The Southern Lights

...and I am up-to-date on Teen Wolf.  I have just been making poor time management decisions with the result that I am goofing off even from fandom stuff.  I can still write my thoughts on the individual episodes if anyone wants -- I have my notes -- but basically I share the same frustrations as just about everyone else: interesting storylines being shot all to hell.  There is far, far too much for them to meaningfully address in the one remaining episode, but I'm continually amazed at Dylan O'Brien's acting.  I hope to hell they get Stiles and not!Stiles in the same room together and not just for dirty reasons.

If I can just survive this week... and the next one, and the next one, and the next one, and the next one, I'll get my master's and all I'll have to worry about then is the rest of my life!

So I went and saw Ender's Game.  I'll donate the price of my ticket (and that one Chik-fil-a chicken biscuit I broke down and bought) to the Human Rights Campaign, even though some sources say Orson Scott Card's not getting anything off the back end of the movie.  And the movie was...

( No spoilers, promise )

Normally, I'd say "read the book instead"... and I still will, but get it from a used bookstore or borrow it from a friend.  Or join Paperback Swap, which I've been using for years and it is truly awesome, particularly for getting out of print genre books.  I just mailed an old Dilbert book to Alaska today.  But anyway, anyone who's read the book and especially anyone who's read the rest of the series, especially Speaker for the Dead, is utterly, utterly shocked to find out about Card's political views.  Actually, I think ewinfic is the one who first clued me in and can attest to my disbelief.  Because the main theme of the entire series is that terrible things happen when sentient beings of any type don't try to understand each other on the other's terms instead of their own.  If I remember correctly, there's even a debate about whether or not to kill off a possibly-sentient virus.  Even in Ender's Game, Alai saying "Salaam" to Ender in a society that seems to have outgrown religion entirely?  That's in the book, which was published back in 1985.  It's just mind-boggling how someone who could craft a story so elegantly centered not merely around tolerance for those who are different, but around love, could also spew such hate and talk about "the enemy" like the callous characters in his books do.  I really like this article, which talks about the disconnect much more eloquently and from a slightly different perspective.  (There's no spoilers in the article, though it does talk a little bit more specifically about the plot.)  It also puts Card's homophobia into context with his other increasingly conspiracy-minded political views.

And that's what I have to say about that.

And lo, I sought out the only IMAX theater within 20 miles and got myself good and lost on the way there, but STILL managed to get there in time for previews for The Hobbit.

Thoughts on The First Nine Minutes:

( Which part made me squeak? Click to find out! )

Aaaaand onto The Hobbit: The Unexpected Stretching of This Book Into Three Movies:

( Was anyone else thinking 'Ugh, troll bogeys'? )

I suppose it's worth noting that, while I wasn't really involved in LotR fandom (though I lurked heavily in the RPS faction), one of the first -- if not the first -- slash fics that I ever read and actually enjoyed was a short Aragorn/Legolas fic.  Of course, I can't remember the title or much about it other than that there was a brief reference to some very manly hair braiding?  Eh, there's no accounting for (my) taste, I suppose.

First yoga class in over a month.  I expect to be suffering tomorrow.

New studio, of course.  I'm used to doing Ashtanga, which involves a predetermined set of poses in a certain order, but of course this place (for which I have an Amazon coupon) only offers actual Ashtanga at the same time as my academic classes (and early Sunday morning, but... yeah, no).  Instead I did something called Free Flow, which seems to be "whatever the teacher feels like doing at the time."  There weren't too many poses that I didn't know, but doing them out of order was weird.  Also, though I've gotten a bit more flexible, my balance is still as bad as ever -- maybe worse.  I cannot do anything that involves standing on one leg.  I just can't.  I fall right the fuck over.  I think it's an inner ear thing.

Anyway, my former teacher, Teresa, was the sweetest, spaciest woman you will ever meet... and she always talked the whole time.  Mostly about yoga stuff, but sometimes about your inner fire burning away "toxins" and how 90% of all depression is caused by sugar and, you know, hippie shit.  But it was soothing.  Tonight, I found myself thinking why the hell is it so quiet in here?  I'm so used to Teresa's running monologue that even short moments of silence are disconcerting.  I miss her, even though she was always significantly, uh, huggier than I prefer to be when I have been sweating like a farm animal.

I'm also pulling a serious Sheldon Cooper, because even though I can go to yoga and then get tacos at the same taco franchise as before (which just happens to be right next door to the yoga studio, holy shit), I have to do it on Wednesday now.  This is wrong.  Yoga and Tacos are on Tuesday.  Taco Tuesday is a thing.  Except I now have Deviance class on Tuesday.  What is this supposed to be, Waco Wednesday?  That's how people get killed by the federal government in morally-questionable shootouts.

Unacceptable.

Chinese Diver Wins Gold, Is Finally Told That Her Mother Has Cancer And Her Grandparents Died A Year Ago

This seems to have been confirmed by several sources, and it just breaks my heart.  No, I don't know that our system for training athletes is much better (my sister is a dancer, and in high school she had several friends whose parents had sent them to her ballet school from hundreds of miles away -- some of them even lived on their own at the age of 16, and most were "home-schooled" through online programs that required almost no work at all), but the words "government-sponsored training facility" send a chill down my spine.

I remember my mom asking me during the 2004 Olympic controversy over the possibly underage Chinese gymnasts, "What happens to these girls once the Olympics are over?"  Perhaps you could ask the same of gymnasts from all countries -- even if they make it through their teenage years without damaging their bodies so badly that they can't compete anymore, as a gymnast, you're pretty much washed up by the age of 22 (notwithstanding that 37-year-old from Germany who came in fourth on vault tonight -- how awesome was that?  I just wish she'd medaled).  At least over here, generalizing very broadly, they have the support of their families and the option of continuing their education.  I hope the Chinese government continues to support their athletes after their careers are over, though I haven't heard of that being the case.

And I hope Wu's case was a horrible exception -- I'm trying not to immediately conclude that those damn Commie furriners are locking children away in factories for the sole purpose of churning out medal-winning machines.  After all, I've seen what happens when teenagers choose to commit themselves completely to a physical discipline that has a sky-high injury rate and a very limited lifespan, and it ain't pretty, either.  Even my sister, who remains committed to dancing but chose to go to college (which many aspiring professional dancers don't do), suffers chronic pain in her back, shins, and ankles, and is having surgery on her foot next week.

There are few athletes who can make a living solely by playing their sport, and even those that do have a shelf life, obviously longer for some sports than for others.  Many of them, even the most famous, have a few shining years and then are never heard from again -- though lately they have the option of popping up on celebrity reality shows for a last gasp of fame.  I don't know; perhaps most of them turn out alright and are able to get coaching jobs, or start over completely and become successful in a new profession.  I have a feeling, though, that for all but the most famous (and attractive), the odds aren't good.

I don't know; that article just got me thinking and made me sad.  Here, let me fix it: Olympics or gay porn?

Saw The Dark Knight Rises!  (I want to say "finally," even though it's been out less than a week.)  I was super-excited just to GO to the movies, because I think I'm going to miss out on Brave, Magic Mike, Spiderman, Moonrise Kingdom, etc.  WHY AM I SURROUNDED BY PEOPLE WHO EITHER DON'T LIKE MOVIES OR GO SEE THEM WITHOUT ME?  I suppose I could go see them by myself, but something about going to see Magic Mike all alone strikes me as the most pathetic thing I could possibly do, so I'll just... wait 'til it's on Netflix and watch it alone at home.  ::facepalm:: 

( And now for a movie with fewer thongs (uh, spoiler?) )

Verdict: very enjoyable, if a little flawed.  Ultimately, I think The Dark Knight was the better movie, but I have a documented predilection for the second part of movie trilogies (Empire Strikes Back, The Two Towers, Godfather Part II, etc.).  Still, a worthy ending for the Nolan Batman saga.

I suppose now's as good a time as any to announce it, especially since I've started dealing with the practicalities: I'm going back to grad school.  Different school, totally different field.  As much as I enjoyed Rhetoric and Composition, studying writing and parsing language, even if I went back and finished my thesis, I would essentially just be qualified to teach community college or lower-level university courses.  Not that that is any less valuable than teaching super-advanced literary theory, but I don't think any kind of classroom teaching is what I want to do right now.  Maybe someday, but not now.  I also need to move out of my own hometown for a variety of sanity-related reasons.

( New plan: fight crime (tights optional) )

Okay, enough of that Life Plan shit.  Some books for you.

( Day 24: A book you wish more people would read )

( Day 25: A character who you can relate to the most )

Last portrait (for now); kinda sad.

( The model is sad, too )

Ok, time for some books!

( Day 8: Most overrated book )

( Day 9: A book you thought you wouldn't like but ended up loving )

( Day 10: Favorite classic book )

And now for something completely different: I had a weird experience the other day.  I had Netflix'd A Dangerous Method, even though Keira Knightly annoys the crap out of me, and the whole time I was watching, I had the unshakeable conviction that I've seen this before, and Ralph Fiennes is supposed to be playing Jung.  Credits say it was based on a play called The Talking Cure.  I went through some old travel journals, and sure enough, I saw The Talking Cure at the National Theatre in London on January 2, 2003.  Google confirmed it starred Ralph Fiennes.  Then I remembered -- the terrible seats, because the thing had been sold out before it even opened; the three-story set that took up the entire proscenium, floor to ceiling; being really uncomfortable during the rough sex scenes because I'd gone to see it with a slightly older male friend. 

What disturbs me about it is that I didn't remember the play for certain until I found the ticket.  I thought maybe I'd imagined the whole thing.  And if I hadn't seen the movie the other day, I couldn't have told you anything about the plot.  I was excited that I managed to see the play, and according to the journal, I really enjoyed it.  I don't know; I suppose the nine-year time lapse makes it forgiveable, but I've always had a really good memory, and it freaks me out when I can't remember things I think I should.  I mean, I'm not 100%, but I'm pretty sure I saw Ralph Fiennes' naked ass (or, as we were in London, arse) that day, and that is not something that should be forgotten.  I'm too young to worry about my mind going, but I do, even if it's probably not warranted.

Incidentally, that's the same London trip in which I met Gillian Anderson as well as Dames Judi Dench and Maggie Smith.  The latter called me "daft."  In an affectionate way, of course (long story involving a friend bribing me to ambush her at the stage door).  Whatever, Professor McGonagall called me daft!  I'm practically a Gryffindor!  ::throws confetti::

Okay, I feel as though the fic I'm about to post warrants some explanation, or at least some context.

( I can blame the whole thing on Hoarders, really )

I don't expect more than about three people to read this (which is totally fine since I'm kind of nervous about working with actual established canon again)(also het).  In fact, I wrote both fics without the intention of posting them, but it turns out I need to put them where I can at least imagine someone who is not me reading them.  And I wanted to explain myself lest someone think a het-writing, rare-pair-shipping pod person who watches a show I've barely mentioned has taken over my journal.  Also, I need to post this fucking thing so my Muse will shut up and I can get back to finishing my Pinto Harlequin fic arrrrrrrrgh.

First of all, I'm not someone who gets mad when a movie isn't 100% faithful to the book.  They're different media, and what works in one doesn't necessarily work in the other.  I may occasionally bitch if a scene I particularly like is left out altogether, but in general, as long as they get the characters and themes right, I don't mind the differences.  And yes, I do think there are some movies that are better than the books they're based on.  (Ever read The Exorcist by William Peter Blatty?  Don't.)

( We've got movie sign! )

Also, in case anybody asks me, I think Chris Pine would make an excellent Finnick.  And I could see Zach as Plutarch.  HEY HOLLYWOOD GIVE ME A CALL I HAVE SOME GREAT IDEAS.