Goth-ick!

I don't know what made me do it. But as sudden urges do, I found myself in the presence of items I hadn't bothered even thinking about for many, many years: Gothic romantic novels.

When I was living in Anoka all those years ago, we would frequent this used book store in Osseo. My mother was addicted (and I'm not talking about frequency, I'm talking about obsession) to romance novels. She calls me a literature snob because I have never really been a fan (I think I've called them "crap" a time or two - I apologize to anyone who has a particular love of this genre). Anyhow, back then, she got me reading these books of a romantic persuasion, and I have to admit: I did like them. Of course, I was between the ages of eleven and thirteen. I probably wasn't qualified to make a judgment about the quality of said books.

On a whim, I started thinking about these books. I think it started with a film conversation. For whatever reason, I came to the conclusion that Hollywood hasn't produced any good Gothic cinema for years, and the majority of which (and probably the best of which) was foreign in origin. I'm not really all that versed on the subject, but here I was expressing an opinion I had no right to express.

Anyway, it got me thinking about those books. So, down the basement I went and dug out these books. I only had a few of them left (I imagine that several trips ago, most went with to Half-Price Books and never returned). And honestly, I didn't really remember a single story. I don't think this a statement about how good a story any of them were. I suppose one story faded into another until I didn't remember what was what, especially when they were probably read in succession.

So now, here I am, re-reading Thunder Heights. And I gotta say, it's not the best written story I've ever encountered. (To be fair, these authors were rather prolific more out of necessity than desire. It's hard to be profound on a deadline.)

Thankfully, it wasn't until I got to page 130 that I encountered any statement like the following:

She raised her own head without hesitation and went quite simply into his arms. He was not gentle now. His mouth was hard upon her lips so that they felt bruised beneath its touch. Her body ached under the pressure of his arms, but she did not want the pain lessened. When he raised his head she would have put her arms about his neck and risen on her toes to rest her cheek again his own, admitting everything - all the wild feeling that surged through her, all the wanting so long held in check because there was no one to want. Her movements were those of one spellbound, as though she had no will of her own, and could bow only to his.

I got one word for you people: Ick!

She didn't want the pain lessened? She was spellbound? By a man?

If the kiss was so hard he actually bruised my lips, I'd be nipping that one in the bud. "You bruised my f---ing lips, you dick!" (I'm sounding a little angry today. I'll try to scale it back.)

Even on my most needy of days, I was never spellbound. This can't be based on any sort of reality. Maybe I'm being harsh. I suppose the origin of the novel dictated that there should be some deviation from reality; escapism. But come on! I wonder if she can feel the "wild feeling" surging through me (hint: it rhymes with Gromit).

Ah well, love scenes aside, I'm digging the descriptions of the settings. There is nothing more fascinating than a weird, big, old house filled with secrets from the past.

The turrets were no longer bright as Althea King had described them. Storms had weathered the house to a dingy gray, left too long unpainted, and the trees crowding about gave it the look of a place left uninhabited. It appeared enchanted, spellbound, there on its remote heights. Not a house, but the picture of a house, torn from the pages of fantasy.

I have this thing about big, old houses. They capture my imagination in ways that few things will. I sometimes wish I were stealthy enough to break into a few of them, just to peek around. My all-time favorite house on film is the house in The Changeling, the George C. Scott movie, not the Angelina Jolie pic. That giant old house was just created on a film set, but if it weren't, I can guarantee you I would've visited it by now.

Anyhow, I'll probably blast through these books, mainly just so I can say I did. It feels more like a guilty pleasure than an actually beneficial activity, but most reading is anyway.

By the way, and on a completely different note, I have watched the end number on the pilot episode of Glee at least twenty times. This is bordering on ridiculous, but admittedly, this is going to be a fun show if this episode is any indication. I wasn't a show choir person myself - I left that to my sister - I was already a band geek. Still, it has that quality that only a well-formed cast can put together. And who doesn't love Journey?!

The love is gone.

This might be the end between me and Hollywood Video. The love affair has lasted several years, but last night was the last straw and it's time for an official break-up.

You see, dear friends, about seven years ago, after becoming disillusioned with Blockbuster, I decided to concentrate my video-renting efforts with a smaller chain of stores, Hollywood Video. At the time, it was ideal. They had more of the types of titles that I liked and they offered to give me back a dollar every time I returned one of their new releases before midnight the next day. Plus, they offered five night rentals (which were a novelty at the time). So, to say the least, I fell in love, and as all love affairs start, one assumes that it will last forever.

A few years ago, I discovered Netflix, and I admit I cheated on my beloved. There were no due dates, I could have out as many movies in a month as I wanted, and all for less than twenty dollars. It was a distraction from my love, but I still relied heavily on HV for my sudden viewing urges, so the relationship continued.

But last night, after seeing what might be available on the fly, I discovered that HV's prices had risen again (to $4.49 a rental). They have a new program called PowerPlay - a competitive response to Blockbuster - but even that couldn't entice me to stay. I cannot watch HV die a slow and painful death, caused by HV's own unhealthy actions. It's sad, to say the least, and my devotion should continue despite these ill-made decisions. But, dear readers, my heart is broken, and indeed, the love is gone.

I shall miss the familiar faces of the employees there, the sounds echoing off the high ceilings and tiled floors, the smell of their library. But my heart, once lost, is lost forever.

Goodbye my lovely, and may you find happiness with your other patrons who still devote themselves wholeheartedly to you.

Why God invented mosquitos.

Last night we checked out the DCI show in Greendale. It's interesting going to these things. Here are these kids (some of them really small - I can't believe I was ever that young sometimes), who have worked so hard, traveling around the country - they were pretty impressive, most of them.

The rules are clearly different in judging drum and bugle corps marching compared to high school marching band competitions (they are a lot more lax). Marching off the field, no rules about marching on the field, chaos, etc. Anyway, I had a good time.

Funny though, the first group we saw was - how shall we say? - bad. I didn't want to say it. But they really were. And my thought was: If the whole show is like this, should I stay?

Clearly this group was a brand new corps, so they are on one end of the learning curve. The group was small in comparison to the other corps and the marching and music was so not clean. (Listen to me judge - I was terrible when I was in hs marching - at least my playing was horrible. I know, I'm such a hypocrit.)

But the rest were pretty fantastic. I had my favorites (I won't mention names - *cough* Velvet Knights *cough*), but overall it was thoroughly enjoyable.

The fans really get into this stuff. My mom told me this story about my dad dragging her to a show with the NY Skyliners when they were first married and he and his friends were wooping and screaming and the like. You'd think they were at a football game or something.

As my grandpa used to say, "Good stuff, Maynard."

Downside: bug bites, people. In the end, I was scratching endlessly. The stupid mosquitos came out about a half hour before the show ended and of course, I was a target of their blood lust. Simply put, God was punishing us when he invented mosquitos. They carry disease, they annoyingly fly right in front of your face (and sometimes buzz in your ear), they bite you in the most inconvenient of places (back side of my knee - ugh! - and on my scalp - yes, my scalp), they cause you to use the stinkiest antidotes to the itch (bring on the Calamine), and though they don't fly at the speed of light, they make it impossible to kill them!

So, that was that.

Then I went out for pie. With ice cream. Yummmm.

Finally, relief...

This morning, I was glad to wake up to less pain. Actually mobility - who knew?

I'll never take my working limbs for granted again. My right arm isn't fully mobile yet, but the strength is returning. Overall, the sharp pains - the kind that make me sit rocking like a psych patient - have subsided quite a bit.

All I can say is, "Thank God!" For a while I didn't think it would ever end. There was a point where all I was doing was laying down in a very specific position because it was the only way that the pain wasn't completely unbearable. I've downed a ridiculous amount of ibuprofen over the last week or so.

As a result of this experience, however, I don't have much to blog about. Not much happens when you're just lying around, except piles of dirty dishes magically appear, taunting you.

I hope I didn't miss too much in the blogosphere.

My heart belongs to Hulu.

So, as previously stated, Hulu is my new BFF. Can't help it. Going through a bit of the satellite withdrawal. (It's really not that bad.) I can find a couple shows to watch and I'm good for a while. Not a complete substitute, and I have to admit, it's nice not having an excuse to watch several hours of TV a day.

However, Hulu has offered up a fine selection of television viewing including a new show I'm digging, Warehouse 13. The premise sounds a little used and dopey, but it's entertaining just the same, and kind of a funnier version of Fringe (which was last season's best new show as far as I'm concerned - I think the SciFi girl in me is speaking out loud and clear). Be sure to watch the Pilot first.

They say we can't have it all, but they've never been to Hulu.

Dawdling - yeah, that's right.

I am a little annoyed with Blogger today. I have this really bad habit of wasting time by trying to find other cool or unique or weird blogs. So, I hit the "next blog" button, looking for others, and today, it seems that they just keep providing me the same five or six over and over, until I finally get the point and give up.

I like checking out other blogs. It's fun. I try to give a look-see to most of the ones that I'm following most days. Maybe I should be doing that instead of adding more to the already oversized list of weblogs I'm already following.

Or better yet, get some freakin' work done.

Just a thought.

Update: My sister is reporting that my niece got her first molar in. This weekend, Lily was being especially whiny (and annoying), and Shannon was crabbing at her a little for it. Then she felt bad when she realized that the kid poked another tooth through, and not one of the fun ones. In addition to this, Lily is now officially afraid of bugs. This is funny because this is the same toddler that was previously trying to kiss ladybugs. Now, if a fly lands on her or an ant crawls on her, she freaks out like me when there's a spider in the tub (envision a crazy person running around, arms flailing). She is so unpredictable (Lily, not the crazy person - me). And quickly becoming a girly-girl. I think Shannon was hoping that Lily would be a little tomboyish like she was when she was little. But Lily may change back yet. We'll see.