Tonight my mother and I started on our quest to re-watch all of the Star Wars movies in chronological order. Yes, I mean from episodes I to VI. So, tonight was Episode I: The Phantom Menace. I shall give a brief overview...
Higlights: Liam Neeson's existance. Is there anything that man does not totally own? The answer is no. Or, rather, as it is always phrased in the Star Wars universe, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Also, any scene including R2-D2 was a winner. And Queen Amidala's crazy outfits. Those had me riveted.
Lowlights: Darth Maul. Who does he think he is? He goes into the movie with no lines--just some horns and a scary makeup job--and...just...does nothing but...kills...Liam Neeson...it's too much! I can't take it! I didn't exactly enjoy seeing the 'naked' C-3PO, either.
Generally Speaking: It had Yoda in it. And Natalie Portman, pre/succeeding Carrie Fischer in the royal-who-kicks-arse -and-does-all-the-planning-even-though-the-other -stars-aren't-man- enough-to-admit-it part. A-
Your humble critic,
E. A. Weatherfield
30 July 2008
Chipmunk/Vampire
No matter where you are, no matter who you know, there are certain truths about two professions: Dentists are psychopaths and orthodontists are sociopaths.
Not that I have any quarrel with my tooth-fixated amigos. I'm sure they are perfectly nice, for the most part. Many sadists are.
But why, you ask, do I make these accusations? Trust me, it is not without cause. Take, for instance, the psychopath. A psychopath is someone who kills (or maims or tortures) indiscriminately, for thrills. The dentist fits neatly into this category: they torture more people more excruciatingly, but for briefer periods of time and less money.
The sociopath is a classier, more discerning sadist. A sociopath picks and chooses their victims, hiding the evidence well. The sociopath seems quite nice to their neighbors because they have no sense that they are doing anything wrong. This is the very picture of the orthodontist, whose careful brand of torture is refined down to an art. At first, nothing seems sinister about a bit of metal in the mouth. The victim goes home waving cheerily to their teeth-correcting friend. But, slowly, hour by hour, the teeth become tender to the point of absurdity, until the victim's very existence is excruciatingly painful. The orthodontists even appreciate the little details; they charge an absurd amount, therefore insuring that the victim carries through their course of pain to avoid wasting their money.
The crux of this argument: rubber bands. Little pieces of elastic that simultaneously make it difficult to talk and impossible to yawn, cause pain, make you look like a chipmunk when your mouth is closed, and make you look like a vampire when you smile.
The jury is out. I rest my case.
Yours &c,
E. A. Weatherfield.
Not that I have any quarrel with my tooth-fixated amigos. I'm sure they are perfectly nice, for the most part. Many sadists are.
But why, you ask, do I make these accusations? Trust me, it is not without cause. Take, for instance, the psychopath. A psychopath is someone who kills (or maims or tortures) indiscriminately, for thrills. The dentist fits neatly into this category: they torture more people more excruciatingly, but for briefer periods of time and less money.
The sociopath is a classier, more discerning sadist. A sociopath picks and chooses their victims, hiding the evidence well. The sociopath seems quite nice to their neighbors because they have no sense that they are doing anything wrong. This is the very picture of the orthodontist, whose careful brand of torture is refined down to an art. At first, nothing seems sinister about a bit of metal in the mouth. The victim goes home waving cheerily to their teeth-correcting friend. But, slowly, hour by hour, the teeth become tender to the point of absurdity, until the victim's very existence is excruciatingly painful. The orthodontists even appreciate the little details; they charge an absurd amount, therefore insuring that the victim carries through their course of pain to avoid wasting their money.
The crux of this argument: rubber bands. Little pieces of elastic that simultaneously make it difficult to talk and impossible to yawn, cause pain, make you look like a chipmunk when your mouth is closed, and make you look like a vampire when you smile.
The jury is out. I rest my case.
Yours &c,
E. A. Weatherfield.
29 July 2008
It's Nothing...
It is my humble opinion that the absolute most amusing phrase a parent can use is "it's nothing, you'll see." This is a very versatile phrase with a number of applications. Is your four-foot-tall, frizzy-haired, history-loving kid worried about cheerleading tryouts? It's nothing, you'll see. Is your kid's favorite cat going to the vet to have a sock and three pennies removed from its stomach? It's nothing, you'll see. Is your kid not exactly excited about going to the dentist to have their teeth pulled--the day after their birthday? It's nothing, you'll see.
Yes, this vaguely positive method of evasion can be used in many ways. However, I must admit I have a favorite use of the all-purpose phrase: To soothe the trepidation (Ooo, vocab word! My former English teacher from hell would be so proud!) of lifelong committment to a daily annoyance. Here's what I mean. When I was about four or five, my mother introduced me to the hygenic wonder that is the toothbrush. She showed me how to run the bristles over my teeth, explaining to me why this rather odd ritual was necessary. At the end of the lesson, I only had one question:
"Mommy, do I have to do this for the rest of my life?"
You'll never guess what she said...
"It's nothing, you'll see."
Considering the year or two it took me to learn to brush my teeth twice a day, every day, with toothpaste, like a normal person...you'll see why I find this phrase so dubious.
Another such incident was when I got contacts. This was, I must admit, quite recent; my eyes decided to follow the route of every one of my family members', miserably and suddenly failing me in the middle of my junior year. I was given my first pair of transluscent nemeses just this summer.
Something you should know about me: I am not one for motor skills, fine or otherwise. In fact, in the alotted hour and a half did not suffice for the whole sticking-a-strange-slimy-thing-in-your-eye-then-pinching-it-out-again-against-your-better-judgement lesson. I had to (cue scary music)...go back a second time!
A week later, when it was still taking me half an hour to get them in in the morning and an hour to get them out again at night, I went to my mother in a state of despair.
"Maybe I should just get glasses," I lamented, "even though they look hideous on me..."
"You'll get it," she assured me.
"I haven't yet," I complained.
"Oh, it's nothing," she said, "you'll see."
So...what do you say when your anal-retentive, perfectionist, academically-oriented high school senior (who has had her sights set on William & Mary since she was 12) expresses her concerns about college applications?
It's nothing, you'll see.
Yours &c,
E. A. Weatherfield.
Yes, this vaguely positive method of evasion can be used in many ways. However, I must admit I have a favorite use of the all-purpose phrase: To soothe the trepidation (Ooo, vocab word! My former English teacher from hell would be so proud!) of lifelong committment to a daily annoyance. Here's what I mean. When I was about four or five, my mother introduced me to the hygenic wonder that is the toothbrush. She showed me how to run the bristles over my teeth, explaining to me why this rather odd ritual was necessary. At the end of the lesson, I only had one question:
"Mommy, do I have to do this for the rest of my life?"
You'll never guess what she said...
"It's nothing, you'll see."
Considering the year or two it took me to learn to brush my teeth twice a day, every day, with toothpaste, like a normal person...you'll see why I find this phrase so dubious.
Another such incident was when I got contacts. This was, I must admit, quite recent; my eyes decided to follow the route of every one of my family members', miserably and suddenly failing me in the middle of my junior year. I was given my first pair of transluscent nemeses just this summer.
Something you should know about me: I am not one for motor skills, fine or otherwise. In fact, in the alotted hour and a half did not suffice for the whole sticking-a-strange-slimy-thing-in-your-eye-then-pinching-it-out-again-against-your-better-judgement lesson. I had to (cue scary music)...go back a second time!
A week later, when it was still taking me half an hour to get them in in the morning and an hour to get them out again at night, I went to my mother in a state of despair.
"Maybe I should just get glasses," I lamented, "even though they look hideous on me..."
"You'll get it," she assured me.
"I haven't yet," I complained.
"Oh, it's nothing," she said, "you'll see."
So...what do you say when your anal-retentive, perfectionist, academically-oriented high school senior (who has had her sights set on William & Mary since she was 12) expresses her concerns about college applications?
It's nothing, you'll see.
Yours &c,
E. A. Weatherfield.
28 July 2008
Debut
As this is my first blog, I suppose I should start it off with something clever. You know, a real zinger. A regular Dickens of an opening sentence. As an aspiring author, I claim to know the value of a good opener. As for actually writing them, well...easier talked around than done.
Now. As for the blog. As I write this, you may notice my affinity for the word "as." Well, as I've often not said, a word's not overworked till it's overworked. As I wrote that, I started to irritate myself...
Well, since this is my first blog, I suppose I should tell you a bit about whose ramblings you're wading through. I should tell you that I like movies, costume novels, fanfiction, my dog Bilbo, all other animals (except, occasionally, my cat Pudge), books, my PowerBook (her name is Daisy), theatre, clouds, and platypi. I should warn you that I hate tomatoes, forwards, Hemingway, trashy Myspace pictures, country music, boring clothes, spiders and reality shows. I could even tell you that I can currently see a life-size cardboard cutout of R2-D2, a Life of Brian poster, an American Girl doll, a Phantom of the Opera mask, a platypus puppet, and a TV playing Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Of course, I would never really do that; to give you that much information right off the bat would be absurd.
Well, rather than writing more and more in order to stave off the boredom of waiting for my grandmother to wake up, I will cut this blog off to delay the possibility of embarrassing myself by rambling on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on.
And on,
Yours &c,
E. A. Weatherfield.
Now. As for the blog. As I write this, you may notice my affinity for the word "as." Well, as I've often not said, a word's not overworked till it's overworked. As I wrote that, I started to irritate myself...
Well, since this is my first blog, I suppose I should tell you a bit about whose ramblings you're wading through. I should tell you that I like movies, costume novels, fanfiction, my dog Bilbo, all other animals (except, occasionally, my cat Pudge), books, my PowerBook (her name is Daisy), theatre, clouds, and platypi. I should warn you that I hate tomatoes, forwards, Hemingway, trashy Myspace pictures, country music, boring clothes, spiders and reality shows. I could even tell you that I can currently see a life-size cardboard cutout of R2-D2, a Life of Brian poster, an American Girl doll, a Phantom of the Opera mask, a platypus puppet, and a TV playing Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Of course, I would never really do that; to give you that much information right off the bat would be absurd.
Well, rather than writing more and more in order to stave off the boredom of waiting for my grandmother to wake up, I will cut this blog off to delay the possibility of embarrassing myself by rambling on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on.
And on,
Yours &c,
E. A. Weatherfield.
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