I'm starting the research for a pitch we hope to go out with in a couple of weeks, and it's the kind of thing where one might actually need (gasp!) books rather than relying on the internet. So yesterday I did a little searching through the L.A. library catalog, determined which branches had the books I needed, and set out.
The L.A. library system has gone through a surge of library building in the past few years. Clearly some voters somewhere approved some bond measure to allow for library construction, because every other community seems to have a brand-spanking-new library building, most of them architecturally stunning.
And the case was no different when I went to the Westwood branch to pick up a couple of books. The lobby was stunning -- huge block panels of (I think) maple, trendy frosted glass, a couple of walls sheathed in floor-to-ceiling copper.
The library itself, which was upstairs, was also gorgeous. A wall of high windows carefully positioned to allow sunlight to sparkle through bright treetops. Brand-new, vaguely craftsman-style furniture, great lighting. Seating for well over 100 people (I counted). An enormous space, probably around 4000 square feet or even more.
But no books.
Okay, I exaggerate. There were a few books. I strolled through the adult fiction and non-fiction sections, trying to approximate the shelf space. I figure there were about 2000 shelf feet of books. In a room that could easily have held 20,000 shelf feet and still felt spacious.
When I was growing up, our local library had hardly anywhere to sit. One table for adults. A few random wooden chairs and benches for kids. But it was packed. The children's section alone had more books than yesterday's entire library. My childhood library was crowded, architecturally boring, nowhere to sit. But we had something to read.
I guess it's a statement of our current cultural priorities. The library looks good. Isn't that what's important? After all, it's easier to raise money for a building (a building that someone can put their name on, perhaps!) than for the content that might change someone's lives. I mean, who's going to vote for a bond issue to buy books? That's too risky -- people will want to ask, "Which books? What if I don't approve of the books they buy?"
It's much safer to just build a building. A gorgeous building. And if it doesn't serve the purpose for which it was built... oh well.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
TV THOUGHTS: THE EMMYS
Well, the Emmys were on Sunday night, and I sort of feel a duty say something about them.
In the same way, I felt a sort of duty to watch. I knew (sort of) a couple of people nominated or presenting this year, so I thought I should watch.
But it sure wasn't the most exciting three hours of TV I've ever seen.
It was hard to get excited about too many of the awards when the nominations were so wacky this year. The TV Academy, as you've doubtless read elsewhere, changed the whole nomination process in an effort to shake things up and let newer shows compete more fairly. But the result was that last year's series winners (Lost and Desperate Housewives) weren't even nominated.
So while I suppose it's a worthy win for 24 as best dramatic series, was it a fair one when Lost wasn't even on the list?
The show itself was pretty well done. Conan O'Brian did a fine job as host. I liked his spoof of "Trouble" from The Music Man, in which he bemoaned the ratings woes of NBC this season -- but it did strike me as awfully "inside baseball" for the general audience. I don't believe most people care about the relative rankings of the networks -- and I don't believe they should care.
His opening montage, where he dropped in to shows ranging from Lost to House to 24 to The Office was cleverly done and well-paced -- though I found it incredibly jarring that they started the whole montage with a plane crash, for several reasons: (1) There had just been a major U.S. plane crash that day (evidently they couldn't alter the montage in time); (2) We're all just too aware of terrorism on planes these days, changing our visceral response to such a scene; (3) It made me think they were trying to spoof Snakes on a Plane, which would be inappropriate as it would draw attention to a movie rather than a TV show; and (4) It turned out they were spoofing the opening episode of Lost -- but that was two years ago, and definitionally out of date!
Conan did a deft job throughout the show, I thought. I actually liked the Bob-Newhart-trapped-in-a-vacuum-sealed-container bit. (The concept was that he would run out of air if the show didn't end on time.) Somehow it made me feel the show really would end on time! (And it did.) However, there was really no ending to the skit -- Where were the writers?
The reunion of the original Charlie's Angels felt a bit awkward, though they did such a good job (esp. Kate Jackson) reading their teleprompter speeches with emotion and dignity that it made me wonder why the other presenters so often looked so dorky. The best acceptance speech was, hands down, the comedy writer (for The Office??) who listed the people he did not want to thank (e.g., his high school English teacher who didn't think he was funny).
The dresses were by and large in good taste and absolutely lovely -- some of the nicest I didn't see until the spread in the newspaper the next day. The absolute winner, in my book, was Julia Louis Dreyfuss's white and black number.
And that was the Emmys. Done and gone, somewhat lackluster, weeks before they should have occurred. Because the real story about the Emmys was that the TV Academy agreed to dump their most valuable night in the doldrums of August all so NBC could present their new Sunday Night Football uninterrupted.
Making it very very clear that honoring the great work of your peers is all well and good, but it doesn't hold a candle to making money.
Welcome to Hollywood, folks.
In the same way, I felt a sort of duty to watch. I knew (sort of) a couple of people nominated or presenting this year, so I thought I should watch.
But it sure wasn't the most exciting three hours of TV I've ever seen.
It was hard to get excited about too many of the awards when the nominations were so wacky this year. The TV Academy, as you've doubtless read elsewhere, changed the whole nomination process in an effort to shake things up and let newer shows compete more fairly. But the result was that last year's series winners (Lost and Desperate Housewives) weren't even nominated.
So while I suppose it's a worthy win for 24 as best dramatic series, was it a fair one when Lost wasn't even on the list?
The show itself was pretty well done. Conan O'Brian did a fine job as host. I liked his spoof of "Trouble" from The Music Man, in which he bemoaned the ratings woes of NBC this season -- but it did strike me as awfully "inside baseball" for the general audience. I don't believe most people care about the relative rankings of the networks -- and I don't believe they should care.
His opening montage, where he dropped in to shows ranging from Lost to House to 24 to The Office was cleverly done and well-paced -- though I found it incredibly jarring that they started the whole montage with a plane crash, for several reasons: (1) There had just been a major U.S. plane crash that day (evidently they couldn't alter the montage in time); (2) We're all just too aware of terrorism on planes these days, changing our visceral response to such a scene; (3) It made me think they were trying to spoof Snakes on a Plane, which would be inappropriate as it would draw attention to a movie rather than a TV show; and (4) It turned out they were spoofing the opening episode of Lost -- but that was two years ago, and definitionally out of date!
Conan did a deft job throughout the show, I thought. I actually liked the Bob-Newhart-trapped-in-a-vacuum-sealed-container bit. (The concept was that he would run out of air if the show didn't end on time.) Somehow it made me feel the show really would end on time! (And it did.) However, there was really no ending to the skit -- Where were the writers?
The reunion of the original Charlie's Angels felt a bit awkward, though they did such a good job (esp. Kate Jackson) reading their teleprompter speeches with emotion and dignity that it made me wonder why the other presenters so often looked so dorky. The best acceptance speech was, hands down, the comedy writer (for The Office??) who listed the people he did not want to thank (e.g., his high school English teacher who didn't think he was funny).
The dresses were by and large in good taste and absolutely lovely -- some of the nicest I didn't see until the spread in the newspaper the next day. The absolute winner, in my book, was Julia Louis Dreyfuss's white and black number.
And that was the Emmys. Done and gone, somewhat lackluster, weeks before they should have occurred. Because the real story about the Emmys was that the TV Academy agreed to dump their most valuable night in the doldrums of August all so NBC could present their new Sunday Night Football uninterrupted.
Making it very very clear that honoring the great work of your peers is all well and good, but it doesn't hold a candle to making money.
Welcome to Hollywood, folks.
Monday, August 28, 2006
QUIZ OF THE WEEK
I found this one sort of interesting, because my brain alignment is actually pretty screwed up.
As an adult, I've come to realize that I was probably born naturally left-handed. I am left-eyed (the eye you aim with). I am left-footed (the foot you kick with, or the foot you use for the first step on the stairs). And there are a lot of things I do left-handed that you're just not taught. I open jars left-handed. I thread needles left-handed.
But when I was a baby, my dad had an incredible old-world prejudice against lefties (that "sinister" thing, I guess). He insisted that, for the first two years of my life, every time something was handed to me, it be put in my right hand. I have vague memories of getting in trouble for trying to use my left hand to do certain things. And when I started to draw and write as a toddler, of course the pencil went into my right hand as well.
Lee thinks all this warped my brain. He should know, I guess.
Anyway, it's an interesting quiz. Try it out!
As an adult, I've come to realize that I was probably born naturally left-handed. I am left-eyed (the eye you aim with). I am left-footed (the foot you kick with, or the foot you use for the first step on the stairs). And there are a lot of things I do left-handed that you're just not taught. I open jars left-handed. I thread needles left-handed.
But when I was a baby, my dad had an incredible old-world prejudice against lefties (that "sinister" thing, I guess). He insisted that, for the first two years of my life, every time something was handed to me, it be put in my right hand. I have vague memories of getting in trouble for trying to use my left hand to do certain things. And when I started to draw and write as a toddler, of course the pencil went into my right hand as well.
Lee thinks all this warped my brain. He should know, I guess.
Anyway, it's an interesting quiz. Try it out!
| You Are 60% Left Brained, 40% Right Brained |
 The left side of your brain controls verbal ability, attention to detail, and reasoning. Left brained people are good at communication and persuading others. If you're left brained, you are likely good at math and logic. Your left brain prefers dogs, reading, and quiet. The right side of your brain is all about creativity and flexibility. Daring and intuitive, right brained people see the world in their unique way. If you're right brained, you likely have a talent for creative writing and art. Your right brain prefers day dreaming, philosophy, and sports. |
Friday, August 25, 2006
THE PACE OF TECHNOLOGY
Some of us don't have much trouble keeping up with the rapid changes of technology. Our computers tell us when our software needs updating, we trade our phones and digi cameras upward on a yearly basis, we download and upload and photoshop and text message without even thinking about it.
But it's not that way for everyone. Take my mom, for example.
Her 15-year-old TV died this week. She wanted to call a repairman. She thought it would cost, oh, $30 for a repairman to come out to her house and fix everything. No! we insisted. The repairman was going to cost $165. And that was just to show up. Actually fixing an antique TV would cost a whole lot more.
The concept that a 15-year-old TV could be considered 'antique' was baffling to her. As was the realization that her TV was not plugged into an aerial on the roof ("You'll have to go up on the roof to check out the aerial," she kept saying. "No, mom, you have cable TV," we kept saying. "No I don't." "Do you get CNN?" "Yes." "Then you have cable TV." "I do? But then what do we do about the aerial on the roof?")
But all that was nothing compared to what awaited her when we got to Best Buy (which she had never heard of).
See, she didn't know about plasma screen TVs. Or what a liquid crystal display was. And she didn't understand why so many of the TVs seemed to be so wide. Or why they were all playing the same thing and she couldn't change the channels.
We managed to find the one aisle of tube TVs left in the store. But even there we had problems. She didn't understand why most of the TVs are now in aluminum cases (or whatever metal or plastic it actually is) rather than wood or black. Why couldn't she order a TV exactly the way she wanted? And why were we even at Best Buy, rather than going to Costco where we'd get a better price? (Well, because Costco doesn't sell tube TVs anymore.)
We ended up with a choice of two TVs, out of the 100 or so they had in the store (the only tube TVs with black frames around the screen). We chose one. It was all so overwhelming, she'll probably have to rest for days to recover. (The salesmen, by the way, were great. Didn't try to take advantage at all of this old woman who was so baffled by all the changes around her.)
It all made me sit back and think. We spend so much time trying to keep up with technology. Upgrading. Replacing. Studying what's coming next. And really, how much of it (outside our trusty Macs) do we need? Is a $5000 plasma TV really worth that much more than Grandma's perfectly acceptable 27" $350 tube TV? Are three or four different game platforms really necessary? And who really wants to watch a video on their cell phone anyway?
The TV got delivered today. The delivery guy was patient and kind, made sure everything was connected right and was working, and demonstrated how to use it all. But mere hours later, Grandma was in a full-blown panic attack because she couldn't work the remote.
Technology will keep moving on, for better and for worse. It will move past us. It already is. Does it have to? I wonder... Maybe not. When we went out to lunch after buying the TV, at a little coffee shop heavily frequented by inhabitants of Grandma's retirement community, we had to tiptoe carefully around all the walkers and canes. But one of the 80-year-old guys leaning on a walker was chatting away into the Bluetooth tucked behind his ear.
So there's hope. But I'm still not even going to try to explain to Grandma that a phone can now take a photograph!
But it's not that way for everyone. Take my mom, for example.
Her 15-year-old TV died this week. She wanted to call a repairman. She thought it would cost, oh, $30 for a repairman to come out to her house and fix everything. No! we insisted. The repairman was going to cost $165. And that was just to show up. Actually fixing an antique TV would cost a whole lot more.
The concept that a 15-year-old TV could be considered 'antique' was baffling to her. As was the realization that her TV was not plugged into an aerial on the roof ("You'll have to go up on the roof to check out the aerial," she kept saying. "No, mom, you have cable TV," we kept saying. "No I don't." "Do you get CNN?" "Yes." "Then you have cable TV." "I do? But then what do we do about the aerial on the roof?")
But all that was nothing compared to what awaited her when we got to Best Buy (which she had never heard of).
See, she didn't know about plasma screen TVs. Or what a liquid crystal display was. And she didn't understand why so many of the TVs seemed to be so wide. Or why they were all playing the same thing and she couldn't change the channels.
We managed to find the one aisle of tube TVs left in the store. But even there we had problems. She didn't understand why most of the TVs are now in aluminum cases (or whatever metal or plastic it actually is) rather than wood or black. Why couldn't she order a TV exactly the way she wanted? And why were we even at Best Buy, rather than going to Costco where we'd get a better price? (Well, because Costco doesn't sell tube TVs anymore.)
We ended up with a choice of two TVs, out of the 100 or so they had in the store (the only tube TVs with black frames around the screen). We chose one. It was all so overwhelming, she'll probably have to rest for days to recover. (The salesmen, by the way, were great. Didn't try to take advantage at all of this old woman who was so baffled by all the changes around her.)
It all made me sit back and think. We spend so much time trying to keep up with technology. Upgrading. Replacing. Studying what's coming next. And really, how much of it (outside our trusty Macs) do we need? Is a $5000 plasma TV really worth that much more than Grandma's perfectly acceptable 27" $350 tube TV? Are three or four different game platforms really necessary? And who really wants to watch a video on their cell phone anyway?
The TV got delivered today. The delivery guy was patient and kind, made sure everything was connected right and was working, and demonstrated how to use it all. But mere hours later, Grandma was in a full-blown panic attack because she couldn't work the remote.
Technology will keep moving on, for better and for worse. It will move past us. It already is. Does it have to? I wonder... Maybe not. When we went out to lunch after buying the TV, at a little coffee shop heavily frequented by inhabitants of Grandma's retirement community, we had to tiptoe carefully around all the walkers and canes. But one of the 80-year-old guys leaning on a walker was chatting away into the Bluetooth tucked behind his ear.
So there's hope. But I'm still not even going to try to explain to Grandma that a phone can now take a photograph!
Thursday, August 24, 2006
ONCE MORE, WITH FEELING
We have a long history of reading out loud in our household.
When Lee and I got engaged, I announced to him that I could not marry a man who hadn't read The Lord of the Rings. He seemed a bit reluctant to read a book of that length, so I offered to read it to him out loud. One chapter and he was hooked.
And when the Harry Potter books came along, we did the same thing. I read them out loud to Lee and Cory (who grew increasingly grouchy about the fact that he didn't get to read the books first!). But poor Sabrina, just a tad too young for each book as it was released, was sort of left out in the cold. (She did sit in on some of the reading, but sometimes drifted off.)
Well, she managed to read her way through Goblet of Fire on her own, and got a good way into Order of the Phoenix before setting it down, what with homework and all pushing it aside.
Then this summer, she announced that it wasn't fair that Mom read all of Harry Potter to Cory but not to her, and could I please pick up where she left off in Phoenix, and also read her Half-Blood Prince.
I didn't like that "pick up where I left off" bit, so told her I'd be happy to read her Order of the Phoenix, but only if we started from the beginning. So we did. We have been reading diligently all summer and we will probably end the book tonight.
I'm so glad we did. Yes, I know that lots of people don't like the "CAPSLOCK" Harry of Phoenix, but I have found it to be my very favorite of the books. And it is certainly the most delightful for reading aloud -- in part because it's just funnier than the other books, and in part, of course, because of the malicious joy I find in voicing Dolores Umbridge, one of the great villains of modern literature.
Lee and Cory have hung on every word, which I find sort of flattering, actually, since they've heard it all before. And Sabrina was quite blase about the whole thing until we got to the parts she hadn't heard yet. All of a sudden I began to hear, "Is this chapter scary?" "Can we read the next chapter in the daytime?"
Yesterday we read "Beyond the Veil" -- the chapter in which Sirius dies. Sabrina was quite worried for several chapters about whether Harry and the gang would make it in time to save Sirius, so I think she thought he was safe. She was quite surprised at his death. She cried. Just a little bit. (And so did I. Just a little bit. Because even though I knew it was coming, that didn't make reading the words out loud any easier.)
And I got to be there. Normally we experience stories on our own. We read books alone, we often watch TV alone, we sit in a dark sheltered room at the movies where no one can see if we cry. It was a high privilege to experience this story with Lee and Cory originally, and it's wonderful to get to do it all over again now with my daughter.
Onward from here to Half-Blood Prince -- which won't be nearly as fun to read, with all the Pensieve-flashbacks and long explanations of this and that. (And I sort of think Sabrina has heard that Dumbledore dies in the end, but she's trying to keep her knowledge from me, just as I didn't tell my parents when I realized Santa Claus was all made up.)
I can't think of a nicer way to spend an evening.
When Lee and I got engaged, I announced to him that I could not marry a man who hadn't read The Lord of the Rings. He seemed a bit reluctant to read a book of that length, so I offered to read it to him out loud. One chapter and he was hooked.
And when the Harry Potter books came along, we did the same thing. I read them out loud to Lee and Cory (who grew increasingly grouchy about the fact that he didn't get to read the books first!). But poor Sabrina, just a tad too young for each book as it was released, was sort of left out in the cold. (She did sit in on some of the reading, but sometimes drifted off.)
Well, she managed to read her way through Goblet of Fire on her own, and got a good way into Order of the Phoenix before setting it down, what with homework and all pushing it aside.
Then this summer, she announced that it wasn't fair that Mom read all of Harry Potter to Cory but not to her, and could I please pick up where she left off in Phoenix, and also read her Half-Blood Prince.
I didn't like that "pick up where I left off" bit, so told her I'd be happy to read her Order of the Phoenix, but only if we started from the beginning. So we did. We have been reading diligently all summer and we will probably end the book tonight.
I'm so glad we did. Yes, I know that lots of people don't like the "CAPSLOCK" Harry of Phoenix, but I have found it to be my very favorite of the books. And it is certainly the most delightful for reading aloud -- in part because it's just funnier than the other books, and in part, of course, because of the malicious joy I find in voicing Dolores Umbridge, one of the great villains of modern literature.
Lee and Cory have hung on every word, which I find sort of flattering, actually, since they've heard it all before. And Sabrina was quite blase about the whole thing until we got to the parts she hadn't heard yet. All of a sudden I began to hear, "Is this chapter scary?" "Can we read the next chapter in the daytime?"
Yesterday we read "Beyond the Veil" -- the chapter in which Sirius dies. Sabrina was quite worried for several chapters about whether Harry and the gang would make it in time to save Sirius, so I think she thought he was safe. She was quite surprised at his death. She cried. Just a little bit. (And so did I. Just a little bit. Because even though I knew it was coming, that didn't make reading the words out loud any easier.)
And I got to be there. Normally we experience stories on our own. We read books alone, we often watch TV alone, we sit in a dark sheltered room at the movies where no one can see if we cry. It was a high privilege to experience this story with Lee and Cory originally, and it's wonderful to get to do it all over again now with my daughter.
Onward from here to Half-Blood Prince -- which won't be nearly as fun to read, with all the Pensieve-flashbacks and long explanations of this and that. (And I sort of think Sabrina has heard that Dumbledore dies in the end, but she's trying to keep her knowledge from me, just as I didn't tell my parents when I realized Santa Claus was all made up.)
I can't think of a nicer way to spend an evening.
Monday, August 21, 2006
QUIZ OF THE WEEK
Hey, put me on a plane right now, I'm there! (I'll even leave my water bottle behind... but can I please sneak on some chapstick?)
How 'bout you?
| You Belong in London |
 You belong in London, but you belong in many cities... Hong Kong, San Francisco, Sidney. You fit in almost anywhere. And London is diverse and international enough to satisfy many of your tastes. From curry to Shakespeare, London (almost) has it all! |
How 'bout you?
Friday, August 18, 2006
THOSE LAZY, HAZY DAYS OF SUMMER
I wish I had something provocative and groundbreaking to say here... But it's the end of summer, and I seem to be in end-of-summer suspended animation, or something akin to it.
We have a script ready to go out to producers... but all the producers are on vacation. So that's on hold for about three weeks. Yeah, we can do a little tweaking on the script, but surely not three weeks' worth...
School starts in two weeks, so I suppose I should go buy uniforms and school supplies. But that won't fill two weeks. (And I can't do it too early -- Cory grew a full inch while he was off at camp for a week, and I can't take the risk of that happening again right after I've bought him a whole new size up in khakis!)
We may need to pitch a new project in the next few weeks. But given that we spent somewhere around two to three full months already this year slaving over pitches that came to nothing, and given that I've already read a couple of books relevant to the new potential pitch, I really don't want to dive into more possibly fruitless work before a meeting is even set.
Yesterday I designed a scavenger hunt for the kids, which occupied them for a few hours (it was a very tricky list of items to find around the house)... But that gets old quickly.
So here I sit, twiddling my thumbs. (Is the modern equivalent of twiddling one's thumbs playing videogames?) And feeling ever so slightly guilty at not proceeding at my usual frenetic pace.
But the pace of life will step up markedly in two weeks, whether I want it to or not, so maybe I should just let myself get a tad bored right now. Boredom is our friend.
Sigh... I'll try to have something more valuable to say in my next post. But not much is happening here, externally or internally. And maybe that's okay...
We have a script ready to go out to producers... but all the producers are on vacation. So that's on hold for about three weeks. Yeah, we can do a little tweaking on the script, but surely not three weeks' worth...
School starts in two weeks, so I suppose I should go buy uniforms and school supplies. But that won't fill two weeks. (And I can't do it too early -- Cory grew a full inch while he was off at camp for a week, and I can't take the risk of that happening again right after I've bought him a whole new size up in khakis!)
We may need to pitch a new project in the next few weeks. But given that we spent somewhere around two to three full months already this year slaving over pitches that came to nothing, and given that I've already read a couple of books relevant to the new potential pitch, I really don't want to dive into more possibly fruitless work before a meeting is even set.
Yesterday I designed a scavenger hunt for the kids, which occupied them for a few hours (it was a very tricky list of items to find around the house)... But that gets old quickly.
So here I sit, twiddling my thumbs. (Is the modern equivalent of twiddling one's thumbs playing videogames?) And feeling ever so slightly guilty at not proceeding at my usual frenetic pace.
But the pace of life will step up markedly in two weeks, whether I want it to or not, so maybe I should just let myself get a tad bored right now. Boredom is our friend.
Sigh... I'll try to have something more valuable to say in my next post. But not much is happening here, externally or internally. And maybe that's okay...
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
HE'S NOT ONLY MERELY DEAD, HE'S REALLY MOST SINCERELY DEAD
I know I've waited a while to weigh in on J.K. Rowling's announcement in New York at the beginning of this month that Dumbledore is truly dead. To wit:
I guess I waited because I've never questioned that he was really dead. All the "Dumbledore is not dead" theorists seemed to me to be out of touch with how death is presented in the books, with what Rowling has consistently said about death in the books, with the character of Dumbledore himself, and with every relevant set-up we've been given in the books.
Others are, of course, entitled to their opinions. Even if they're wrong.
But the thing that gets me -- and causes a bit of trepidation for me -- is how the "He's-not-dead" people have responded to Rowling's statements.
First we have the deniers. "It doesn't matter what Rowling said. It doesn't matter if she insists he's not dead. Hey, what does she know?" And the subgroup within the deniers: Those who claim that Rowling is out-and-out lying to her fans. (A pretty insulting thing to say, especially with an author who has been pretty careful about what information she releases to the public.)
Then there are the spinners. "Well, when I said that Dumbledore isn't dead, what I meant was that Snape is good." "Well, when I said that Dumbledore isn't dead, what I meant was that he was already dead so Snape didn't kill him, and if Snape didn't kill him, then he can't be dead." "Well, when I said that Dumbledore isn't dead, what I meant was that somebody else was hiding on the tower and that person actually killed Dumbledore or maybe didn't kill him, because how can we tell, there are still plenty of clues that he could be alive, after all."
Finally, we have the fruitcakes. Is anyone out there as appalled by this [snipped] online petition as I am? (All punctuation errors and capitalizations are courtesy of the petition writer.)
Wow.
These three groups -- the deniers, the spinners and the wackos -- have one thing in common: They have come to love and value their theories more than the books themselves. Some of these folks will clearly, if Rowling doesn't "agree" with them, decide that she was wrong. They were right. She was wrong.
Which is, again, an insulting thing to say about an author who has gotten so much so right so far. Who has been fair and generous to her audience again and again. Who has paid off her set-ups diligently and creatively. Who has shown that we can trust her with regard to where the story (her story) is going.
It's fun to theorize. But our theories are secondary to the story itself, and if we are proven wrong, so be it. (Okay, and this is me admitting to just a tiny bit of smugness here because, so far, I haven't been proven wrong on a thing.)
However J.K. Rowling finishes the story will be the right way to finish it. And people who are so wrapped up in their own theories as to leave the path the books have trodden, or who become downright rude and nasty, are only diminishing the rest of our enjoyment.
So everyone, let's please take a deep breath and say it together: "Dumbledore is definitely dead." Go grieve if you need to (and at least rejoice that at least we won't have to watch Michael Gambon in the movies all the way to the end!). And then let's all let Rowling finish her story the way she wants to. Okay?
But I see that I need to be a little more explicit and say that Dumbledore is definitely dead.
I guess I waited because I've never questioned that he was really dead. All the "Dumbledore is not dead" theorists seemed to me to be out of touch with how death is presented in the books, with what Rowling has consistently said about death in the books, with the character of Dumbledore himself, and with every relevant set-up we've been given in the books.
Others are, of course, entitled to their opinions. Even if they're wrong.
But the thing that gets me -- and causes a bit of trepidation for me -- is how the "He's-not-dead" people have responded to Rowling's statements.
First we have the deniers. "It doesn't matter what Rowling said. It doesn't matter if she insists he's not dead. Hey, what does she know?" And the subgroup within the deniers: Those who claim that Rowling is out-and-out lying to her fans. (A pretty insulting thing to say, especially with an author who has been pretty careful about what information she releases to the public.)
Then there are the spinners. "Well, when I said that Dumbledore isn't dead, what I meant was that Snape is good." "Well, when I said that Dumbledore isn't dead, what I meant was that he was already dead so Snape didn't kill him, and if Snape didn't kill him, then he can't be dead." "Well, when I said that Dumbledore isn't dead, what I meant was that somebody else was hiding on the tower and that person actually killed Dumbledore or maybe didn't kill him, because how can we tell, there are still plenty of clues that he could be alive, after all."
Finally, we have the fruitcakes. Is anyone out there as appalled by this [snipped] online petition as I am? (All punctuation errors and capitalizations are courtesy of the petition writer.)
Now JK Rowling, you have the AUDACITY to claim that "Dumbledore is defintely [sic] dead."
Well you're not fooling anyone, lady. How DARE you insult and ridicule your fans by making it obvious that Dumbledore did NOT die, and yet at your stupid show announce that he "is definitely dead."
[snip]
Joanne Kathleen Rowling - until you admit that your statement "Dumbledore is definitely dead" was nothing but a bad joke, we the undersigned have no choice but to ban your Book 7. It is unfortunately that your readers will not get a chance to read what happens to Harry and his freinds[sic], all because you insist on saying stupid things and treat your readers with no respect.
Wow.
These three groups -- the deniers, the spinners and the wackos -- have one thing in common: They have come to love and value their theories more than the books themselves. Some of these folks will clearly, if Rowling doesn't "agree" with them, decide that she was wrong. They were right. She was wrong.
Which is, again, an insulting thing to say about an author who has gotten so much so right so far. Who has been fair and generous to her audience again and again. Who has paid off her set-ups diligently and creatively. Who has shown that we can trust her with regard to where the story (her story) is going.
It's fun to theorize. But our theories are secondary to the story itself, and if we are proven wrong, so be it. (Okay, and this is me admitting to just a tiny bit of smugness here because, so far, I haven't been proven wrong on a thing.)
However J.K. Rowling finishes the story will be the right way to finish it. And people who are so wrapped up in their own theories as to leave the path the books have trodden, or who become downright rude and nasty, are only diminishing the rest of our enjoyment.
So everyone, let's please take a deep breath and say it together: "Dumbledore is definitely dead." Go grieve if you need to (and at least rejoice that at least we won't have to watch Michael Gambon in the movies all the way to the end!). And then let's all let Rowling finish her story the way she wants to. Okay?
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
QUIZ OF THE WEEK
Well, I'm not sure this is really accurate, but hey, these days I'll take anything positive!
How 'bout you? What's your theme song? (Today, at least...)
| Your Theme Song is Beautiful Day by U2 |
 "Sky falls, you feel like It's a beautiful day Don't let it get away" You see the beauty in life, especially in ordinary everyday moments. And if you're feeling down, even that seems a little beautiful too. |
How 'bout you? What's your theme song? (Today, at least...)
Monday, August 14, 2006
BACK FROM CAMP
I am back from Family Camp, and grateful to the hundreds of you who bothered to check in here during the week, even after I'd said I'd be gone...
Although we went up to camp with a cloud hanging over our heads and feeling very much under spiritual attack, it was gone within 24 hours or so. Camp is truly a magical place. (Okay, the food is far from magical. But if the food were great, one would have to question whether one were at camp.)
Turned out there were other subtle spiritual attacks going on during the week -- and not so subtle. I heard a whole list from one of the people involved w/ the organizing, someone who had no idea what we'd gone through just before leaving for camp.
The biggest attack (and this one wasn't so subtle) was on the elementary school kids. Their classes are in the camp's rec center, and kids being what they are, some of them took off their name tags and left them there. Now, these aren't some flimsy stick-on name tags. They're like little pouches with zipper compartments in the back, which people use for room keys, money, etc.
So the kids left their name tags hanging around... and came back to find them unzipped with their money missing. And all the decorations in their crafts area had been completely trashed, along with a lot of the crafts themselves.
Lots of upset kids, as you can imagine. But one 7-year-old made a "We will not be moved!" speech, as I hear, and rallied the kids to redecorate their hangout. And our own Sabrina went out and started recruiting kids to leave the playground and spend their free time "fighting back" against the vandals. The redecoration efforts were what you would expect from a bunch of little kids. But they couldn't have been prouder of them!
Then two other kids, 8 and 9, set up a sting. They left their name tags around with money in them, and hid to watch. And they caught the culprit! They ran, got a pastor, and she took care of it all. Justice was done!
On the non-crime-fighting side, camp was awesome. Wonderful teaching, wonderful friends, wonderful kids, wonderful small groups... and the most important thing, our kids totally rocked at the talent show. (Cory got twostanding ovations this year.)
... One of my favorite stories of all time is J.R.R. Tolkien's Leaf By Niggle, which I oh so highly recommend. (Really, I'd rather have this story read at my eventual funeral than any homily.)... In it, an artist labors over his art, a work of love, but never finishes it to his satisfaction. He dies and (allegorically) goes to heaven, where he finds his work of art whole and perfectly finished, waiting for him...
Reading that, I have often speculated that when Tolkien reached heaven, he found Middle-Earth waiting for him in a glorified state. (And I wouldn't be surprised to find a glorified Narnia waiting too...)
And I also would be completely unsurprised to get to heaven and find Family Camp waiting -- the big lawn, the flowers, the lodges, the basketball court all ready for a wild, loving dance party... (and maybe better food)... I can't wait!
Although we went up to camp with a cloud hanging over our heads and feeling very much under spiritual attack, it was gone within 24 hours or so. Camp is truly a magical place. (Okay, the food is far from magical. But if the food were great, one would have to question whether one were at camp.)
Turned out there were other subtle spiritual attacks going on during the week -- and not so subtle. I heard a whole list from one of the people involved w/ the organizing, someone who had no idea what we'd gone through just before leaving for camp.
The biggest attack (and this one wasn't so subtle) was on the elementary school kids. Their classes are in the camp's rec center, and kids being what they are, some of them took off their name tags and left them there. Now, these aren't some flimsy stick-on name tags. They're like little pouches with zipper compartments in the back, which people use for room keys, money, etc.
So the kids left their name tags hanging around... and came back to find them unzipped with their money missing. And all the decorations in their crafts area had been completely trashed, along with a lot of the crafts themselves.
Lots of upset kids, as you can imagine. But one 7-year-old made a "We will not be moved!" speech, as I hear, and rallied the kids to redecorate their hangout. And our own Sabrina went out and started recruiting kids to leave the playground and spend their free time "fighting back" against the vandals. The redecoration efforts were what you would expect from a bunch of little kids. But they couldn't have been prouder of them!
Then two other kids, 8 and 9, set up a sting. They left their name tags around with money in them, and hid to watch. And they caught the culprit! They ran, got a pastor, and she took care of it all. Justice was done!
On the non-crime-fighting side, camp was awesome. Wonderful teaching, wonderful friends, wonderful kids, wonderful small groups... and the most important thing, our kids totally rocked at the talent show. (Cory got twostanding ovations this year.)
... One of my favorite stories of all time is J.R.R. Tolkien's Leaf By Niggle, which I oh so highly recommend. (Really, I'd rather have this story read at my eventual funeral than any homily.)... In it, an artist labors over his art, a work of love, but never finishes it to his satisfaction. He dies and (allegorically) goes to heaven, where he finds his work of art whole and perfectly finished, waiting for him...
Reading that, I have often speculated that when Tolkien reached heaven, he found Middle-Earth waiting for him in a glorified state. (And I wouldn't be surprised to find a glorified Narnia waiting too...)
And I also would be completely unsurprised to get to heaven and find Family Camp waiting -- the big lawn, the flowers, the lodges, the basketball court all ready for a wild, loving dance party... (and maybe better food)... I can't wait!
Sunday, August 06, 2006
OFF TO CAMP
I won't be here for about a week. We are at this very moment loading our car to head out to our church's Family Camp.
Family Camp is usually the highlight of our year. Last year when Cory had to fill out a "who am I" questionnaire at the beginning of the school year, one of the questions asked, "When and where were you happiest?" He answered, "Family Camp, any day of any year."
This year Lee and I go up with a tiny bit of trepidation, as a couple of days ago, a good friend (we thought) who will be there lashed out at us in inexplicable anger that came out of nowhere and made no sense, saying incredibly hateful things. We wondered if we should even go, if we would be exposing ourselves and our kids to more of the same. One of our dearest friends, praying intensely over the situation, felt this was a spiritual attack, trying to keep us from going to camp...
So we are going. 300+ people crammed into fairly rustic lodges (but w/ private baths at least!), eating together, praying together, learning together, and doing really silly things together. (Perhaps when I come back I will post some photos of the Men's Synchronized Swim Team. Now that will be worth clicking back to this site for!)
Please pray for us, if it should cross your mind... Pray for safety in our not-as-young-as-she-used-to-be car, driving some 350+ miles in a state of overtiredness. Pray for peace and joy.
And don't forget to come back here in a week and check in!
Family Camp is usually the highlight of our year. Last year when Cory had to fill out a "who am I" questionnaire at the beginning of the school year, one of the questions asked, "When and where were you happiest?" He answered, "Family Camp, any day of any year."
This year Lee and I go up with a tiny bit of trepidation, as a couple of days ago, a good friend (we thought) who will be there lashed out at us in inexplicable anger that came out of nowhere and made no sense, saying incredibly hateful things. We wondered if we should even go, if we would be exposing ourselves and our kids to more of the same. One of our dearest friends, praying intensely over the situation, felt this was a spiritual attack, trying to keep us from going to camp...
So we are going. 300+ people crammed into fairly rustic lodges (but w/ private baths at least!), eating together, praying together, learning together, and doing really silly things together. (Perhaps when I come back I will post some photos of the Men's Synchronized Swim Team. Now that will be worth clicking back to this site for!)
Please pray for us, if it should cross your mind... Pray for safety in our not-as-young-as-she-used-to-be car, driving some 350+ miles in a state of overtiredness. Pray for peace and joy.
And don't forget to come back here in a week and check in!
Friday, August 04, 2006
GOODBYE TO ACT ONE 2006
We taught our last class of the summer for Act One yesterday.
After we've spent the month cramming more story and writing and business tips into these students' heads than their hard drives can possibly hold, we sit down in the last couple of days of the program and just talk about how hard it is to survive here. I don't know if the students are expecting a pep talk, but they sure don't get one.
We talk about rejection, about pain, about being knocked down and stepped on and spat on again and again and again and again and again. We talk about dashed hopes and bruised dreams. We talk about how when you have one foot in the church and one foot in Hollywood, neither side understands who you are or what you're doing.
The students always ask how to "make it" -- how to find a way to "success." And they must be frustrated by us, because we can't give them an answer. This is a wilderness, and ultimately everyone blazes his or her own trail. Sometimes you meet someone who's already made their way through the wilderness who comes back to meet you and act as a trail guide. But other than that, you're on your own. All we can do is give the most general of compasses and point a direction and say, "Go!"
In the end, it's probably a good thing that we don't go the pep talk route in this final class. Because out of the 34 students we had this year, 1/3 of them will never enter the business (and we view that as a good thing: They've learned in 1 month what it takes some people 10 years to learn). 1/3 of them will enter the biz, but not as writers. And 1/3 will struggle to become writers -- accent on the word struggle. How many of them will "make it"? Well, if 1 of them does, we will consider this to have been a successful year of Act One.
Of course, they may not even be listening. If someone had given me the kind of doom-and-gloom talk we gave them yesterday, when I was at their stage, I wouldn't have listened. "That doesn't apply to me," I would have thought. And maybe that kind of blithe denial is what you need to take the utterly insane step of committing to a career in Hollywood.
But a few years out, hopefully they'll remember. And pick themselves up, and dab their wounds, and slap on their bandages, and get back into the journey...
Best of luck to the 2006 class of Act One: Writing for Hollywood.
After we've spent the month cramming more story and writing and business tips into these students' heads than their hard drives can possibly hold, we sit down in the last couple of days of the program and just talk about how hard it is to survive here. I don't know if the students are expecting a pep talk, but they sure don't get one.
We talk about rejection, about pain, about being knocked down and stepped on and spat on again and again and again and again and again. We talk about dashed hopes and bruised dreams. We talk about how when you have one foot in the church and one foot in Hollywood, neither side understands who you are or what you're doing.
The students always ask how to "make it" -- how to find a way to "success." And they must be frustrated by us, because we can't give them an answer. This is a wilderness, and ultimately everyone blazes his or her own trail. Sometimes you meet someone who's already made their way through the wilderness who comes back to meet you and act as a trail guide. But other than that, you're on your own. All we can do is give the most general of compasses and point a direction and say, "Go!"
In the end, it's probably a good thing that we don't go the pep talk route in this final class. Because out of the 34 students we had this year, 1/3 of them will never enter the business (and we view that as a good thing: They've learned in 1 month what it takes some people 10 years to learn). 1/3 of them will enter the biz, but not as writers. And 1/3 will struggle to become writers -- accent on the word struggle. How many of them will "make it"? Well, if 1 of them does, we will consider this to have been a successful year of Act One.
Of course, they may not even be listening. If someone had given me the kind of doom-and-gloom talk we gave them yesterday, when I was at their stage, I wouldn't have listened. "That doesn't apply to me," I would have thought. And maybe that kind of blithe denial is what you need to take the utterly insane step of committing to a career in Hollywood.
But a few years out, hopefully they'll remember. And pick themselves up, and dab their wounds, and slap on their bandages, and get back into the journey...
Best of luck to the 2006 class of Act One: Writing for Hollywood.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
IN VINO, VERITAS??
I feel very sad for Mel Gibson.
Here's a guy who's got everything the world can offer. Oodles and oodles of money, a family of his own, unbelievable fame, power, the opportunity to do whatever he wants with virtually no restriction.
And as a believer, he has access to everything God can offer. Faith, hope, love, joy, peace, and so on and so on.
Yet he still feels the need to drink himself blotto, strut his fame at a two-bit bar overlooking the ocean, then drive fast enough and drunk enough that by all rights, he should have smashed into something.
Many people are expressing shock. Some, at the fact that he could fall so far off the wagon (after all, he's a Christian, right?!). Some -- often with some glee -- at the anti-Semitic remarks he himself admits he made while plastered.
As to the first item (the binge drinking) -- Somehow, I'm not surprised. Gibson has always been a guy who walked right on the edge of danger. How can anyone look at Lethal Weapon or Mad Max and not be a little frightened at an actor who can access such wildness, such mania, with so much ease. He's always been a bit scary... What horrible demons torment his soul, we cannot know, except through incidents like this, and through his work. But we've had enough glances at them through his work, we should have had a clue.
As for the anti-Semitic comments... "Despicable," his own word for them, is right. But the real question, I think, centers on the truth of the old Latin phrase In vino veritas ("In wine there is truth").
Do Gibson's remarks while drunk give an insight into his soul, as the Latin phrase would imply? Or, as many alcoholics and children of alcoholics opine, do people say things when drunk that they really, truly do not mean?
Those who believe in vino veritas would say the former. But I don't think that holds up when we examine it. Does Gibson really believe the anti-Semitic statements he made when drunk? Well, given that we choose our beliefs, I would tend to think beliefs expressed when sober should be given more credence than something spouted when drunk. (Yes, he definitely could have said what he thought he was expected to say when sober; no one outside his mind can know the answer to that.)
I don't have enough experience being drunk to really weigh in on the issue. Although I hear I'm a very giggly, cute drunk. Does that mean my "real" self is giggly and cute, usually camouflaged by my more cynical, analytical, serious "outer" personality?
Because I think that's the real question: Which is the real Mel Gibson? The raving drunk lunatic spouting horrific anti-Semitic slurs? Or the still-wild but often-brilliant actor and director?
As a Christian, I have to look to the future and say that the "real" me is the me that will be revealed in heaven. That would be somewhat similar to the me that's here on earth, but with my horrible sins, and the consequences of horrible sins inflicted on me by my parents and others, all burned away.
So which Gibson is real? Given the sins caused by the drinking, both in this incident and in the past, I'd have to say we're not seeing the real Mel Gibson in this episode at all. The real Gibson is the one we will meet in heaven. And nothing of this episode (except maybe remnants of the repentence he's currently and appropriately making public) will be left.
And that's good enough for me.
Here's a guy who's got everything the world can offer. Oodles and oodles of money, a family of his own, unbelievable fame, power, the opportunity to do whatever he wants with virtually no restriction.
And as a believer, he has access to everything God can offer. Faith, hope, love, joy, peace, and so on and so on.
Yet he still feels the need to drink himself blotto, strut his fame at a two-bit bar overlooking the ocean, then drive fast enough and drunk enough that by all rights, he should have smashed into something.
Many people are expressing shock. Some, at the fact that he could fall so far off the wagon (after all, he's a Christian, right?!). Some -- often with some glee -- at the anti-Semitic remarks he himself admits he made while plastered.
As to the first item (the binge drinking) -- Somehow, I'm not surprised. Gibson has always been a guy who walked right on the edge of danger. How can anyone look at Lethal Weapon or Mad Max and not be a little frightened at an actor who can access such wildness, such mania, with so much ease. He's always been a bit scary... What horrible demons torment his soul, we cannot know, except through incidents like this, and through his work. But we've had enough glances at them through his work, we should have had a clue.
As for the anti-Semitic comments... "Despicable," his own word for them, is right. But the real question, I think, centers on the truth of the old Latin phrase In vino veritas ("In wine there is truth").
Do Gibson's remarks while drunk give an insight into his soul, as the Latin phrase would imply? Or, as many alcoholics and children of alcoholics opine, do people say things when drunk that they really, truly do not mean?
Those who believe in vino veritas would say the former. But I don't think that holds up when we examine it. Does Gibson really believe the anti-Semitic statements he made when drunk? Well, given that we choose our beliefs, I would tend to think beliefs expressed when sober should be given more credence than something spouted when drunk. (Yes, he definitely could have said what he thought he was expected to say when sober; no one outside his mind can know the answer to that.)
I don't have enough experience being drunk to really weigh in on the issue. Although I hear I'm a very giggly, cute drunk. Does that mean my "real" self is giggly and cute, usually camouflaged by my more cynical, analytical, serious "outer" personality?
Because I think that's the real question: Which is the real Mel Gibson? The raving drunk lunatic spouting horrific anti-Semitic slurs? Or the still-wild but often-brilliant actor and director?
As a Christian, I have to look to the future and say that the "real" me is the me that will be revealed in heaven. That would be somewhat similar to the me that's here on earth, but with my horrible sins, and the consequences of horrible sins inflicted on me by my parents and others, all burned away.
So which Gibson is real? Given the sins caused by the drinking, both in this incident and in the past, I'd have to say we're not seeing the real Mel Gibson in this episode at all. The real Gibson is the one we will meet in heaven. And nothing of this episode (except maybe remnants of the repentence he's currently and appropriately making public) will be left.
And that's good enough for me.
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