One, cut a hole in the box...

Tonight I discovered I am a criminal mastermind.  I also found out that HP5 sucked ass.

I won't disclose the details of my fraudulent efforts (THE PO-PO AIN'T GOT NOTHIN' ON ME!), but let's just say that I haven't quite the memory of an elephant, and my laziness proceeds me.  However, I am a Photoshop vixen, and, well... let's just leave it at that.  Damn, I'm good.

But was it worth it?

Yeah, I guess so.  I got to dress up, and I got to see what all the fuss was all about.  Furthermore, I had the chance to develop my four major criticisms (not all negative!) of the film.

They are as follows:

So.  eryslash was kind enough to translate my essay on Dr. Wilson into Italian!  I'm sure it's lovely, if I could understand it:

http://community.livejournal.com/h_w_translators/7949.html

Many thanks.

So.  As far as movie news goes, Quentin Tarantino's new flick is "flirting" with an NC-17 rating.  Tarantino, who is collaborating with Robert Rodriguez on Grindhouse, has produced yet another gory blockbuster-hopeful.  Cited for over-the-top torture scenes, graphic oral sex, and full-frontal nudity, the film could be in big trouble with the MPAA.

All I could think of when I read that was, "How many times did I get through the movie theatre staff as a teenager?"  (Many, even when they checked my ID) and, "Hmm... this issue was addressed in a documentary once..."

In 2006, there was a film released entitled This Film is Not Yet Rated.  It attempted to expose the hypocrisy with which the Motion Picture Association of America treats sex, violence, drugs, "adult themes," and everything else that could garner a motion picture an R or NC-17 rating.  I say "attempted" because the film itself was saddled with an NC-17 rating.  I.e., no major theatre company would show it.  I.e., only those already aware of the issue saw it.

I.e., the director, Kirby Dick, was fucked.

I feel like I've stopped living in my own little world and started living in the real one.

Did I mention I saw the promo pics of an ENTIRELY full-frontal nude Dan Radcliffe?

Why am I such a perv?

(If you're interested, it's up on The Superficial.  Not entirely work-safe, but it's censored until you click the link below it.)

Posted an about Dr. James Wilson.  Yum.
My Essay

Thoughts on Harvard?

I'll leave this one to Robert Penn Warren.


You meet somebody at the seashore on a vacation and have a wonderful time together.  Or in a corner at a party, while the glasses clink and somebody beats on a piano, you talk with a stranger whose mind seems to whet and sharpen your own and with whom a wonderful new vista of ideas is spied.  Or you share some intense or painful experience with somebody, and discover a deep communion.  Then afterward you are sure that when you meet again, the gay companion will give you the old gaiety, the brilliant stranger will stir your mind from its torpor, the sympathetic friend will solace you with the old communion of spirit.  But something happens, or almost always happens, to the gaiety, the brilliance, the communion.  You remember the individual words from the old language you spoke together, but you have forgotten the grammar.  You remember the steps of the dance, but the music isn’t playing anymore.  So there you are.

1. Going through House, M.D. withdrawal.  Gregory!

2. Gonnar be up in Bahston fah a week.  Not that anyone cahz, but just thahgt I'd give whomevah a heads-ahp.

So.

Snow = yay!

Power outages = romantic!

Snow + Power Outages = HELL.  HELL, I say, HELL.

Power goes out at three.  PM.  That means no internet.  I am lost, but romanced by the idea of Valentine's Night dinner by candlelight.  Boyfriend has power.  Boyfriend cooks.  Boyfriend, apparently, cooks better than I cook.  (I burnt the chicken tonight... who knew you weren't supposed to put the lemons in the saucepan?!!  Seriously, those directions were SHIT.)  Thankfully, he does not give me a dick in a box.  He does, however, play the song for me on the sax.  In his boxers.

Come home.  Cannot see.  Fall over lots of things.  Fall asleep by the fire.

Have asthma attack, because evidently, smoke brings back "childhood asthma."  Stumble around.  Find lantern.  Lantern batteries run out.  Fall over some more stuff.  Get high off inhaler.

Get paranoid.  Body starts shaking uncontrollably due to steroids.  Fire is running out.  Blankets are downstairs.  Downstairs is dark.  Fall down stairs.   Scaredy-dogs bark.  A lot.  But they're cute, so I don't get too mad.

Fall asleep on sofa with newly acquired comforters.  Wake up every ten minutes worrying I'll die of carbon monoxide poisoning, despite chimney.  Consider trekking outside to make sure chimney is still there.

Fall asleep.

Freeze.  More snow falls.  And wind.

Freeze some more.

2 AM, everything turns back on.  Including the fire alarm.  Rawrr.

I have some extra reading to do.  Did you know that the Cerebral Cortex is.... a bitch? 

So, here's my first fic pimpageness.

Written for me, so I figure, I have to.  But I want to!  It's lovely.  As many have commented, it's realistic to a T.  The prose is beautiful.  Subtle.  Moving.  [Second] Best Valentine's Day gift evarr.  (Boyfriend made dinner last night...)  Tell me if I'm doing this wrong...

Title: Hope will Out (1/5)
Author: Cedari
Pairing: D/Hr
Rating: R

Again, many, many thanks! 

That is Harry Potter.




'Nuff said.

It’s nobler to give all of yourself and nothing less to everyone you meet, but when you do it, you must be wary of the risk you run of losing everything.  Because when someone takes your all, and doesn’t give it back, you have nothing, and that nothingness becomes you.  It begs a supremely perplexing question: do you give yourself away because you love somebody, or because somebody loves you?