I think it's interesting to see the judges' ranking here: Judge 2's score of 2 out of 10 tells me either he/she was having a bad day, he/she is a harsh judge, or he/she really, really, REALLY didn't like my work.
I admit, it could probably use a little work (Read: a lot of work). After a year or so of sitting on it, I think I can probably shave it down, tweak a bunch of things, write a better synopsis, tighten up the plot and so forth. But such is the business of writing. I can always do better. Judging it on my own, now, after having spent more time on other projects with lots of hindsight, I'd say it's probably a 6.2, Judge 3's assessment.
Well, back to the ol' drawing board on that one.
On a separate note, I got a letter from Harlequin Mills & Boon acknowledging the receipt of my partial for Her Cinderella Secret (formerly known as All in the Details). Why they bothered to spend the money on postage rather than call or send an email is beyond me.
I suppose a letter is nice, but whenever you get a thin little envelope from a publishing house, your heart usually sinks to your feet. In this case it went from, "Awwww, man..." to "Oh," to "Aw, geez, now I have to wait some more."
You know, where you wake up late, realizing if you don't get out of the house in exactly thirteen minutes you'll miss that succession of subways and buses that'll get you to work at 5 minutes past nine rather than at 9:30, making you late for the company quarterly meeting and humiliating you for all time as you sheepishly slink in to face 400 seated people and your CEO and noisily try to find a seat, then spend the next 2 hours telling your growling stomach to shut up because it hasn't gotten its fill of oatmeal.
Yeah, well, fortunately, none of that actually happened.
I did, however, lock myself out of the house. While the family and the fiance were out of the country. And with no spare key to be found among relatives or friends.
You see, in my rush to avoid the above scenario, I'd left my keys in some unknown realm. The worst part was that 1% of my brain was convinced I'd left them in the door overnight and someone had taken them and I would come home to a house devoid of valuables.
Panicking through most of the meeting, afterward I immediately started emailing my brother-in-law, also named John, except I seriously doubted he'd check his personal email at work. I went on a mad hunt for a chain of phone numbers that would hopefully lead me to discover his cell phone number. I realized then that his work email was saved on my work email contacts list, and from that, I derived where he worked, Googled the company contact, and finally, finally reached him to confirm he'd be home and I'd be able to get into the house tonight.
Not that it helped that 1% of my brain that houses the worst-case scenario cell. I'd dreamed earlier in the week the house had been robbed because a door had been left open. And I had a feeling all week I would do something just like this. I'm not a religious person, but I just KNEW God was leaving me signs to check for my keys. My apartment door was unlocked before I left this morning, which I thought strange. It immediately told me "check for your keys--something wasn't locked!" to which I mentally responded, "Shut up, brain!" and closed the door behind me BEFORE searching for my keys in my purse.
Yeah. So that was my day. Happily, it ended with a glass of merlot that had me smashed in minutes. Good times.
Canada's biggest cancer hospital is set to announce a clinic that can offer what no other hospital in this country can: same-day breast cancer diagnosis.
The rapid diagnostic breast clinic at Toronto's Princess Margaret Hospital can provide a patient a diagnosis in a matter of hours instead of the more typical five-week wait. Patients also receive an immediate treatment plan based on their diagnosis, which explains their treatment options: surgery, radiation and/or chemotherapy.
Women in Canada typically wait weeks for a diagnosis after finding a suspicious lump in their breast. But at Princess Margaret, almost 500 patients have quietly been undergoing rapid testing at the clinic as part of a pilot project that began in the fall of 2006.
The idea for the rapid diagnosis centre came from David McCready, a breast surgical oncologist at Princess Margaret. McCready had noticed that patients referred to him from Toronto and elsewhere typically waited about 37 days for a diagnosis after first seeing their doctor.
While that kind of wait does not typically compromise a patient's recovery as long as treatment begins soon after, it can cause enormous anxiety for the women who are waiting to hear if they have cancer. The clinic at Princess Margaret aims to change all that.
The key to rapid diagnosis is a costly piece of equipment, called the Xpress Rapid Tissue processor, which can prepare a sample of breast tissue for analysis in a matter of hours.
On that note, I'm up to 82% of my fundraising goal for the WEBC already! I'd love to get to $2000 by September to match the 2-day walking event, even though I'm only doing the one-day event. If you can donate, please visit my web page!
Thanks to everyone who has supported me through this!
Me, writing a steamy hot first-kiss scene for my third book, Fighting for Her Love...while on the public bus, with a wide-eyed Filipino nanny reading over my shoulder:
Me: [typing] A low growl emitted from his throat. The temperature of her skin went from frigid to flaming in seconds, and a buzz started low in her gut, a primal reaction that echoed Dom's almost feral snarl of possession. His hands raked through her hair, across her shoulders and circled around her waist. She was lost in heady lust as he backed her against the edge of the dining room table, its lip pressing into her waist, the unmistakable...
[thinking] ...evidence of his arousal? Naw, that's so cliche....
[typing] ...jut of his arousal grazing her belly. She let his palms, big, strong and capable, caressmassagesqueeze cup her aching breasts through the too-thin fabric of her sundress....
This was almost like that time I read my first Harlequin Blaze while sitting in a Tim Hortons and nearly choked on my tea...oh, for those more virginal days....
In my ultra-dorkiness, I am starting a series of pictures of me and authors whose paths I cross at Harlequin. I've been meaning to do this for a while, and today I finally managed to start my collection. I've also been keeping a collection of all my autographed books. One day, I might get to read them all....
Here's me and New York Times bestselling author Carla Neggers, signing her latest, The Angel. This was taken with my cell phone, so pardon the fuzziness.
Some things translate across the screen perfectly no matter what language it's in. I watched this clip as posted by sporkyadrasteia at LiveJournal, and asked her to translate for me and give me some context. Turns out it was about what I thought it was. Regardless, violence is always, always funny, especially when it's girls versus boys and the girls kick ass.
What sporky told me:
All these girls are members of the Indian National Field Hockey team which gets no funding and the girls didn't get along as a team because they're from vastly different cultures and regions of India. They get along even less with the new coach and kind of conspire to get him to resign, which he does. He invites the team and the other team managers to McDonald's for one last treat as a courtesy and they basically get into this fight.
1:30- He's telling then to just wait a sec because he wants to see how the girls react to the crazy pervy boys.
2:38- That boy was going to hit the girl with the cricket bat while her back was turned so the coach pushes him back and tells him that doing that would only make him a coward. He says all these girls here are hockey players and that "there are no cowards in hockey". :D
3:12 - The old manager is saying "Are these girls a team or a band of rakshasas [Hindu mythological demons]?" and the coach replies that this is a good thing and that this is the first time that he's seen the girls work cohesively as a team. :D
Meanwhile, all the girls are basically saying variants of "TAKE THAT, YOU PERV!!" but I hope that sentiment travels well across linguistic barriers. ;)
Any writer will tell you that research is key to writing effectively and accurately about the experiences of their characters, whether they ride horses, deliver babies, hack computers or duel with broadswords. Maria V. Snyder has admitted to taking up glassblowing, riding horses, and picking locks while researching her characters in the Study books (some of my faves--fans of Tamora Pierce MUST read these).
I don't have the time or resources to do anything very in-depth apart from Googling a lot and using my local library, but lately, I've been making a list of things I want to do to add to my life experiences. Some are for research, some aren't, but hey, anything new is something good, right?
Getting a bikini wax: This is high on my list of "doable, but do I really want to do this?" Mainly because A) I don't frequently wear a bikini, and B) I just don't know if getting my hoo-hah mass-plucked is going to be fun. Maybe I'll start with something less intense, like an armpit or leg wax.
Playing Dungeons & Dragons: Did this last weekend, thanks to John's friend Zack who played Dungeon Master to our maurauding group of mostly noobs. It was a fantastic experience, great for getting into character motives. I've been using the game to help build a character I've been writing for a young adult novel that's moving nowhere.
Learning a martial art: I'd toyed with the idea of going to a free karate class, since my latest project involves an MMA fighter whose specialty is karate. Then I thought, hey, why not try boxing or MMA instead? But then I remembered, oh, right, my body is broken and I'm decrepit. Also, I did Aikido for a summer when I was in grade 9, and I don't remember it being that much fun. But just so I can say I did, I toured the Toronto BJJ gym across from Christie Pits. What I saw didn't exactly inspire me to join. They did, however, have an Octagon upstairs in their poorly ventilated upper level. A selling feature, but not for the frightened novice.
Camping: I'm not an outdoorsy type. At all. John will attest that I can't even walk on the grass without squirming. I mean, it's covered in poo. Don't believe me? Well, have you ever seen squirrel poo? HAVE YOU? Right, you haven't. Guess what you're lying on over on the grass there!... You know what? Never mind. My idea of roughing it is going without the Internet for 24 hours.
Horseback riding: Who doesn't want to do this?
Firing a gun: I wondered if my company would actually pay for half the cost of my getting lessons and a gun license. I decided (wisely) not to ask.
The only reason anyone is talking about you these days is because you're being a douchebag. This is the most press you've gotten since breaking up with Angelina Jolie. No one cares about your band or your music career.
As some people know, I've been growing my hair out for the past two years or so so that I can donate it towards making a cancer wig. A coworker of mine does it regularly, and she inspired me to follow her lead. After all, I have hair. It doesn't cost me a thing to grow, and probably saves me money since I don't have to visit the salon as often.
But yesterday, in an effort to tame the split ends and dryness, I went to a stylist at the Eaton Centre. A master stylist, in fact, since no cheapy juniors were around. She sat me down and played with my long, wayward locks for a while to figure out what to do.
"You have hair like white people's," she said. "Thin and silky. Very thin."
She was Asian--Korean, if I'm interpreting her name right--and it wasn't offensive. It just seemed like a weird way to start off the conversation.
She started to tell me that I should have more layers to lift the look, and I had to explain for the second time that I was donating my hair to cancer wigs. She took me to wash my hair and as I had my head bent into the sink, she said, "It's very kindhearted of you to do this...but quite honestly, I don't think you should. You have very thin hair...you should think about yourself first."
In my head: WTF? Altruism FAIL!
I shrugged and said I was going to do it regardless, and that I wasn't worried about my hair. After all, SOMEONE doesn't have hair, and I have an excess. And I'm not going to shave it all off, just cut it once it's long enough.
She went on to fix my hair very nicely, gave me a reduced rate (Master stylists are priced between $55 to $65 while Juniors charge $35). She was quite good, and gave me some tips on how to keep it nicely styled with the weight and flatness of it. Still, I couldn't help but think that she is probably not the only stylist with this opinion of hair donation for certain clients: in an industry that is all about vanity and making you look good, would they have a care towards someone other than the client?
Walked home from Pape Station today, which amounted to just a bit over 7 km in my effort to train for the WEBC. I haven't decided if my running shoes are the right ones to wear yet, though. They served me fairly well in Vegas walking up and down the strip, but I feel like I need more spring in my step. Maybe a few extra insoles will help.
Got my first call from my walking coach today, and received a package from the WEBC people with a pair of pink retractable earbuds I can use to listen to podcasts with. Pretty nifty.
Thanks to a lot of generous donors, I'm up to 62% of my fundraising goal, but I want to raise as much as I can. I've been toying with the idea of getting some custom magnetic poetry made up with romance words to build Harlequin Presents-esque titles. The only problem is that the minimum order would be, like, 500. I don't think I can sell that many...or have the funds to cover that amount. I could use some of them to give away as gifts/promos, etc. But I'm not certain this is the way to go.
Let it not be said that Lenin did not give it his all to make up for the gas shortages in Communist-era Russia.
Never has Communism been such a gas. HAW!!!
Stay tuned for future Interactivity Challenges! And tell your friends--you, too, could be the winner of a nifty Photoshopped icon to be proudly displayed in cyberspace!
1. My first book, All in the Details has been renamed: Her Cinderella Secret is prepped and ready to go out to Mills & Boon Tender Romance this week. Slush pile, here I come!
2. My third book, Fighting for Her Love, was on hiatus, but I'm tuned back in now! I hope to get a more comprehensive first draft done by October, at the latest.
3. I'm playing Dungeons and Dragons next weekend. I thought it might help my storytelling skills and imagination so that I can figure out my young adult novel heroine, Ohi Mimare. In DnD, she's a level 1 albino Eladrin rogue who's pursuing whoever tried to murder her adopted father. In my head, she's an outcast albino girl bent on solving the mystery of some stuff that goes on...er...yeah....
4. My second book, Star Attraction, did not make the Golden Heart finals. I'll post the scores as soon as they come in the mail. Back to the ol' drawing board....
5. My other book starring someone who is looking and sounding more and more like Simon Pegg in my mind is on hold. I'm stuck, though the characters are floating in the back of my head, banging on my skull to continue. I wish they wouldn't do that.
On reading:
I'm recharging with a little happy reading of Deanna Raybourn's latest in the Lady Julia Grey novels. She's my favorite Regency author by far. Go out and buy Silent on the Moor...but don't tell me what happens! I'm not done with it yet!
I'm giving up on Pride and Prejudice. I might settle for either Marvel Comic's Pride and Prejudice, or the very popular Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. In either instance, at least there'd be pictures, and violence in at least one of these retellings. Maybe I'll just rent the BBC miniseries and be done with it.
Have a pile of research books to read about MMA and karate. Also, still haven't figured out how to set the speed dial on my new cell phone, so I need to read the manual.
Got a great bookmark from John: it has a kitty wearing a sweater and the words "And THEN what happened?" printed all over it.
Pretty much sums up the plot bunnies and constipated cats of curiosity eating up the grass of my time and energy.
I'm taking time out from my regularly scheduled irreverence to write about something very important to me and to thousands of women (and men) everywhere.
This past year, two women very close to me were diagnosed with breast and uterine cancer. They are both currently receiving treatment and care. I have been in awe of their strength and courage, and now, I am finally able to do something more than just stand at the sidelines and watch helplessly as they endure rounds of surgery, radio, chemo, and hormone therapy.
This annual event draws thousands of people every year and encourages them to raise funds for breast cancer and other women's cancer research and therapies.
As a participant, I am required to raise a minimum of $1,250.00, but I hope to raise more.
The last day for donations in September 14, 2009. So if you're thinking of donating and just aren't sure if you can, try putting aside $2 a week until September. Like I said, any amount is welcome!
I'll be posting regularly about breast cancer and keep you all apprised as I train for what is surely going to be the longest and possibly the hardest walk of my life (I haven't been in great shape lately, but I'm committed and I want to do this, even if I can't do the 2-day event)
According the the deep tissue massage therapist, the cause of my recent chest pain scare is a popped rib, which he proceeded to shift back into place.
It never occurred to me that I could do something like that with the limited physical labor I perform on a daily basis (though I've certainly hurt my lower back and gluts plenty of times), but then I remembered turning in a funny way while I was on the bus and being in excruciating pain. I had to hold in my scream and chew on my knuckle. I'm sure the woman sitting next to me probably thought I was crazy for those five minutes. That was more than a month ago.
I assumed I was fine, but then last week I woke up in agony, with crushing pain gripping my upper chest and sides. It took a while for the ibuprofen to kick in, and in the meantime Telehealth Ontario wanted to send an ambulance for me, but in the end, I just went back to sleep and decided it was probably just a spasm.
Not so. I have an injury worthy of a professional athlete...just from daily commuting.
It turns out ol' *whispers* Slider is a dud of a phone. Slider was on his deathbed these past couple of days and today I practically had to jumpstart it by shaking it and threatening to throw it into the toilet. All to no avail. There was no restarting the one-and-a-half-year-old phone. The ol' Nokia slide phone I got free after signing up for a 3-year contract is just plain old dead.
I had to beg the Telus guy (read: whine like bitch) to waive the $25 connection fee for my new $100 LG Venus (it was the cheapest one they had available), a slick little slide phone with a tiny touch screen. But in order for me to do that, I had to buy a $25 clip-on case. It was the best he could do (and unsmilingly, at that), but it was more than anyone else had offered me up to this point, so I went for it.
I really suppose I can't complain: I've been with Telus since it was Clearnet, (circa 1999). I bought my first phone with a $100 gift certificate for the Ryerson bookstore, one I won in a raffle. I subsequently upgraded, paying only $25 for a new handset, which was the old radiation king I used until I bought ol' Slider in June 2007.
$125 for 4 phones over ten years ain't bad, I suppose. I just hope my Venus doesn't decide it doesn't want to play anymore after six months....
A little over a month ago, I wrote about getting some new skin care products to help with my gently ageing face. A month later, I can't exactly attest to the effectiveness of this $72 combination of cleanser, toner and face cream.
On the one hand, these tiny amount seem to last and last. I don't need much cream to cover my skin as it spreads quite evenly, but part of me thinks it's because I'm subconsciously being stingy about the amount I use. At $35 for face cream, I'd have to make it last almost nine months when compared to my usual facial diet of Hazeline Snow.
My cheeks seem to be a little less dry, but I don't know if that's because the worst of winter is over. I'm still getting dry skin flare ups where my cheeks break out into almost rashy patches of itchiness, and some days this stuff BURNS (but not consistently, so what gives?) I don't have any allergies, so I'm assuming the flare ups are part of my feminine cycle or else a change in the weather.
Conclusion: I'm not paying $72 again for products that aren't making a significant difference.
What I will pay for is this: Udderly Smooth Udder Cream. I crap you not, I saw this in the pharmacy section of Loblaws and said to myself, "If it's good enough for cow udders, it's good enough for my hands!"
The instructions on the jar aren't even geared toward humans:
"Apply to udder after each milking, massaging into the skin. For teat cracks apply in sufficient quantity to fill crack and cover surrounding area."
If that's not a selling feature to appeal to those of us with teats, I don't know what could sell it.
At $6.69 for 12 oz., I figure at least I'm getting my money's worth pound for pound. And it beats paying $14 for the1.7 oz. of Bigelow chapped hands remedy I've been using, which helped with my super itchy chardonnay-making hands, but doesn't last since I reapply almost every hour.
Worst case scenario: I grow black and white spots and chew more before swallowing.
I'll keep you posted as my skin sloughs off for spring.
I wrote an article for the Toronto Romance Writers monthly newsletter--it got front page! It's also going to be syndicated to other RWA chapter newsletters, so this'll be interesting to see if it drives any traffic to dis here blog.
If you came to this blog via the link in my bio, comment and let me know!
Political Correctness Can Be Offensive, Too by Vicki So
Asian.
Seems like an innocuous enough word, one likely drilled into you when PC-ism was supposed to help navigate the treacherously booby-trapped labyrinth of race and language.
As a Canadian-born Chinese woman, I can personally say Asian was preferable to the old term Oriental, which elicited the old European colonial ideas of an exotic race from a land far removed from civilized Western society. Asian was better, certainly, than Asiatic, yellow, or Chinaman.
Then I recently came across a passage in a book in which a police detective referred to the rise of “Asian gangs.” It was a jarring thing to read, not because the language was offensive, but because what I perceived to be hypersensitivity to racial issues actually made the sentence more offensive because the context had not been taken into consideration.
Many arguments abound about the use of different racial terms, and I’m not pushing any hard and fast rules for when certain terms will be construed as offensive. But I hope to provoke some thought next time you come across this issue in your writing.
Asia is the largest continent on the planet. While there are some different schools of thought among geographers regarding the physical limits of Asia, the general consensus in terms of political boundaries include Turkey to the west, Russia to the north, Japan to the east and East Timor to the south. (See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asia#Physical_geography)
That said, you wouldn’t likely refer to someone from Iraq, Yemen, Uzbekistan or Russia as Asian.
The colloquial use of the word Asian differs region to region as it encompasses different groups of people. According to the Compact Oxford English Dictionary, Third Edition, “In Britain, Asian is used to refer to people who come from (or whose parents came from) the Indian subcontinent, while in North America it is used to refer to people from the Far East.” Have a look at the Wikipedia entry on Asian people and you’ll see it gets even more nitty-gritty, especially when it comes down to census reports. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asian_people)
With so many variations on the term, using Asian as a descriptor can be tricky, especially if you’re coupling it with something that might give it a negative connotation. In the case above, being specific would have been preferable to using a broader brush. Context is key: after all, an educated police officer knows the difference between the Hong Kong Triads, the Japanese Yakuza, the Russian Mafia and the Tamil Tigers. And he wouldn’t likely call them “Caucasian gangs.”
You should also avoid absurdist ultra-PC-isms: Oriental Chicken Salad and Asian Chicken Salad are both acceptable, but I’m not convinced “Asian carpets,” “Asian Checkers” or “Asian Anime” will ever be accepted as the norm. And while you might waver at the use of Chinaman in your historical about San Francisco in the early 1900’s, remember that Asian wasn’t a term that was widely used until the 1990’s.
Simple rule: When it comes to race, context is key. Be specific when you’re not sure.
Vicki So is a PRO member of the RWA and a member of the Toronto Romance Writers. By day, she is a proofreader at a large romance publisher. By night, she writes fan fiction and romance novels. She owns no cats, dogs or horses, does not live on a farm, and prefers chips over chocolate. Her real-life hero is a big nerd, just like her, and that’s what keeps their spark alive. Follow her blog at tripetripeandmoretripe.blogspot.com.
On the last episode of BSG: It wasn't bad...it wasn't great, but it was what it was, and it was the end. I think there are a few gaping holes in the logic of how to settle an established civilization on prehistoric Earth...but it's sci-fi, so I maintain a fairly strong suspension of disbelief as to what one can and cannot do within the genre. Still, it was a fantastic two hours of TV, action packed, emotional, breathtaking in its scope, drawing to what I suppose can only be called a logical conclusion with as little deus ex machina as you can get with a show that features robots as gods...
Highlights: HUGE HONKIN' SPOILER ALERT
1. Jumping Raptors from inside the launch tubes.
2. Ramming BSG into the Cylon colony. It was up there in my "favorite destroying iconic ships moments", right alongside crashing Enterprise NCC 1701-D in Generations.
3. A final conclusion to the opera house sequence.
4. Starbuck: "There must be some kind of way out of here..." John thinks this redeems the use of "All Along the Watchtower," but it still sticks me as a too-convenient plot device.
5. Starbuck pulling a "You're Welcome"...I just don't know what to make of this. But I'm kinda glad Lee's on his own. (And it makes Sam's little parting quip that much more poignant.)
I could go on and on, but overall, all I can say is that I'm sad to see the show go. As John has pointed out to me, it's taken seven to tell a four-season story. So they've really prolonged the pain/ecstasy. I look forward to Caprica.
Best thing ever: I did not know that Hot Dog was Adama's son! (No, this is not a spoiler...in real life, Edward James Olmos is father to Bodie Olmos. It's so weird that I never saw it before, but when you put the two side by side...)
~MIDDLES~
On Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles: Meh. As a whole, not impressive, but what this show does well is reveal aspects of each character's life in vignettes.
SPOILER ALERT
John's confrontation with Jessie was fairly intense, but it seems all the confrontations in the show are like this. Quiet, subtle, with that hint of violence trembling just beneath the surface. And that's pretty much every character in this show in a nutshell. Thomas Dekker (John) is still a fairly good actor for the part, but I'm hoping to see more development in all the leads.
~BEGINNINGS~
On Dollhouse: By far the most interesting and challenging episode to air yet....
SPOILER ALERT....
...Not just because rape is always a hot-button topic, but because all the moral issues dancing around the show were made so clear in this single episode.
I've heard quite a few rants from fans complaining about how Joss is "trying to kill his fanbase" because Dollhouse is "not feminist" since it portrays the subjugation of women, but that's a ridiculous complaint since they seem to be viewing the show entirely out of context. Yes, the show is about taking power away from a group of people, but that's what's supposed to make us mad. And last night's episode was definitely hitting you over the head with a "YOU SHOULD BE MAD ABOUT THIS" sledgehammer.
Important to note is Paul/Helo's (I'm going to have a hard time calling him anything else) rise from hapless FBI agent being led around by his tail to hero. The story seems to be more about his quest than Echo's gentle rise to self-awareness. (And no, that does not mean the show is sexist because Paul is trying to rescue a supposed damsel in distress). How it all gets played out and how the twain shall meet is what will make the show fun.
Highlights (BIG FAT SPOILER ALERT):
1. Helo vs. Faith (er, I mean, Paul vs. Echo), Round 1--awesome battle, with Tamoh Penikett's MMA skills in clear evidence. Lots of drop kicks, body slams...Penikett is, like, 6'2.5", and Dushku is only about 5'5" yet somehow they manage to break even in this fight.
2. Penikett shirtless--nekkid tiemz are good anytiemz!
3. Sleeper agent neighbor--I KNEW it!
4. The chubby computer dude's assessment of Paul's fantasy, and his own tragic tale. Pure Joss Whedon writing at its tragicomedic best.
I look forward to more of this show. It beats watching Heroes.
My latest writing project features an MMA fighter as the hero who needs to get his Octagon prowess back before a championship match. So it gives me a good excuse to watch this. Not just because Georges Hummena-Hummena-Hummena Rush St. Pierre's in it, either. Besides, who can resist a little MMA, KOs, and T & A?
Dude, I think you're a great actor. Really. I even have a little soft spot for those soulful baby blues of yours, despite being a happily engaged woman. But man, you look REE-DONK-U-LOUS as the Prince of Persia. I mean, kudos to you for bulking up for the Prince of Persia role (which I won't rant about not going to someone who was actually, you know, Persian), but dude, greasy hair and unshaven face paired with your baby skin? You look like a hobo with Conan the Barbarian's body photoshopped on. Viggo Mortensen just barely got away with it. You shouldn't try.
I just hope you can hop and fight as gracefully as the gameplay does with all that extra muscle....
Three nights and four days in Sin City and I only lost a net of $1. I think. I'm never sure about the math, so someone should help me out with this:
I lost $2 at the Bellagio slot machines. I spent $1 at the airport casino slot machine and won a cash out of $2.05. Does this mean I actually won 5 cents in total? I don't know how to count the dollar I spent to win the extra $1.05.
Anyhow, math nerdom aside....
Vegas is fun. A truly larger-than-life experience with resort/hotel/casinos and attractions to match. You just can't grasp it until you're standing on the strip, staring up at the blaring lights, or watching the famous Bellagio fountains. Really, the YouTube videos just don't do it justice, especially considering those jets of water can go 250 ft. up into the air.
That said, little I can say can be perfectly captured with words alone.
The most fascinating part about Vegas I discovered was that the streets were paved with boobies. People hand out flyers and coupons everywhere for "discreet" services from women who, according to the stacks of graphic business cards I collected for John, will provide "Totally Nude Full Service." I should have called to ask if any of these girls would fry bacon totally nude. That would totally be worth the $35 special.
If you're not a gambler, and you have no plans to kill and bury a hooker out in the desert, the hotels will be the main draw for you. Each themed casino/resort has its own distinctive character, and are world-famous for their brand. From the faux canals of the Venetian to the classic Greek style of Caesars Palace, you can spend a whole day just walking around the hotels. They're basically small cities--or as we kept saying, cruise ships times three. At the Bellagio where we stayed (highly recommended), there were 11 restaurants, a nightclub, a botanical garden, a conference center, a wedding chapel, an arcade, a mall-sized shopping boutique gallery, and a full-sized theatre, currently featuring Cirque du Soleil's O.Not to mention the 9-acre fountain out front. It took something like 15 minutes of walking just to get from the street to our room on the 26th floor. It's THAT big.
On the subject of shows, we went to see O, a fantastic water-themed performance featuring a lot of synchronized swimming, acrobatics, aerial manipulation and diving. In my opinion, it wasn't as good as Varekai in terms of story and variety, but what made this show special was the sheer scale of the thing. The depth of the pool onstage can be rapidly changed so that it alternates between Olympic-deep diveable to a perfectly dry, flat stage. Truly a feat of engineering. Too bad the clowns were so damned boring and annoying.
Of course, if one of the five mind-bending Cirque shows going on in Vegas isn't your cup of tea, Cher, Bette Midler and Wayne Newton are all currently mainstays on the strip. Wayne's probably the only one I'd want to see simply because, you know, he's like Grandpa--you should probably go to see him before he kicks the bucket so you don't regret it later.
Shopping wasn't that great for me in Vegas. Of course, I'm cheap, so you shouldn't listen to my opinion. But hey, if you can afford all the big boutique and designer brand names, then by all means, open your wallet and splurge. We got a $11 shuttle out to an outlet mall about 40 minutes away from the strip, but didn't end up buying much. Let's face it, 80% off a $15,000 Chanel dress still isn't a great deal.
Foodwise, most of the restaurants we went to were in the resorts, and the prices can be pretty up there. We had dinner at Michael Mina one night--the tasting menu was $115 US. The picture on the left is of the first course--a single scallop in some sauce. The food was very tasty, but I'm a girl of simply tastes and a fairly shallow wallet, and food has been my arch nemesis for as long as stomach troubles have been my mortal enemy and poo my quirky on-again off-again lover/hater. So while I enjoyed the experience and don't regret it, I'd have been just as happy eating from the $1 menu at the McDonald's down the Strip. Those with big appetites will prefer to eat at the buffets, which cost about $25 or so. I think there were slightly cheaper ones outside of the hotels, but who knows what the food quality was like.
Would I go back? Perhaps, if I had more money and more time to simply lounge by the poolside at the Bellagio. But if I really wanted to relax and do nothing, Vegas would not be the place to go.
In the last few months, I've discovered something very disturbing: I've grown up-ish.
It started the day I bought my own luggage. I never used to travel much before (ours is not a family that takes vacations), but in the past three years, I've been on three trips that required luggage rather than my standard gym bag of weekend clothing. I decided to get my own suitcase so I wouldn't have to bug my cousin anymore to borrow hers. The moment I rolled my Bumblebee rolling case and matching carry-on out the door, I realized I'd stepped into a whole new realm of being my own person. This was one of those moments when I couldn't shake the feeling of my own mortality. I own luggage. I can make travel arrangements and vacation on my own. One day, I will have a family and they will have luggage, as well. Weird.
On the vanity front, I started worrying about my skin. Most people who know me know I'm too lazy to put on makeup or use proper facial cleansers, and that I've got pretty damn good skin considering my negligence. But I can't ignore the fact that these days, I need a little more help, especially when MY FACE IS HURTING. Despite years of washing with Dove soap (apparently a no-no in facial skin care) and using Hazeline Snow religiously, dry skin has caught up with me and during this particularly brutal winter, has left me looking a little chapped in the cheeks with mild stinging pain one gets when one's skin is cracking and shriveling up like a lettuce leaf left out in the sun.
I sought out the help of my local Shoppers Drug Mart esthetician to recommend something to MAKE THE PAIN STOP. I walked out $72 poorer with some fancy foreign lotion, cleanser and toner I never would have bought a year ago.
Now, I'm not certain that this will actually do anything for me--the BURNING SENSATION I get when I cleanse and tone my face tells me something must be working. Still, I'm not convinced these three little bottles are worth nearly as much as my luggage, or will dramatically improve anything. At that price, I kinda expect to look like Angelina Jolie. I'll keep you updated.
On top of all this, house/condo/rental hunting has preoccupied my former days of playing online games and dicking around the Internet. Just so I had an idea of what was available, I started browsing through viewit.ca and MLS as though it were eBay. I started thinking about mortgages and RRSPs and taxes and savings...and it all went downhill from there. John has since asked me to STOP MAKING HIM CRAZY with talk of moving during this delicate time in his academic career. I've agreed--seeing all the things I can't afford just makes me depressed.
When did life start getting all complicated? Why can't I just go back to watching Saturday morning cartoons and eating all the foods that never used to hurt my stomach? I just wanna live rent/mortgage-free with good skin and not have to worry about carry-on restrictions and passports....
I'm not prepared to say AWESOME yet, only because Joss Whedon's history with FOX and the Friday 9pm time slot a la Firefly could mean we see the demise of this series before it's allowed to take flight, and I don't think I can take any more disappointments. But so far, the premise has been well trotted out, the character conflicts and moral dilemmas made clear, and the performances have been good enough for a season opener.
My only complaint is that Eliza Dushku as Echo doesn't quite pull a convincing River Tam-esque doll, but she fits the roll of kick-ass chameleon secret agent quite well. I'm confident her performance will only mature and improve as the face of Buffy's Faith slowly sinks into the background as Echo takes on more and more layers to her Dollhouse role.
Best thing about episode one: Tahmoh Penikett MMA fighting, shirtless. Damn, I didn't think you could improve on Helo. And on the subject of BSG, fave line from Dollhouse: "People want father figures, guys you can trust. Like Edward James Olmos."
Saw Liam Neeson in Taken this weekend--and while I was happy to see Darkman get back to his shadowy action roots, I came out of the theatre unable to shake the feeling I'd just watched a violent movie version of Super Mario Bros.
Roughly, the plot goes like this: ex-spy's (Neeson's) daughter gets kidnapped by foreigners running prostitution ring. He ruthlessly pursues her, going through progressively more evil international bad guys and leaving a trail of bodies behind him, desperate to find her before the 96-hour window before she disappears for good closes.
Neeson shoots a lot of people, uses that"very special set of skills" he keeps talking about in the commercials to track down the next boss/his daughter. There are car chases and martial arts and shootouts. And a guy getting hit by a truck.
Among the axis of boss characters/baddies/levels are Sri Lankans, the French, Americans, and finally, some vaguely Middle Eastern baddies whose boss character is a fat sheik I fingered as Bowser right away. (Dude even lives on a castle ship!)
At first, I was okay with this plot because espionage hijinks and violence done well can be brainlessly enjoyable. What bothered me about this tale, apart from the fact that there weren't enough Goombas around, was that like Rollerball, Taken is yet another example of a film in which an American is forgiven all his crimes because the idea of what he is doing is somehow "right." In Rollerball, "Freedom" trumped the lives of dozens of dark-skinned people who'd been killed in action. In Taken, "Family Values" are king.
Not that any father would be blamed for flipping out and torturing and killing a guy for kidnapping his daughter. But at one point (SPOILER ALERT) he shoots his French secret-agent friend (fatally) and his completely innocent wife (twice, nonfatally) after he discovers the man has been taking bribes from the kidnappers.
And there were young children in the house while he was doing this, too.
Dude. C'mon. The kids. They don't have a father now, thanks to you, and their mom's been shot in the arm and leg. Seriously, who's going to make their cereal in the morning? I'm sure even Jack Bauer knows the boundaries.
The second make-me-go-crazy bit of imperialist dogma stems from the fact that the brunette Princess is only spared a whore's fate by the fact that she is a virgin and therefore more valuable on the female meat market. Meanwhile, her slutty blond friend ("Omigod, they got Amanda!") dies a horrible death, having overdosed on heroin in one of the brothels Neeson shoots his way into.
We never see the Princess grieve for her. She gets back to her mom and step-dad in California, all smiles and hugs. And Neeson walks off into the sunset, knowing he's done his job, saved his kid and only killed about seventy people in the process. No one's knocking on his door and asking for his to please come with them. No letters of outrage or lawsuits. Nothing. Neeson's untouchable and infallible.
Overall rating: don't pay full price for this flick. And if you do, try singing the Mario Theme Song quietly to yourself throughout. It might make it that much more enjoyable.
But Shyamalan's got a tweeest for us: he's secured Dev Patel from Slumdog Millionaire for the Prince of Fire. If the hype and talent of Slumdog can speak for his talent, then I'm crossing my fingers and hoping he'll do his best to please the fans, instead of pretending to pander the way McCartney did. (Dude, get the facts straight--the director is a HUGE fan and if you don't know anything about the cartoon...)
Also cast is Jessica Jade Andres in the role of Kyoshian warrior Suki--a surprise to me, considering her role in the first season (i.e. what will be the first movie) was nominal.
I haven't ranted or raged much about the casting of what was, until Patel's appearance, an all-white cast. And I'll continue not to because other people will do it for me much more eloquently. But gods, I am so grateful McCartney's out. I just don't think Theodore from Alvin and the Chipmunks is a good fit for angstmaster Zuko.
Or maybe he will be, after all the flak he's gotten over the role...
