Studio C

 Today I had a really painful medical procedure done on the part of my thumb that hits the space bar.  So, instead of saying anything witty myself, I’m going to refer you to YouTube.  Go watch the skits done by Studio C.  They’re hilarious.

Still Breathing

Often it seems like there is more to complain about than to be thankful for.  So, since I like to criticize movies and books, today I’m going to tell you all about my favourite movie – Still Breathing.  It costs $184.02 new on Amazon.ca, $22.68 on Amazon.com, and between $51.50 and $169.95 on ebay.  I was surprised by the Amazon.com price because I have only seen this movie available at obscene prices.  It’s kind of a rare one. 

The only recognizable actor in it is Brendan Fraser, who I don’t particularly find attractive … ever.  He looks unwashed the entire time and I have this incurable urge to yell at the screen, “At least tie your hair into a pony, you slob!”  However, he does seem to be one of the few actors who have morals, so we’ll let it pass.

Anyhoo, the film is about Roz.  She probably used to be an artist, but that somehow went as sour as her love life, and now she’s so jaded she cons men out of their money using herself as bait.  Brendan Fraser plays Fletcher, a puppeteer who has a dream about her and believes that she’s his one true love.  So, he pursues her, but she’s confused about his real identity.  She thinks she can scam him out of his fortune (if only he had one). 

Personally, I get a kick out of this film, because not only is it about love (without money) but it’s also about art.  Roz professes a love of abstract art, and seems to be studying high art on the side, but we do not see any of her art until the end of the film.  She’s a totally blocked artist.  Fletcher on the other hand makes collages, stacks rocks, plays the trumpet and does puppet shows.  He’s an unblocked artist.

The best part of Roz’s character is that they never explain what happened to turn her into the snarly man-eater that she’s become.  I think that makes her a lot easier to relate to.  The best part of Fletcher’s character is that he can see what she is behind the layers and layers of pretense.  Not only does he see through her charade that is meant to ensnare him, but he also sees what she would be like if she wasn’t a mass of emotional open wounds.     

The film hasn’t got a huge glitzy movie thing going on either, but neither is it overly earthy (you know the type I mean, where they purposefully film in places where you can see the mold seeping through the drywall).  And I know I keep telling you about the best part, but the bestest, bestest part is that this movie is about something real without showing anything you wish you hadn’t seen.  And on the crosshairs, this film doesn’t make my stomach curdle.  I have an overly sensitive gag reflex. 

Happy viewing … if you can find it.

The Ghost of Gardens Past

I was driving through my hometown earlier this week and swung by my grandparents’ old house.  I really shouldn’t have.  A great deal of my inspiration as a gardener came from the daintily kept garden of my grandparents’.  There were pink rose bushes and red rose bushes.  They had sweet peas that climbed up a trellis.  My grandfather even had a strawberry patch with a caged house over top to keep away the birds.  There were bushes with berries and all sorts of little spots where it was fun to hide.

Whenever I drive through one of those small towns I stare out the window and I only think one thing: “None of these people know how to prune.”  When I drove past my grandparents’ house, it was so much worse than that.  The paint on the tiny picket fence was peeling terribly.  One of the bushes by the front of the driveway was so over-grown; it was knocking down the fence.  In the place of my grandpa’s red and white houseboat was the dirtiest trailer I’d ever seen.  I couldn’t even see further into the place for all the cars and discarded vehicle parts.  I nearly cried.

However, then I came back to my own home and garden.  My house was built by a couple who lived in it up until about ten years ago – just like my grandparents’ house.  Who knows where they are now, but they too were gardeners.  And I know that if their spirits (or their car) were to visit my garden, they would be pleased.  I’m sure the place isn’t exactly the way they kept it, but to be cross about that would be petty.  Who cares if you’re planting lilac bushes or carrots as long as you’re doing something?

I’m really just thinking about change.  I keep telling myself that it’s not good to push change for the sake of it and contrary wise; it’s not good to keep things the same just because you are scared. 

Like I said, it doesn’t feel like any of those people know how to prune.  Of course, if pruning is done efficiently, the tree will grow so much stronger and the fruit will be so much bigger.  And it’s hard when a tree you’ve known all your life has to be cut down.  Of course, by now I’m not really talking about plants.  It’s the way we all change and grow.  And sometimes we’re smaller because the pruning hooks were especially hard on us this spring. 

That’s the way I’m feeling today … a bit smaller, because there is always more pruning to do.

How 'The Little Mermaid' Should Have Ended according to me

Into the cave of the sea witch, the little mermaid swims.  The seaweed curls up around her tail and her hands as she pushes through the curtain of slippery ocean vegetation.  Inside, it’s almost black, except for a tiny hole in the cavern ceiling.  For one terrifying moment, she’s afraid she’s alone in the stillness. 

Finally, the little mermaid sees her.  The white of one of the witch’s eyes glints across the expanse.  The other eyelid is frozen shut from some ancient injury, the scar tissue ghastly.  The sea woman is shoved up against the wall.  The little mermaid cannot tell if she is tied to the wall by means of the green seaweed swaying around her, or if the seaweed is her hair.  Her mouth is deeply puckered and her mouth is leaking something putrid that is dispersing in a cloud beside her face.

The heart of the little mermaid beats ferociously.  Her instinct is to turn back.  This is a place of death.  But one thought of her lover above the waves and the expression on his face when her voice woke him from a stupor was motivation enough to drive her on.

With a flip of her tail, she brings herself directly in front of the sea witch.  “I want to have legs instead of a tail and live on the land,” she explains.

The witch fixed her one good eye on the mermaid.  “I can give ye legs, if ye wish, but know this now, once ye arrive on land with ye’r legs—“

“I know.  I know,” the mermaid interrupted.  “I have to give you payment for the legs, so you’ll want my voice.  I’m ready to give it up.”

The witch scratched her neck with her gnarled hand.  “Nah.  I don’t want any payment from ye.  I do not take thy voice.  It just be the way of things.  Ye cannot speak on land.”

The little mermaid puffed out an angry huff.  “Why not?”

“Because ye be a mermaid.  I can flip ye fin into feet, but I cannot swap out thy vocal cords.  Sound sounds different under water than in the air.  Ain’t ye seen Harry Potter?”

“Huh?”

“Sheesh.  That’s where I got me eye gouged out.  Some over-zealous fan in line ahead of me.  The egg in Goblet of Fire sounded like the screams of the damned in the air and like sweet music under water.  Thus, if ye speak above water, ye’ll drive any living man to his grave.  Tell me, missy, can ye bite thy tongue?”

“Yes,” the mermaid said positively.

The old witch eyed her up and down.  Then she nodded positively.  “Well, I believe ye.”

TWO MINUTES LATER

“The prince?  He just died …” the sailor on the pier explained.  “He was in a ship wreck and was washed ashore.  Then some mermaid came to rouse him … and well … the shock done him in.”

The End

Fun? Eh?

Whenever You Want

Today I’m promoting my latest writing project.  I’m releasing my romantic comedy Whenever You Want on fictionpress.com.  And just to warn all you gals out there – this is NOT a smutty book.  This is a highly sanitized situational comedy that did very a few years ago on a free fiction site.  I know it’s weird for me to start out saying that, but the subject matter is a little racy.  Remember my definitions for virgin wife stories, virgin prostitute stories, and virgin harem stories?  If you don’t, check out my post on December 14, 2011.  Whenever You Want is a virgin prostitute story, so sorry to ruin your reading experience with a spoiler right off the bat, but … secretly, my biggest fear is someone thinking that I write dirty books … I DO NOT.  I started releasing it last Thursday, so there is already a chapter up and I will release another chapter today and every Thursday until it is done.  Here’s the link: http://www.fictionpress.com/s/3120060/1/Whenever-You-Want

Here’s the synopsis:

Christina's low on cash, so she decides to work as an escort over the Christmas holiday. But what will happen when she must kiss her date on the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve?