea of a Doctor-lite episode makes me a bit sceptical-ish, of course, but it should be a safe bet in the hands of our favourite historical-who creator. Who could forget the drunk-Doctor reel or the Glenn Miller-dancing sequence? Good man! :)
Anyways, when on holiday I take some pleasure in being slightly absent from internet surfing and other normal weekday-habits, a serious change in routines for once, consequently not working and writing that much and allowing myself to be a little less up to date and effetive instead. Wonderful, for the moment. After all, I'm trying to relax my brain too - and as a result, which is why this would concern those of you whom I call readers; I might not update my blog that often. Just like Brian May, for that matter, who hasn't written an entry since early May. Oh well, as long as the projects keeping him from doing so includes the new Queen album and a PhD, we fans can't really complain. I want to sit here and listen to the sounds of summer and feel the heat which doesn't scorn. It burns a bit - my shoulders are pretty red now, making me into something that is strikingly resembling a lobster - but it doesn't bite. I'm at ease, really, I am. And I love it. Can I just say? - I love it!
Anyways, when on holiday I take some pleasure in being slightly absent from internet surfing and other normal weekday-habits, a serious change in routines for once, consequently not working and writing that much and allowing myself to be a little less up to date and effetive instead. Wonderful, for the moment. After all, I'm trying to relax my brain too - and as a result, which is why this would concern those of you whom I call readers; I might not update my blog that often. Just like Brian May, for that matter, who hasn't written an entry since early May. Oh well, as long as the projects keeping him from doing so includes the new Queen album and a PhD, we fans can't really complain. I want to sit here and listen to the sounds of summer and feel the heat which doesn't scorn. It burns a bit - my shoulders are pretty red now, making me into something that is strikingly resembling a lobster - but it doesn't bite. I'm at ease, really, I am. And I love it. Can I just say? - I love it!
Friday, June 01, 2007
Costner, Clouds & Chocolate
Lighter matters. And lightening. Enlightening too. Things I don't really like about things I really like. In other words; disadvantages about otherwise advantageous things. Oh, bugger, does it make it any easier after all? Let's exemplify instead!
1. When nicey sci-fi movies choose to include an overly patriotic "twist" which makes them seem rather pathetic - overall. "The Postman", starring my other favourite actor Kevin Costner, was a major let-down in this respect. Slow-motion horseback riding through rivers with smiling children around you and the National Anthem playing in the background - what the heck?! I thought better of you, Kevin, and your directing-talents! I actually preferred "Waterworld" to this, as opposed to everyone else apparently, although I did enjoy the The Beatles-references and the connections to other K.C.-movies like "Dances with Wolves" (which is one of the best films ever made, period!) The cinematography and filming was very good too (there you go, a nod to Kevin, I'll give him that) but the dialogue was horrid at times and the plot was full of, er, holes. The casting could also have been better (Kevin himself set aside, he did a good job apart from the exaggerated patriotism and cliché mess), the final battle was absolute crap (hated it! seriously, my GOD!) and the continuity was basically absent. I thought they had specific people designated to take care of such kind of problems. For instance, how did he get from the coach to the battlefield and how did they end up at the dancing patio?! Two minutes ago they were all situated somewhere completely different! I got...lost! A bit too many Mad Max-influences and some odd 80's/90's science fiction stuff, but I could have coped with the lot of it, had it not been for the stupid, misplaced glorification of the postal services and our fantastic "überhero". And the caps. Ah, and The Postman's helplessness. "Oh right, the love of my life is fighting for her life in the middle of an utterly chaotic crisis, the end of the world is approaching, and what do I do? Gape! Stand still and glare and gape!" Aaargh, the disappointment. But what could one expect, when the new American president was called Richard Starkey?! Gosh.
2. Severe hangovers. So it didn't help that I was drinking beer while watching "The Postman". Could probably have made it easier to bear, for some, but in my case alcohol makes me even more critical and pedantic. And the day after is never very pleasant. I do have a lot of fun while I'm drunk, though; not too sure about everyone else around me, but at least I am laughing. PS: Bear with beer? Beer to bear?! Bear with me??? I didn't even notice that until afterwards! LOL. (Too much Doctor Who AND alcohol.)
3. Warm weather combined with rain and fog. Also referred to as mugginess. Pretty uncomfortable. The clouds are heavy as my head, and hanging about as low, only increasing the headache and making me feel like a sack of potatoes. Without knowing exactly how they would feel of course, in a sack, but I reckon you get the picture. In addition I can't find any consolation in chocolate, since I ate way too much last night and have forbidden myself to consume any at all today. Well, I was eating chocolate today - come to think about it - but I suppose what happens before you go to bed doesn't count. I'll see if I manage to stay disciplined. It's friday and everything. Maybe I can buy a skillingsbolle. How on earth can you translate skillingsbolle to English?! Oh, suppose it's a universal expression - mutually comprehensible. Everybody loves skillingsboller! The worst thing about being away from Bergen; denied access to freshly baked bakery delicacies. Haha. But wait a second, we've always got brownies. I absolutely LOVE brownies. Healthy diet; no shit! But as far as I can see, there's no need for people to abuse drugs when they can obtain such an instant, indescribable pleasure from eating a chocolate cookie-cake-thingy which tastes like heaven and usually costs much less instead! Pluss, no significant side-effects. Comparable to the ones you get from dope, anyway. And you've got to replace the desires with something, right? I'd rather escape into a chocolate-coated ecstacy than a chemically induced trance. Add a great movie - and some Murray Gold (which I am currently listening to) - and I'll be happy again. Self-care. Rather improvised personal insurance. Oh joy!
Yours sincerely
Early morning prose. One way of seeing it. Might not make it any easier, but it gives an explanation. For; just as one ordeal is at last finished, other ones may emerge. There are always things to struggle with. Worries to handle. Problems to be taken care of. Always a bumpy road, this existence. And we wouldn't have it any different. Because we're humans, and part of being human is facing trouble and get through it. If you don't, that's fate. If you do, that's luck. There's a sense of meaning pervading everything. There is hope. There must be. Otherwise we couldn't live. Survival comes to the fittest, and unhappiness is destructive. One has got to fight it. If you don't, you give up the very essence of what is our purpose in life. Oh, and it's so tempting. To close one's eyes. Not having to care anymore. It would be better. But it's not always supposed to be good. Or easy. It's supposed to challenge you, make you wonder. Why. How. Wherefore, really, do we do it. I understand. I'm not strong. I used to think I could be. But that's not the point, either, we just have to deal with our weaknesses and flaws. Sometimes injustice strikes harder than it should. Destiny is unkind. It tests you. Like you detest it. An ever-lasting power struggle. We don't necessarily win. But we simply can't give up. Mustn't. That would be against our nature, however ridiculously hard our battle seems. Despite the fears. We don't surrender. We don't die before we die and if we can help it. Unless, of course, we make a different choice. That might be fate, too, at least fatal. Closely connected. Constantly. The fight continues, with other contestants. At some melancholy moments, I think humanity is inhumane. I think we all got it wrong. We don't know our goals. We misunderstood the purpose, and we strive for a wrong cause. Later, I find that natural, also. It's too huge to be fully comprehended. One ought to ride along and forget about the design of the journey. One ought not to care so much. That's the hardest part of all. The thinking. The worrying about the worrying. The words. And the endings. The major difficulty; to come to an end. And be content, for a while, for some time, to see the light, the point, the outline. Or just don't give a damn. I finally made my choice.
What I believe. More of it. Like, not everyone should be writing books. Or rather, be allowed to publish their books. Supermodels, TV hosts, silly people (not necessarily a general definition concerning the former and previously mentioned), limelight dreamers, desperately desiring some attention, fallen stars and fading heroines. Oh no. Words are magical and should be employed accordingly. Words are too important to be wasted on scribblings by people to whom the words are merely tools for own profits. Increased credibility. Not any sense of poesy there; not any appropriate respect or appreciation. Humility; all it takes, a bit of humble appreciation. Would make the choices easier, too, less difficult to determine whose intentions are valid and whose are only profit-related. Determine who has a cause and who is a charlatan. Writing books is not supposed to be piece of cake and, sticking with the food metaphors, it certainly isn't just anyone's cup of tea. That is my (presumably) provocative statement. There should be guidelines, or certain demands, for when a writer is a public communicator and not a word wizard only. Maybe not even so, maybe just a user (or abuser) of the basic writing. Like I said, a tool. And it's terribly wrong. Requirements other than celebrity status (or whatever worse) should be put forward, motives other than the cold and money-related should be the basis for editors when they consider. This is not the case, of course, and might never be. We rely on businesses; everything and everyone can and must be sold. Be sellable. We must be able to promote ourselves and have something to offer, that yet others can promote when they stake their lots on us, when they make severe decisions or sacrifices on our behalf, that's what they claim, that's the reasons they give. I repeat. Something to offer. Something that fits with the trends and the tendencies. And - I heard them say I wasn't adaptable enough. Again. That I couldn't adjust myself properly. Work on my shortcomings and the lackings, that was all it'd take. Still, I defied their requests. I said I wasn't willing. Goddamnit, I complicate things, why couldn't I for once please them on their own terms? But - BUT! - I can't! Because I need to feel something, and I need to be content. I need to provoke something in me, and in the ones whom I address. I won't hand in pieces which are constructed according to the doctrines and precepts of these others, with whom I do not agree but to whose system I must (that is: should, but don't) consent. I won't do that to myself. Although, I'm not saying my critics were heavily mistaken - that their opinions shouldn't be heard. Nor am I saying that everyone can write. On the contrary, few people actually can. But the words of those who value words the most, and honestly claim to have a purpose with what they produce, should be taken into account. And furthermore considered; thoroughly. I always come back to this same argument, my most prominent, that differing thoughts and the art of deviating from others, not following in line like blindfolded cattle, but instead opposing the narrow-minded crowds, all this should be highly regarded. And thus, the writing of those who try to convey some sense and meaning through their very writing, not only through what they put down in words, should get the chance to appear in print, on paper. Similarly, their papers should be looked upon as meaningfull. Not better, not perfect, not worse, not imperfect. Just different. And valuable. There are voices out there who aren't heard when they ought to be. There are thoughts out there, significant thoughts, which are kept secret. Hidden from the world. All the while we rejoice in the choir of those who offer nothing; see-through, shimmering, self-centred, ignorant, indifferent letters of black on white and periods to symbolize a finishing. Dots. Numbers. Formulas. Bollocks. Why am I being slightly flippant? Because I am angry. And afraid. Simultaneously. People won't really have to think anymore, they can just agree! And next you know, we've lost. Complete agreement will be our last and most severe failure. Dissent is a nice quality. Yet, I'm not complaining of the existence of non-poetic 'stating the truth'. I'm rather complaining of its solitary existence. Words for meaning's sake only, to be accurate, can prove useful - but I'm complaining because it's all we seem to want. And everything else, everyone who dares bring up new ideas and solutions, are silenced. Undermined. Depreciated. Not given a chance. They're not the ones who write books these days. They're the voices whose message is dead. For which I am sorry. I am awfully sorry. On mine and their behalf. I do hope we are one, for it is their company I behold as the greatest. It is amongst them I yearn to exist, and it is their community of shared, new visions I yearn to take part in. Not as a pompous fool, but as a creator who can live in agreement with herself and not have to blame herself for inadaptability and stubborness. I want to be content! I'm tired of having to emphasize this everytime I encounter someone who is set to respond to my works! It's the same, old story. The followers of the flock come in a flock. They're overwhelming. And, I say once more, they are wrong. Fin.
What I believe. More of it. Like, not everyone should be writing books. Or rather, be allowed to publish their books. Supermodels, TV hosts, silly people (not necessarily a general definition concerning the former and previously mentioned), limelight dreamers, desperately desiring some attention, fallen stars and fading heroines. Oh no. Words are magical and should be employed accordingly. Words are too important to be wasted on scribblings by people to whom the words are merely tools for own profits. Increased credibility. Not any sense of poesy there; not any appropriate respect or appreciation. Humility; all it takes, a bit of humble appreciation. Would make the choices easier, too, less difficult to determine whose intentions are valid and whose are only profit-related. Determine who has a cause and who is a charlatan. Writing books is not supposed to be piece of cake and, sticking with the food metaphors, it certainly isn't just anyone's cup of tea. That is my (presumably) provocative statement. There should be guidelines, or certain demands, for when a writer is a public communicator and not a word wizard only. Maybe not even so, maybe just a user (or abuser) of the basic writing. Like I said, a tool. And it's terribly wrong. Requirements other than celebrity status (or whatever worse) should be put forward, motives other than the cold and money-related should be the basis for editors when they consider. This is not the case, of course, and might never be. We rely on businesses; everything and everyone can and must be sold. Be sellable. We must be able to promote ourselves and have something to offer, that yet others can promote when they stake their lots on us, when they make severe decisions or sacrifices on our behalf, that's what they claim, that's the reasons they give. I repeat. Something to offer. Something that fits with the trends and the tendencies. And - I heard them say I wasn't adaptable enough. Again. That I couldn't adjust myself properly. Work on my shortcomings and the lackings, that was all it'd take. Still, I defied their requests. I said I wasn't willing. Goddamnit, I complicate things, why couldn't I for once please them on their own terms? But - BUT! - I can't! Because I need to feel something, and I need to be content. I need to provoke something in me, and in the ones whom I address. I won't hand in pieces which are constructed according to the doctrines and precepts of these others, with whom I do not agree but to whose system I must (that is: should, but don't) consent. I won't do that to myself. Although, I'm not saying my critics were heavily mistaken - that their opinions shouldn't be heard. Nor am I saying that everyone can write. On the contrary, few people actually can. But the words of those who value words the most, and honestly claim to have a purpose with what they produce, should be taken into account. And furthermore considered; thoroughly. I always come back to this same argument, my most prominent, that differing thoughts and the art of deviating from others, not following in line like blindfolded cattle, but instead opposing the narrow-minded crowds, all this should be highly regarded. And thus, the writing of those who try to convey some sense and meaning through their very writing, not only through what they put down in words, should get the chance to appear in print, on paper. Similarly, their papers should be looked upon as meaningfull. Not better, not perfect, not worse, not imperfect. Just different. And valuable. There are voices out there who aren't heard when they ought to be. There are thoughts out there, significant thoughts, which are kept secret. Hidden from the world. All the while we rejoice in the choir of those who offer nothing; see-through, shimmering, self-centred, ignorant, indifferent letters of black on white and periods to symbolize a finishing. Dots. Numbers. Formulas. Bollocks. Why am I being slightly flippant? Because I am angry. And afraid. Simultaneously. People won't really have to think anymore, they can just agree! And next you know, we've lost. Complete agreement will be our last and most severe failure. Dissent is a nice quality. Yet, I'm not complaining of the existence of non-poetic 'stating the truth'. I'm rather complaining of its solitary existence. Words for meaning's sake only, to be accurate, can prove useful - but I'm complaining because it's all we seem to want. And everything else, everyone who dares bring up new ideas and solutions, are silenced. Undermined. Depreciated. Not given a chance. They're not the ones who write books these days. They're the voices whose message is dead. For which I am sorry. I am awfully sorry. On mine and their behalf. I do hope we are one, for it is their company I behold as the greatest. It is amongst them I yearn to exist, and it is their community of shared, new visions I yearn to take part in. Not as a pompous fool, but as a creator who can live in agreement with herself and not have to blame herself for inadaptability and stubborness. I want to be content! I'm tired of having to emphasize this everytime I encounter someone who is set to respond to my works! It's the same, old story. The followers of the flock come in a flock. They're overwhelming. And, I say once more, they are wrong. Fin.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)