Regression

So I was at the grocery store, looking at the books (there was one about Camelot I wanted to find, Camelot's Destiny?? I don't remember), and suddenly I see IT. I squeal, lunge at the shelves, and pick up the coloring book.

Harry Potter.

Pictures from all five movies.

Clearly I must have it. I gladly pay the $5 for it, though normally I would never pay that much for a coloring book. Any coloring book. I go home before I recall: I have no crayons.

So last night I wandered over to Wally World, a box of crayons at the top of my list. Just above a roasted chicken. I broke down and bought the 96 box of crayons. I was tempted to try the 120 box, since it came in what looks like a cigar box, but refrained. Then I wandered down a few more steps, and lo, a coloring book of Pirates of the Caribbean! Poster sized floor coloring sheets, it advertised...and lots of representations of Jack. It was mine. I threw it into the cart.

Once I got home and ate my roasted chicken (discounted, no less), I started on a picture of Jack, then put it away when his boots sucked up about half my brown crayon. I pulled out the Harry Potter book and flipped through it for twenty minutes, choosing carefully which page I wanted to color. I finally picked one with Harry & Ron, and I began to color to my heart's content as I watched Flags of Our Fathers.

So...are there any childhood toys or memories you have that you can't resist revisiting whenever you get the chance? Me, I liked to draw and color. Occasionally if I'm in a park, I'll find myself hanging upside down from the nearest gym bar and shrieking like a monkey. I like to blow bubbles with my gum and pop it next to someone's ear. And whenever I see a carosel I can actually ride on, I lose my mind picking out the right horse. (It's usually a fierce black one who looks like he's going at a full gallop....)

All Things Harry Potter (warning: this blog may contain obsessive raves)

Today is June 21, and while to most people this only means: "hey, it's the first day of summer", for me (who shuns sunlight like a vampire), it means: in exactly one month, I'll have Harry Potter's newest (and last) book in my hot little hands and I will finally, finally have all the big questions answered.

Warning: if you write "Harry Potter is going to die" in the comments, as a dictator, I will delete it. Just saying. Cast your John the Baptist bits of doom on someone else's blog. I am obviously too narrow-minded to consider the possibility.

Okay. Per your request, I have come up with a short guide to dating a la Harry Potter. And it goes like this:

Number 10: Be moody, broody, and slightly mad. It worked for Lord Byron, and it probably helps if you’re also known as “mad, bad, and dangerous to know.” This worked well for Harry in book 5, where he finally got to snog a girl.

Number 9: Transfiguring your date into a supermodel will probably not get you a second date with them. Transfiguring yourself might. Swallowing some Polyjuice Potion might work for you, as well; however, keeping Orlando Bloom or Jude Law locked in a trunk so you can have access to stray hairs will most likely get you jail time for being a complete stalker/kidnapper. (Might just be cheaper, less law-breaking, to do a Hugh Grant.)

Number 8: Falling in love with yourself is the beginning of a life long affair. Ask Professor Lockhart.

Number 7: Be careful not to break your wand under stressful circumstances. “Making magic” with a broken wand is nie onto impossible.

Number 6: If you find yourself bickering with someone of the opposite sex all the time, you are in love with this person. You won’t know it though until she starts dating a complete prat because you live in complete denial.

Number 5: If blind adoration doesn’t work (and it never does), pretend to fall in love with someone else to make your Girl/Guy of Your Dream realize you’re a limited commodity. (Supply and demand has ruled since Eve and the apple.) Lead him on a merry chase as you happily date other idiots until GOYD kisses you in the middle of the Common Room.

Number 4: Fall in love immediately with someone who doesn’t know you exist. Wear your heart on your sleeve for years and blush profusely anytime he/she talks to you. Promptly get yourself possessed by the Evil Villain so he/she has to rescue you—at least that way he/she knows you exist.

Number 3: Tamp off jealous rages that the GOYD is dating a complete prat by accusing her/him of showing disloyalty to country, school, or common friends. Make something up if necessary. Guilt is a necessary and viable dating tool to get you to make out with GOYD.

Number 2: When asking a girl out to a dance, separate her from the “Pack”. This will be difficult since we all know women do everything in groups of two or more, even going to the bathroom—which is completely absurd since there is no such thing as two toilets in one stall.

Number 1: When you finally find the love of your life, break up with her to “protect her” from the bad guys and thereby let everyone in the world know that you’re just as much of an idiot as the next guy—because we all know this whole heroic ploy will have been useless when the villain kills her anyway and you wasted valuable time you could have been using to make out with her. Dumbass.

So what dating advice have you gleaned from Harry Potter? Or any movie really? I might be having another date again, eventually, I could use all the advice I can get.

Family History

When I was 10, I fervently hoped somewhere in the background of all our pious family histories (my family is riddled with do-gooders and deacon elders) there might be an outlaw or two to spice things up. I sincerely believed I might be a throw-back to an otherwise unremarkable family. Being I was the one child in like the entire family who hated church, being good or even particularly Christian, I wanted proof that we had some wild blood somewhere.

Now 20 years later, I’m realizing something: the current family members are the “throw-backs”. We have an entire family of outlaws; and if anything, I’m pretty sure much of current family are outlaws, but they spend so much time hiding it, we’re just not aware of what they’re doing. I can’t even in good conscious call myself the “black sheep” because comparatively, I’m a lamb when held against the others’ exploits.

For years, I would ask the aunts for family tidbits. Women=gossip, right? No, these guys were massive “cover up agents” and if I mentioned so much as the thought of “wouldn’t it be cool to have an outlaw in the family”, I got a half-hour lecture. Apparently I was approaching the wrong sources.

Last Memorial Day, Dad and I walked at Perche Church among the gravemarkers (because that’s the sort of morbid thing my family does), and he caught me up on stories. I was standing next to the marker of John Marshall [my last name], recalling he was the son of Adam Wirth (the one who died in the Confederate war), and was flummoxed by the marker next to him. George.

“Who’s George?”

“Oh, he was one of my uncles.”

“He’s by himself. He didn’t get married?” I mean everyone in my family gets married, usually a couple times.

“Yes. But she left him, so she’s buried somewhere else.”

She left him? Scandal! “Really?” I said. “Why was that?”

“Oh, he was wild. He shot a man and killed him.”

I gaped at my father, who deadpanned this bit of trivia. What? “He didn’t go to jail?”

“No, he got off. Pappy got a lawyer and they were able to get him off.” Dad stared at the stone, nodding. “Come to think of it, it was a cousin who turned George in for the reward, because up til then he was on the lam, then he gave the money to Pappy to pay for the lawyer.”

While I’m still gaping at this—with sudden clear revelation that this is the “relative” that the aunts hinted at but refused to talk about, awesome!—and Dad pointed out another headstone. “This cousin got married the day she had a baby. Nobody knew she was pregnant.” How can that be? I thought that only happened in The Enquirer.

“Oh, come on.”

“No, really. Her mother went and got her sister to help figure out what was wrong, and it was her sister who said, ‘She’s going to have a baby.’ They found the man she’d been with and she got married. She put the day of her wedding on her marker, see; and the baby died that day too…so we could all tell when she had the baby.” Very tragic, but at the same time, proof positive I'm not a throw-back.

Nothing but outlaws in my family.

How about you? Any salacious bits of gossip you’ve discerned over the years? You should hear my dad talk about the teacher who shot one of his students (in a fit of road rage, no less) and got off!

Friday Music Blog: At World's End

My obsessions know no bounds. Some say I have the making of great stalker material, but I like to think I'm more along the lines of: joie de vivre.

We all know Captain Jack has been my raison d'etre--okay, probably still is. (Harry does run pretty neck and neck, but if both of them were going to get hit by a bus, I'd save Jack first.)

Last Friday, after a spectacular bit of drinking with Sin at the local Trops (I had a half pina colada, half rum rummer, which was funnily enough called: A Pain In The Ass--how apt), we roamed around a bit and ended up at the local Target. We roamed the mall; but I soon began hunting for POTC: At World's End, the soundtrack.

One of my favorite music purchases for me is to buy soundtracks. I must own more soundtracks than...well, anyone. I have a Harry Potter one, yes. But Target did not have said soundtrack; the mall closed and I couldn't return to the music store and get the lone copy they had. Sin and I parted ways around 10, and I darted off to the local Wal-Mart to find the soundtrack. (I can be very relentless in my pursuit of something, I know.)

And there it was. A lone copy--right there at eye level--and I skipped out of the store (after I paid for it) and played it all the way home. And all week, really. At work. In the car. If I had a CD player in my room, I'd probably play it for when I went to sleep at night. I went and found the lyrics for the "Hoist the Colors" song; and I sing along with the little boy in the first track. (The words are very interesting by the way.)

My favorite track is probably #11. It's the one where Jack and Davy fight on the main mast. I love that...bit...the rise and fall of it. It's so exhilirating. The track that immediately follows is the one that's for Will and Elizabeth--and it's so romantic and heartbreaking, I get choked up all the time listening to it.

Do you like movie soundtracks? Do you own any? Which ones and why? And can you listen to a soundtrack and pinpoint where in the movie we're at?

Ranger, Ranger, Ranger

Six days until a new Plum book hits the stands. Apparently this one will be much like the other twelve: no resolution in regards to the Morelli and Ranger debate. Much like reaching a conclusion of 'whose side Snape is really on', it seems Janet is loathe to make her commitments known. She loves instead to play her “The Lady or The Tiger” card and leave us fans squirming and wailing in the background, wishing for our commercial fiction to have a bit less ambiguity and a lot more Ranger.

Because face it, it’s gotta be Ranger.

And in honor of that Man of Mystery, let’s list the top 10 things you can (and should) do with Ranger, should you ever cross paths:

1.) Have him ruin you for all other men
2.) Drive his car—and get it hijacked, or at least suitably wrecked
3.) Take him out for pie
4.) Think of new and impressive ways to amuse him, mainly by being yourself
5.) Elope to Vegas—this will be especially exciting since he’s got a warrant out for him in Nevada
6.) Invite your wily, sex-crazed grandmother over to hit on him; laugh when he squirms
7.) Give him a bubble bath—and use a lot of that good-smelling soap of his as you suds him up
8.) Exchange sexually-charged banter for hours—then go home and take a cold shower (it’s what Janet does to Stephanie in every episode of the Ranger show)
9.) Dress up in your best CFM outfit and pretend you’re helping him catch a mark
10.)Have him ruin you for all other men—because the first time, while memorable, is never
enough

Anything special you’d like to do with Ranger?

8 Random Facts

Terri has finally (finally) started her own blog; and the first thing the wench does is assign the rest of us homework. That's just like her hard-working Capricorn ass. Delegate.

And to add to it, there are apparently RULES (but I'm going to say they are more like guidelines.) 1. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves. 2.People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules. 3. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. 4. Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them they're tagged, and to read your blog.

8 Hellion Relatively Obscure Facts

1.) I didn’t get my driver’s license until I was 22, which in our town puts me in the same classification as “senior citizen discounts”
2.) I had a pony named Dance when I was 12; she had dark liquid eyes and long white eyelashes, and when she trotted it looked like she was floating on the air.
3.) I can quote an absurd amount of the dialogue from both POTC movies. This probably stems that I watch those movies at least twice a month.
4.) I finished my first manuscript in April/May 2002. It was my “Lucy” story; and I got lots of polite “no, thank yous” from agents and editors when I tried to query it.
5.) My favorite thing to drink is regular Pepsi. It can almost always right a bad day; and having the first sip is so much like the first drag of a cigarette, it’s not even funny.
6.) My 11th grade English teacher was Ms. Yount, whom I happened to see over the weekend, and when she asked if I was writing and what, and I told her, she said (in front of my father, who was standing there patiently): “Frannie, you know I never read that trash. Don’t you read anything decent? How about Sue Monk Kidd? Have you read her?” I haven't but I do have one of her books on my bookshelf. Next to Pride & Prejudice, which I've also not read.
7.) I have a red stapler on my desk like Milton from Office Space. Of course, I’m rarely ever threatened to be moved from my premise because nobody else who works here wants to deal with the students either.
8.) I’m not actually Amish. I do live on a farm though; and I do still claim I didn’t even know what FM was until I was at least 9 or 10 and my big-city niece brought her naughty rock-and-roll music out to corrupt me.

And that's all. Tag the following: Sin, Terri, Holly, Susan, Ely...ah, hell, I can't think of 8 people. I'm tagging 5. I'd like to see anyone make me find another 3. Yeah, that's what I thought.

Body Pump

I'm convinced I was not created for exercise. Truly. I don't enjoy it; I don't enjoy sweating; none of it. I enjoy SLEEPING. If "naps" or "reading on the couch with my legs dangling off the top cushion" were considered olympic sports, I'd be a gold medalist. So it is with great surprise I tell you that I survived my first (and possibly my last) Body Pump class last night.

Now let me qualify this that the person teaching this class was subbing for the normal teacher; and the substitute is our Yoga Instructor. We would pretty much follow her into the nine circles of hell if she went; she's that good. So when she said she was subbing the Body Pump and wanted us to come, I was like, "You're kidding, right?"

My friends (traitors) all sing-songed, "Oh, that'll be awesome, Sue!" and immediately signed us all up.

Yeah, traitor #1 wasn't singing that tune when I showed up last night. "I'm so tired. We didn't promise we'd go tonight."

"Yes, you did. She said, I'll see you and you and you on Monday night at 6."

"Oh, I guess we'll go."

You bet your sweet bippy, we're going, you sadist.

So there we were. And to add to it, she made us go to the front of the class. I hate being in "classes" of any sort of athletic prowess. I suck; and I hate sucking in front of EVERYONE. It's like 7th grade PE all over again. To make matters worse, we were far and away from the door, so I couldn't just sneak out if it got to be too much (which admittedly is what I did LAST time, to a different teacher & class). I was in this for the long haul, for better or worse.

Time passed relatively quickly; and Sue, as always, was excellent at showing us how to do the movements, while making it fun and not making us feel stupid about it. And in the middle of the squats I thought I was going to die, literally die. Then after the squats were done, standing became a real chore because my legs shook like a palsied victim for the other 30 minutes of class. But I managed to do almost all of the moves for the class.

Granted today my range of motion is rather limited; and I expect (I totally expect) tomorrow's range of motion will be even less (and I have yoga tomorrow night!)--but by the end, I was rather impressed I hadn't died in the middle of the class. That I had done the moves almost as well and as many times as the regulars. I would totally high five someone right now in victory, but I can't really lift my arms (good thing, my keyboard sits on my lap, right?)

So what have you ever done that you couldn't believe you did--and you were totally proud of?

Vacation

May is always the time of year I contemplate vacation.

Mostly because I'm swamped under about 200 folders, of which I'd rather be doing ANYTHING else, than and about a 1000 questions daily of random shit and problems. Drama, drama, drama. Vacation begins to look mighty fine.

So I booked my plane ticket to go see Terri (and Tiff and Sin--but I'm flying to Terri's house--so she doesn't have to go in the parentheses) and will be gone for a week. Of course, being our plans are basically to everything as much as possible for as long as possible until we're completely broke--or dead, I imagine when I return from vacation, I will need a vacation to recover from it. Such are what vacations are all about though, I suppose. And when you're with friends, you don't notice you're tired as easily. Sorta like little kids who've been allowed to stay up for an overnight slumber party. Yeah, right, try getting them to go to bed at 8 pm. Good luck.

In the meantime till August, I'll still have folders. And reports. And reports of reports. And the 1000 daily dumbass questions...and drama. Tonight though, I'll be driving up to St. Louis to visit my friend Jackie, whom I also forget I'm tired when I spend time with her. (Forget, that is, until I find myself in the midst of a hypoglycemic rant and no idea why...and then I realize, maybe I should have let Jackie go to sleep hours ago. *LOL*)

Tomorrow, after my writing group, Jackie, Erica (Jackie's little sister--and rather my honorary little sister), and I will go see POTC3--because that's the good friend I am. *grins* It has nothing to do with the fact I only want to see that movie about a dozen more times or anything. No, no. It's friendship and loyalty only.

Where are you vacationing this year? Who will you most be glad to get away from at the office on your vacation and why? What is the first thing you're going to drink on your vacation?

My Beloved Jack

You'd think with four days off, I would have been able to compose an Ode for the many and varied ways I loved and adored POTC3. But if you know me, you know that once I hermit myself into my house, I immediately don pjs and don't do much of anything, let alone compose odes. Nay, I merely stared at my ceiling, sighed in a very swoony manner, and contemplated all the various ways I loved and adored POTC3.

Top 10 Reasons You Should See POTC3

10. The fight scene with the maelstorm. Now I know this scene was hyped to death but it was still extremely awesome! I was on the edge of my seat, nearly clutching the slightly post-teenaged boy beside me in supreme tension. PLUS there is something that is so unbelieveable that happens in that scene--and it's not that Will and Elizabeth have the most spectacular kiss ever!

9. Will and Elizabeth have the most spectacular kiss ever! Seriously. When it happened, every woman (and quite a few men) in the audience swooned in delight. What cinema magic!

8. The desert crab-moving-the-ship scene. It's particularly hysterical because Jack is up in the rigging like he is in the first movie, looking like the bold and wonderful pirate he is--and just in command.

7. Will actually LOOKS like a pirate in this movie. Before (and though I love Orlie; I have as many pics of him as I do Johnny) I thought he looked like a blacksmith posing as a pirate, but once he tied that scarf on--and he's wearing a black shirt... *fans self* Will IS a pirate.

6. It makes the 2nd movie make sense. Basically it's just the second half of the second movie. I like my loose ends tied up.

5. Did I mention that totally hot, sexy kiss between Will and Elizabeth? Did you read #9? Read it again. I mean, I thought the screen was going to melt--especially at one point when he was trying to get his boot back. (Hellion screaming in the audience: "Kiss higher, damnit!")

4. James Norrington. OMG. And that's all I can say about it.

3. Things HAPPENED I could NOT believe. Things where I gasped and went, "That wasn't supposed to happen! What the hell!" and yet they did. Then I spent my entire drive home going, "That's good storytelling. Talk about SINKING SHIPS." (No, the ship didn't sink. I only mean...way to ruin your characters lives totally!)

2. Witty Jack is back! And really, that's quite enough for anybody, right? I mean, we couldn't have pirates without Jack! And he's back--and multiplied, really, because he has some interesting hallucinations!

1. They obviously pave the ending to imply there will be another Pirates. Eventually. Thank God. Because there are some things that happened...well...there needs to be a fourth movie.

Countdown

4 more hours and I'll be with my beloved Jack again! I cannot wait!!!!

One More Day...and Then onto a Different Obsession

What? you say in your Scooby Doo voice. A different obsession? Yeah, yeah, I'll get to that. First, PIRATES.

Tomorrow I get to go see my sneak peek of Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End. *does pirate dance, lots of interpretative movements* VERY EXCITED...which anyone could tell you I am from the manifesto I wrote Monday at Romance Vagabonds about Everything I Learned About Writing I Learned From Captain Jack Sparrow, a Tolstoyian length opus of all things Jack. Bless my obsessed little heart.

I have my shirt laid out to wear tomorrow. A pirate shirt. (I'm wearing a different pirate shirt today; but tomorrow's will have Jack's pretty face on it.)

I really need this movie because I'm truly sick of folders, reports, Excel, folders, report data I can't get from faculty, and Excel--I really loathe, despise and abominate everything that is Excel. What a fucking stupid program, Bill Gates...or whoever wrote it. (I blame Bill, regardless.) *sighs* ANYWAY...Pirates is tomorrow...then a 4 day weekend to stay at home (and not drive and spend gas--which is like gold dust at the pumps now)--and possibly work on my book. Ha, ha.

Oh, the new obsession. (See the report has so scattered me...I'm rambling. I don't even have a THEME. What does that tell you? It tells you I need to see this damned movie and have a four day weekend!)

Lean, Mean Thirteen will be the next obsession. Sin wrote me in a funk that the reviews of this book aren't that good. I feel bad for her. I adore Ranger...but I've never thought the mysteries or hijinks of any of these books (EXCEPT 12, which we all agree was DIFFERENT and AWESOME) were anything but frothy wanna-be mysteries. (Sin has said the same; we agree that on the level of suspense and actually keeping the mystery a secret or tense until the end of the book is NOT Janet's strength here...it's characters and making us want to "watch the Stephanie Plum Show", which we do.)

Apparently this is another frothy wanna-be mystery in which Stephanie bumbles her way to figuring out the mystery a la Bridget Jones: Bounty Hunting in Trenton, while meanwhile juggling both Ranger and Morelli (whose apparent script for this entire book was to watch TV and eat potato chips--GOODNESS, I bet it's hard for Stephanie to make a decision in her love life...)

I'm sure this is no big surprise to either of us--because let's face it, we KNOW there is at least one more book she's contracted for...so it's obvious she's not going to resolve anything in the relationship line. Although I think the fact that Morelli is eating chips and being the Ultimate Lazy Man With Attitude, should be a big fat indicator that when Janet DOES decide to end these books--we know she's going with Ranger.

Of course, let's also be real. The Cupcakes and The Babes are too much like the Jets and the Sharks. If Janet, even though she's in the Babe camp, did write the end of the book clearly to say "Stephanie marries Ranger, has his 12 kids, and moves onto having a reality-TV bounty hunter series"--the Sharks (Cupcakes) would mafia her ass. I imagine she's going to "Lady Or The Tiger" this series and just piss off both factions entirely--and let us duke it out amongst ourselves who Stephanie stays with.

It's Ranger. We *know* it's Ranger. The Cupcakes will just have to suck it up.

Bad Boys, Bad Boys, Whatcha Gonna Do...?

To say I was excited when Disney decided to do two more Pirates of the Caribbean would be the understatement of the decade. To add to my level of excitement--they made Norrington a badass! And we know how much I love my men with a lovely layer of BAD to them. And except for the bit where Jack gets swallowed at the end and it abruptly ENDS, the second one was just as good as the first.

And it truly is a tie for me as Norrington has some delicious lines in this film, like when he says to Elizabeth, "There was a time I would have done anything for you to look at me like that." And he laughs when she denies she feels nothing for Jack. Yes, we all laughed, Commodore, we all laughed.

In three more days the third installment will hit the theaters. I already have my tickets for the Sneak Peak on Thursday (8 pm). *does a little pirate dance*

And here's my favorite quotes, mostly from the bad-asses, in movie 2 for your enjoyment! What's your favorite part of the 2nd movie? What do you hope will happen in the 3rd?

Jack Sparrow: [With his back to Elizabeth, thinking that she is a man] Come to join my crew, son?
Elizabeth Swann: I'm here to find my true love.
Jack Sparrow: [Startled] Deeply flattered, boy, but my first and only love is the sea.
Elizabeth Swann: Meaning Will Turner, Jack.
Jack Sparrow: [Turning around] Elizabeth!
[to a crew member]
Jack Sparrow: Hide the rum.
* * *
Jack Sparrow: We are very much alike, you and I, I and you... us.
Elizabeth Swann: Oh. Except for a sense of honor and decency and a moral center. And personal hygiene.
Jack Sparrow: [Sniffs his armpit and looks back] Trifles.
* * *
Elizabeth Swann: Jack, the letters, give them back.
Jack Sparrow: No. Persuade me.
Elizabeth Swann: You do know Will taught me how to handle a sword.
Jack Sparrow: As I said, persuade me.
* * *
Norrington: [drunk and angry] So am I worthy to serve under Captain Jack Sparrow...
[he draws his pistol and points it at Jack, who is hiding behind a pole]
Norrington: ... or should I just kill you now?
Jack Sparrow: [tries and fails to hide behind his pole] You're hired!
Norrington: Sorry. Old habits and all that.
[smiles and prepares to pull the trigger]
* * *
Elizabeth Swann: There will come a moment when you will have a chance to show it. To do the right thing.
Jack Sparrow: I love those moments. I like to wave at them as they pass by.
* * *
Jack Sparrow: Now where is that monkey? I want to shoot something!
* * *
Elizabeth Swann: [to Jack] Curiosity. You're going to want it. A chance to be admired, and gain the rewrds that follow. You won't be able to resist. You're going to want to know what it tastes like.
* * *
Elizabeth Swann: Why doesn't your compass work?
Jack Sparrow: ...My compass works fine.
* * *
Jack Sparrow: My tremendous intuitive sense of the female creature informs me that you are troubled.
* * *
Elizabeth Swann: [chains Jack to the pearl] It's after you, not the ship... It's not us. This is the only way, don't you see?
[leans in as if to kiss him, then pulls away]
Elizabeth Swann: I'm not sorry.
Jack Sparrow: [smiles] Pirate.
* * *
Jack Sparrow: [to Norrington] You look bloody awful. What are you doing here?
Norrington: You hired me. I can't help it if your standards are lax.
Jack Sparrow: You smell funny.
* * *
Jack Sparrow: [to Elizabeth] You know, these clothes do not flatter you at all. It should be a dress or nothing. I happen to have no dress in my cabin.

Wednesday's Movie Blog One Day Late

As you might know (or maybe not), I’ve been out sick a lot this week; however, I think it would be a travesty if I didn’t post my Movie Blog this week, especially when I was going to write about Pirates of the Caribbean. I mean, I’m sick—I ain’t dead. And this is by far, my favorite movie to put on when I’m sick…or well…or writing…or reading…or having sex….

Kidding with the last one. Haven’t actually tried that one yet—probably would though. That sounds like something I’d do.

I remember seeing the theatrical trailer for this flick in 2002, when they were advertising their 2003 blockbusters. I was with my friend Jackie at the time, in a theater that actually knows the meaning of stadium seating—and the screen is even larger than most movie screens. It came on, the soundtrack pounding in the background, and I was like a five-year-old seeing a movie for the first time—the thrill of excitement chilling down my arm, my popcorn hanging limply from my fingers as I stared, openmouthed at the screen—“Yo ho, yo ho” the little girl sing-songed—and there was Captain Jack Sparrow, turning for his three-quarter stance and smiling over his shoulder with his gun near his face.

I nearly swooned out of my chair and landed into the Cinemuck on the floor.

I didn’t blink for the minute and a half that trailer teased us—I didn’t breathe. And when it was over, Jackie and I turned as one, looked at each other, and said, “We’re so seeing that.” And we did. And we were total lunatics about it. We laughed hysterically throughout the whole movie. I probably hadn’t enjoyed a movie that much since the first Harry Potter movie (when I hadn’t even known who Harry Potter was or cared).

So just in case you’ve been living under a rock, I’m going to share my favorite moments and dialogue:

Will Turner: You cheated.
Jack Sparrow: Pirate.

* * *

Jack Sparrow: [to Weatherby Swann] I think we've all arrived at a very special place. Spiritually, ecumenically, grammatically.
Jack Sparrow: I want you to know that I was rooting for you. Know that.
[to Commodore Norrington]
Jack Sparrow: Elizabeth... it would never have worked between us darling. I'm sorry... Will... nice hat. Friends... This is the day that you will ALWAYS remember as the day that you...
[backs up and trips over ledge]

* * *

Will Turner: Where's Elizabeth?
Jack Sparrow: She's safe, just like I promised. She's all set to marry Norrington, just like she promised. And you get to die for her, just like you promised. So we're all men of our word really... except for, of course, Elizabeth, who is in fact, a woman.

* * *

Jack Sparrow: [looking at all the swords] Who makes all these?
Will Turner: I do. And I practice with them three hours a day.
Jack Sparrow: You need to find yourself a girl mate. Or perhaps the reason you practice three hours a day is that you already found one, and are otherwise incapable of wooing said strumpet. You're not a eunuch are you?

* * *

Jack Sparrow: Stop blowing holes in my ship!

* * *

Will Turner: We're going to steal a ship? That ship?
Jack Sparrow: Commandeer. We're going to commandeer that ship. Nautical term.

* * *

Jack Sparrow: One question about your business, boy, or there's no use going: This girl... how far are you willing to go to save her?
Will Turner: I'd die for her.
Jack Sparrow: Oh good. No worries then.

* * *

Jack Sparrow: [Imitating Elizabeth] "It must have been terrible for you, Jack. Must have been terrible." Well, it bloody is now.
[Seeing Norrington's ship off shore]
Jack Sparrow: There'll be no living with her after this.

* * *

Jack Sparrow: [Wakes up and sees Elizabeth burning the rum] No! Not good! Stop! Not good! What are you doing? You burned all the food, the shade... the rum!
Elizabeth: Yes, the rum is gone.
Jack Sparrow: Why is the rum gone?
Elizabeth: One: because it is a *vile* drink that turns even the most respectable men into complete scoundrels. Two: that signal is over a thousand feet high. The entire royal navy is out looking for me, do you think there is even the slightest chance they wont see it?
Jack Sparrow: But why is the rum gone?

So what's your favorite Jack moment?

POTC's Guide to Dating

A few years ago when LOTR's came out, there was this hysterical email that went around, offering a LOTR's Guide to Dating. The #1 bit of dating advice they offered (and to which nobody could argue): Some people will go to any lengths to get a ring; others, having had one for awhile, will go to any lengths to chuck it into a volcano. Too true. I've never even had a ring and I know there is wisdom in this statement.

I showed this list of dating rules to one of the Mathematics Education doctoral students, to which he suggested I add to this listing. Well, for one, I didn't think you could improve upon perfection (I mean, who can top that ring statement?); and two, you should write what you know, and my expertise does not lie with LOTR. (A fact that made my last coffee date go horribly, horribly awry.)

In any case, if I were to write a dating guide (Terri, you can stop snorting in laughter now) I would write it according to Pirates of the Caribbean. I mean, I've watched those movies about 700...I mean, five or six times, and as we all know with LOTRs, watching them more than once definitely takes a time commitment on your part. Like your entire Saturday.

So here are some rules to dating, according to pirates (and as with all rules--they're more like guidelines than actual rules.)

1) Timing is essential. Asking the love of your life to marry you while you're swordfighting a shipful of the enemy is probably not the optimal time to propose marriage.

2) There's nothing kinkier or more fun than handcuffing the bad boy pirate and having your wicked way with him--but make sure your goody two-shoes boyfriend doesn't catch you doing it.

3) No matter what gorgeous, well-adjusted, career-minded NICE guy you fall for--you'll always secretly wish he was a bit more like Captain Jack Sparrow.

4) If you want to have any chance among pirates in competing against their love for gold--you better not dress as a boy. You should probably dress in nothing.

5) If all else fails during an awkward situation, in which you cannot gracefully extricate yourself, fall off the side wall of a fort into the ocean below. Be sure to miss the rocks.

Can you think of any "guidelines" to dating a pirate?

QOTD

I love quotes. (But then as a writer, I love words...and I love how other people arrange them.) So today I'm posting one of my favorite quotes. (Terri, I hope you're sitting down.)

“It seems that it is madder never to abandon one's self than often to be infatuated; better to be wounded, a captive and a slave, than always to walk in armor” --Margaret Fuller

And you'll note, it ties in with yesterday's blog. Don't you love themes?

Crushes

I suffer from crushes constantly, irrepressibly, and against my will. Oh, they're usually fun for a time. For instance, Orlando Bloom is a current crush; and the cute mechanic who worked on my car at Ford is also a fond crush of mine. If you’ve got melting, puppy-dog eyes and a woman-eating-let’s-get-naked grin, I’m pretty much toast. But typically, after a certain amount of time, I don’t crush on certain people any more. They eventually get bumped from the play list like a Milli-Vanilli one-hit wonder.

Such is the topic of this blog, a one-hit wonder.

At the impressionable age of 14, I rebelled and joined the Baptist Church because the preacher’s sons were two years older than me and totally hot. (We can see my spirituality has always been in the right place.) Keith and Kevin. Beautiful blue eyes; ripped; and killer smiles. And mostly nice to a youngster two years their junior who so obviously had the hots for them—well, as nice as was possible for teenage boys could be at any rate. They moved straight to the top of Hellion’s Crush Play List. They mostly stayed there until I was 18 (though Keith was removed from the list when I was 16 and never made it back on—but that’s another blog.)

So at the top of my Crush Play List sat Kevin, the beautiful preacher’s son and nice to boot. And best of all, he remembered me. We’d occasionally run into each other—and he’d remember my name and such. (This was why he remained so high on the list. Kevin had Rock Star God status and I was a peon—to be remembered was a huge deal to me. Yes, I know, but I'm a dweeb. It's an unfortunate fact.)

I went to college and found new guys to put at the top of the play list. Kevin and I never ran into each other. All was good—because it’s tough crushing on a person. I don’t know about you, but when I get around someone I’m crushing on, the tripping heartbeat and the inability to form coherent sentences…well, it’s not good for the ego to feel like a complete ass in someone’s presence all the time. Kevin has never had the opportunity to meet the funny, witty, fun Hellion--only Hellion the Tongue-Tied Twit.

But Hellion, you say, you're older and wiser now...and we know damn well, you're funny. Funny you should say that--here's the point of the blog.

So I’m at the gym (I swear 90% of my stories start with these five words) and I’m on the elliptical—and on pops a commercial. One of those ones you know were locally made—it’s low-tech, cheesy, not impressive…and there is Kevin! In the commercial!

I suck in air, grasping the TV, gurgling and pointing at the screen. He looks the same—just as hot, unattainable, and flashing that killer smile. I move up on the articulate scale from gurgles to squeals that perhaps a hamster could have interpreted: “Look, Kevin is on TV! I had a crush on him in high school! I thought he was so hot!” Unfortunately my friend Holly is unable to speak hamster and simply thought I was having a heart attack.

“What? What? TV? Are you okay?”

Frustrated she could not interprete my clear joy and enthusiasm at seeing Kevin, I waved her off and stared at the screen, not wanting to miss a second of him. He's there with his wife (she’s pretty); and I thought, “Gosh, I’m glad he found someone. He’s so nice; I hope she’s nice.” And the commercial ended and I was very, very, very happy that this had not been a real life run-in since I’m pretty sure Kevin doesn’t speak hamster either…and I would really hate to hear these kiss-of-death words, “Hellion! You haven’t changed a bit!”

Then I had a post-commercial low of “You complete geek. A 30-second commercial and you’ve flashed back 15 years to Moronville (or perhaps Hamsterville.)” This low was complete with self-recriminations of “You’re still single” and thus “still a loser”, which I tried to stem off like an EMT trying to tourniquet an artery. Too late. (I swear, if I could put a muzzle on my Inner Critic, he’d be thrown in the dungeon never to see the light of day…but again, my Inner Critic is another blog.)

So do you have any crushes from your past that send you back to the 16-year-old you still are inside? Do you believe the happiest marriages are those with people you meet in your childhood? Did you ever like Milli Vanilli?

Movie Blog: The Pirate

Okay, so we all know I'm slightly obsessed about pirates. Their rakish smiles, their inability to not take things that aren't theirs, their ability to assessorize... *swoony sigh* I love pirates.

Now you may not know this, but Pirates of the Caribbean 3 is coming out in 15 1/2 days. (I know, it was news to me, too.)

In honor of this debut, I am blogging about my favorite pirates movies for the next few Wednesdays, starting with the Gene Kelly classic: The Pirate.

This movie combines both things I adore most: pirates and bursting into song for no apparent reason, while dancing in a carefully chorographed motion you just thought of.

In case you haven't seen this classic bit of cinematography, it is a classic tale about a young girl engaged to someone else--but she's in love (or fascinated by) a pirate named Macoco. A traveling stage performer finds this out (and being he has fallen instantly in love with her)--he starts posing as the famous pirate Macoco. Comedy of Errors ensues. Definitely worth the watch just to follow the story itself, but Gene Kelly in shorts, dancing across the stage and pressing Judy Garland close...well, that's not bad either.

If you have seen this musical, what did you think of it? Do you also think Gene Kelly is one of the Hottest Dead Guys around? What do you think of pirates? Good as pets or hard to housebreak?

The Sassy Scribblers

I spent my Saturday with my Critique Group, the Sassy Scribblers. (Sometimes we’re The Sassy Scribes; we’re never quite sure which one we are, but to be fair, we only just decided on our name last month. I mean, there’s three of us, for crying out loud. It’s just easier to call each other by our names.) I love my critique group. Both of these ladies are the most generous, upbeat, fun, witty, hilarious…well, you’ve got the picture.

We meet the first Saturday of every month, usually at this place just off I-70 called “Maggie’s Café”, a lovely trucker’s stop off with awesome food for cheap prices, and the waitresses are characters—and unbelievably accommodating. We even have an agenda (to keep on task), and the last thing on the list every month is the same: PIE. You see where most of our priorities lie.

I have been a part of critique groups in the past. Once upon a time when I got “very serious” about writing (the Lucy book, if anyone is interested), I joined an online critique group. That was an interesting experience, to put it politely. I think it meant well initially, but as with anything online—and with any group over a number of two—it got to be a hotbed of potential Middle East activity. Flamers, Righteous-Critiquers, the whole nine yards. In fact, at one point when the group seemed to have turned on one lone member, I jumped in to say “I don’t think she meant anything by it”—and got flamed myself. Of course, I did win a brand new friend—and we merrily exited said group and made our own. *LOL* She was an awesome critiquer—up until she quit writing altogether.

So we remained friends and I went in search of another critique group. I joined the Missouri chapter of RWA—which had another group of lovely fun thoughtful ladies; however, their critique group met on Tuesdays in St. Louis. I live 2 ½ hours away. I’m a dedicated writer—okay mostly dedicated—but I couldn’t see myself driving 5 hours round-trip to meet with these guys, so I had to settle for the once a month meetings. They’re good, but weren’t the same as having a critique group. Then I met Kris, also a part of the MORWA, and also not a fan of the Tuesday meetings—and thus Sassy Scribblers was born.

I cannot recommend enough the importance of critique groups. Critiquing other people’s work improves your writing; and them critiquing you also improves your writing. The support keeps you writing—it is a lonely business and there is no replacing having your butt in the chair and writing every day, but I have to say, having people who go, “This is so good. What if you did this?” helps you out of writer’s block and keeps you focused on the big prize of finishing.

Meeting once a month with my small group is enough for me to write and help others. There are some groups that critique and submit once a week, and I don’t think these people sleep…or email or anything. But there is a critique group out there that can meet your needs. I know. I found one. You can too.

Are you for or against critique groups? Have you learned anything from being in a critique group? Would you like to be in a critique group? Or are you a reader and are very thrilled you don’t have to bother with things like critique groups?

Please Excuse Us, Your Program...

Is being interrupted for this special announcement.

I'm blogging at the Romance Vagabonds! (Can you believe they invited me to blog? Neither can I. I must have read the invite like three times before writing "HELL YES" in 36 pt font and whinging it back.)

Anyway today is my virginal debut. Sara has graciously given up her regular blogging day to let me babble about The Hero's Journey. I know, I know. I don't know why I didn't choose to babble about rum and Brad Pitt's butt either...but it's what I picked. It's okay. We'll save Brad Pitt's ass for another day.

www.romancevagabonds.com

Your regularly scheduled Friday Music Blog will occur at a later time. Possibly around 3:30 or so when I'm supposed to be doing folders and I'm screwing off again. Or possibly Monday or Tuesday instead. *eyeing folders*

Have a great Friday, guys, and I hope to see you over at Romance Vagabonds!

Acts of God

I’m not an overly religious person, but I do believe in God. Here’s an example of why I think God is out there, looking out for us and that we’re not just left to the fickle finger of Fate.

Last week, my childhood best friend Pam who changed gyms some months ago emails me to say: “Hey, did you know Gold’s gym (which is the gym I belong to) has been bought out by Key Largo?” (which is her gym). “I can go to yoga again! Yippee!” This was the silver lining in a spiral of depression since Mattycakes no longer worked there (nor Jack), and by extension, Mattycakes’ girlfriend and my new best friend, Sin—no longer frequented Gold’s. That Wednesday, Pam comes to yoga. It is awesome.

This week Pam comes again to yoga. Afterwards, Holly, Pam, and I leave at the same time, making exciting plans to see the midnight showing of Harry Potter in July. We head to our cars. As I go to get into mine, which is parked across from Holly’s—Holly wigs and says, “Shit, I locked my keys in my car.” She threatens to hari-kari herself in shame (I only wish I was exaggerating this part), as I try to reassure her. I then get the bright idea to flag down Pam. Why?

Hellion: A History. In January when Holly locked her keys in her car, we had a hell of a time figuring out how to unlock the car again. (Fortunately that time a custodial guy was quite dexterous with a piece of coat hanger. God intervenes again.) Back then, I had called my friend Chris (Pam’s husband) to do some hypothetical questioning. “Say I lock my keys in my car and I don’t want to call the police to come break my window—do you know how I could get a slim jim or anything?” And he says, “Tyson has a kit. You can’t really get slim jims anymore.” Bloody thieves ruined it for all of us.

Tyson, for the sake of character development here, is Chris’s childhood best friend, and like Chris, he is a chivalrous, kind man who doesn’t make you feel stupid for doing idiotic things like locking keys in your car. He also makes this sexy little purr-growl sound if you ask, but that doesn’t have a lot to do with this story. (And he’s happily married, so no one get their hopes up, okay?)

Okay, so Holly wigs. I say, “Hang on” and I start flying across the parking lot after Pam. This is difficult in flip flops. It’s been raining a little, though the rain (and this is important to note) had momentarily stopped. “Pam!” I’m shouting like a maniac as she doesn’t see me, pulling away and going down the parking lot. “Pam!” I look like one of those frilled dragon lizards, waving my hands in the air and running after. Very attractive. She still doesn’t see me. Shit. Suddenly there is a piercing whistle, one of those redneck ones that I seriously need to learn—and lo and behold—Pam stops in the parking lot. I nearly kissed the stranger who did this—bless his beautiful hide. “I love you,” I shout at him as I trot up to Pam’s car and explain the predicament. I get in the car, and Pam is trying to figure out how to go over there—as Holly wanders up to the car too, clearly disoriented and still depressed. Holly gets in the car. Pam drives us over to our cars and we check to make sure Holly’s keys are indeed locked in her car.

They are.

Pam calls Chris, and Chris gives her Tyson’s number. I take Holly’s scissors away so she’ll stop threatening to commit hari-kari. Pam calls Tyson, who says, “No problem, be there in a minute.” And Pam gets off the phone. We all look depressed, so Pam, master organizer, says, “Let’s go to Shakey’s and get some ice cream. It’ll take him a while to get here.” We go. We get the brilliant idea to get some ice cream for Tyson (since he is doing this out of the goodness of his heart.) We stand in a hellaciously long line. We marvel that there are only two workers at this joint, but there are about a half dozen people in our line, and about 10 cars in the drive thru. Nice. We finally place our orders (except Pam was skipped—and never got her ice cream, poor woman) and wait for them to be filled. I think we all aged about a decade waiting for the ice cream. As we’re waiting, Holly and I suddenly notice Pam has disappeared. I mean, she’s short, but she’s slightly harder to misplace than this.

This time we both kinda wig, though rationally we know—she’s probably headed back to the cars to be there when Tyson shows up. But why’d she go by herself? After a few minutes, Holly agrees to venture off to check and I’ll wait for the orders. We both figure she’ll be back long before any of us get our ice cream. She disappears through the parking lot, and whaddayaknow? Our ice cream is ready. I collect it and I stand for a minute or two, then think, “Well, I’ll just head back.”

Now as I’m going, I notice this white SUV that recently parked. I do recall Pam saying something about Tyson driving a white SUV. I *think*, “I bet that’s Ty.”—but I’m not going to check unless I’m pretty sure. I glance over and it looks like an arguing deaf couple in the front seat. Lots of animated gestures and discussion. I think, Nah, can’t be Ty and go to hike off. Suddenly I hear, “Hellion! Over here!” and I turn, and it’s the arguing deaf couple, only it’s really Tyson and Pam. I happily skip over to the SUV and hand Tyson his ice cream, which he is quite delighted with.

Holly comes back with her car. After about 10 minutes. We all talk for a time, and we laugh and carry on and it’s good. Then we part ways; Pam and I head back to our cars—stopping over in the gym again for a quick potty break, then we all go home. I no sooner get into my car and turn onto the road to leave, and it starts downpouring, like literal sheets of wrathful rain. It downpours the entire 45 minute drive home. I could have floated home in an ark.

And to think I could have been out in the parking lot, trying to unlock Holly’s door with a coat hanger, standing in a downpour. Because as of a week before, Pam didn’t belong to our gym—and wouldn’t have been with us at yoga—and if she hadn’t been with us, we couldn’t have called in our friend-of-a-friend card to have her call Tyson. And hell, if she wasn’t married to Chris, who knew Tyson—we would have had the police coming to break one of Holly’s windows. That’s not luck, my friends, or serendipity—that’s God looking out for you.