The New World

I've just returned from watching The New World, starring Colin Farrel, Christian Bale, Christopher Plummer, Wes Studi, and introducing Q'Orianka Kilcher. The salt has yet to leave my face as I now sit down and try to decide what to make of the film. I am but barely acquainted with the tale of Pocahontas, thanks mainly to the highly romanticized versions of Disney. I suppose the best thing to do would be to start with the fundamentals. The film itself contains little dialogue, relying on disjointed images of people and nature spaced between periodic black-outs to convey the plot. The movement of the sun as it peaks between branches full leavy. Tall golden grasses as they sway in the summer wind. A shackled man in the hold of a ship raising his head to catch the new day's light. A girl, barely more than a child, raising her arms to give thanks to the one they call Mother. A village of people, each toiling peacefully to fulfill their part. A band of mighty warriors fighting and dying to protect their way of life. A man warring with his emotions as he is forced to fire upon friends. The same girl, turned numb with grief, red eyes seeing that which is gone. And a small hand, no bigger than a dogwood bloom and just as delicate, gently cradled inside a that of one long-used to work. It is these images that convey the basics of the plot, and we are left to read between the images to explain what is happening. I felt recognition dawn on me as I saw shot after shot of sandy shoreline, swamps filled with cypress and little green leaves, pine forests bordered by tall grasslands - I felt so strangely - as if I had been there, seen those places with my own eyes, as indeed I had. But the feeling went beyond that - I felt sad - I felt tears prick my eyes as they do now when I recall those moments. I can't explain it, but the peaceful scenes instilled in me a longing to be in them, to go to those places. The sounds too affected me thusly. I heard a symphony of crickets at night, accompanied by the deep song of the frogs. I heard the wind, the rain, the thunder, the rustling of rushes, the sound of footsteps in the sand. I heard the narration of John Smith, Pocahontas, and John Rolfe, as they told their own stories in sparse language but abundant detail. The score, composed by James Horner, was very reminiscent of Braveheart. I found myself following along to the tunes note for note, hearing Braveheart until the melody changed. If any of this has made sense to you, then you might understand this movie. What I have written is almost an exact rendering of the movie. You must infer the plot from the images and sounds, as I did. It is not for everyone. I cannot tell if I liked it or not, nor can say if I would go and see it again. I felt a great sadness descend upon me in the last few minutes; a lump lodged itself in my throat and I felt the wetness of tears on my face. The beauty, innocence, grace, and light of this film tell a story that is beyond the capacity of words.

Several points of interests are worth mentioning. Irene Bedard, the voice of Pocahontas in Disney's adaptations, actually plays the mother of Pocahontas in this film. Wes Studi, who played Geronimo in the movie of the same name, and Magua in The Last of the Mohicans plays Opechacanough, brother to Powahatan. Several scenes are almost identical to scenes in the Last of the Mohicans. The name Pocahontas is never once mentioned in the film. She is called Princess, and christened Rebecca, but she is never really given a name. I would recommend that you see this film at least once - it's worth it.

Mirror mirror on the wall...

As I was watching Good Morning America one morning, I saw an interesting little story on this facial-recognition software on the web: MyHeritage Apparently, it scans a picture of your face and then uses some sort of logarithm or algorithm - I don't know - I'm not a math person - to compare features of your face to features of the faces of certain celebrities. When you upload your photo, and the program scans it, it gives you a list of people who are a match for your facial features, and then it gives you what percentage match you are. For instance, when I first ran it using this photo, I was a 57% match for Hugo Weaving, the very-talented actor who enthralled me as V in V for Vendetta. I tried it a couple of times more, and I noticed a frightening trend: the majority of faces that matched mine were men. And if that weren't bad enough, most of the men were either middle-aged, old, or had hit every branch on the ugly tree as they fell, and I even got one Asian dude (although Chow Yun-Fat is kinda cute)! I know I'm no beauty, but come on…do I look that masculine? I barely got one woman, and that was Margaret Thatcher (as an old crone - no offence to Ms. Thatcher)! These are my highest matches: Hugo Weaving, Heath Ledger, Margaret Thatcher, Chow Yun-Fat, Guy Pearce, Ray Liotta, Rutger Hauer, Dudi Balsar, Gary Oldman, Pervez Musharraf, and David Blaine. Let's say I was noticeably put out. Well, more amused than put out. I decided to let my roommate in on the fun, and after scanning a picture that I took of her, I read her results: Kelly Clarkson, Amy Lee, Alicia Silverstone, Charlotte Church, Charlize Theron, Alexis Bledel, and Emmy Rossum. She gets a lot of gorgeous women. I get a lot of hairy men. I guess if you add us together and take the average, it's kind of fair. No, nix that, it's not fair! I don't think I look that bad! So, I scanned another photo - one of me without my glasses (which I will not show here - I have no wish to frighten you), and I got some mollifying results: Penelope Cruz, Demi Moore, Vivien Leigh, Jennifer Garner, and Gillian Anderson. Oh, and Heath Ledger again. I feel slightly better - I mean - it's mostly women this time - that's a lot better than a bunch of men. So, try it yourself. Let me know who you look like.

And yes it's true that I kick ass!

In organic chemistry, that is. I just got my third test back today - 99! Adding in the 2 point curve, that makes 101! You can't see me, but I'm dancing with happiness! I think I'll celebrate by investigating my new blog's template. Hee hee! Such a glorious monday!

For a Rose By Any Other Name...

I have created a new blog for the sole purpose of gaining knowledge of whatever that stuff is on the template page and bending that knowledge to my will to produce what I might call beauty. You can find it here: For a Rose By Any Other Name I have decided to name it from a line in Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. Perhaps you'll recognize it. I've done nothing to the blog yet, and I don't see myself having the time to do so, but comment away and tell me what you'd like to see - I'll be most happy to oblige when I am able.

What do you say..

What would you say if I established another blog solely for the purpose of modifying the appearance of that blog? I could ask for requests, like color schemes, subject matter in photographs, etc. I think it would be a really fun way to experiment with the templates of each blog style. But I don't think I'll maintain it unless I have some input from y'all, my loyal readers. If you will comment or email me with a challenge or a preference for the design of my new blog, I'll do it. What do you say?

Happy Birthday!

Guess what....today is Sean Bean's Birthday! SEAN BEAN!! Sean Bean, as in the hottest man I've ever laid eyes on. As in the man with the most handsome smile out there. As in the man who can reduce me to a mad dash and a fit of giggles every time I see him on screen. As in the man who can make me blush everytime I come across a risqué photo of him on the web (purely by accident). As in the man who looks pretty damn good in everything ...and nothing. Happy Birthday to the best villain ever, to the man with the most seductive voice I've ever heard, who is now in his 47th year. I told you my obsession with Oded Fehr would be fleeting - all Sean Bean had to do to get my attention back was to let a little time pass and voilá! You know the rest. *giggle*

Where Am I Going To?

Well, since nobody wanted to add to my discussion of things that make us cry when watching books or reading movies, I've decided to let that topic die and to write about the here and now. I'm currently at home - my real home, not at school - and I just came inside from taking some pictures. It is so beautiful outside! I love winter because I get to wear warm clothes and drink hot chocolate, but when spring starts to bloom, I forget all about barren winter and welcome the glorious new life that's thriving everywhere. I left the windows open yesterday as I mowed the lawn and let that delicious spring scent make its way inside. The pictures I took didn't turn out very well - for some reason they never do turn out well when I take a full frame shot instead of a close-up. I'll have to figure out why that is later on. Anyway - it is a beautiful day outside. I wish I could stay at home forever - well, maybe not. Turning my thoughts to my future always darkens my day. I wish I knew what my calling was - what is it that I want to do with my life? I have the less serious questions answered - like when I get my own place, I'm determined to make it the most beautiful home I can, with one room equipped with a projector and surround sound and a cozy chair to watch movies in - I love movies. I love seeing movies at theatres- the thrill as the lights dim and the sound system warms up, as your vision narrows to that large rectangle of light and you forget about all else. Anyway, my home will be colorful and cozy, and my yard will be neat and green. But I have no idea how to get to that step - for I'll need some sort of income to get there - and that means I have to get a job - a career more likely. I'm majoring in Biological Sciences, and yet I have no desire to research, no desire to write lengthy scientific papers, no desire to learn about boring ecological matters. I have no desire to be in control - to be the head of some medical practice - for humans, dogs, or even lady beetles. I don't want to be in the spotlight and I don't want to make decisions. I look at my school as a task, and an unsavory one at that. A mid-life crisis may be upon me - though I hope not, I am only 19 - for I think that I can't kid myself any longer - I don't think anything in biology is for me. I have one thing that really makes me happy and that I have a knack for, and that is making things beautiful. I love to cut grass - but only because I like the finished product. The neat lines, as close to parallel as possible; the smooth edges and trim borders - I make mowing the lawn an art form. I love my dorm room, for I have made it an oasis of color and drawings and symmetry. I am happiest in my room when I can clean and organize my things into some aesthetic display. I love decorating for birthdays - I have done so twice - on my own - at home. The last time was only a week ago. I worked from eleven to three in the morning, blowing up balloons, stringing streamers, and determining the best display of all, in order to turn our kitchen in to a festive atmosphere. And I enjoyed every minute of it. I love this blog - I love having an avenue to post my thoughts and hopes and fancies, but I love it even more for the freedom I have been given to make it my own. I can change this color, change this picture, change this background, all to make this blog pretty, at least in my eyes. Bottom line, I love making things pretty. I love restoring order and cleanliness to forgotten or neglected objects. But what can I do with this desire? Is it just going to be a hobby? Or can I find some career that would make full use this hobby? I've been told about Graphical Design (I'm not even sure if those are the correct words!) and that I could get into that. But how? When? Where? What can I do with it? If I knew how to work with html and the like - more so than now, even though I have gotten a mediocre knowledge of it from my blog - perhaps I could design websites. The idea does have appeal, but how do I get that knowledge? Where is the starting step? How long will it take? Have I waited to long already to start? I'm not a decisive person, and perhaps that is why the future scares me so much. So I'm going to do what I do best - besides procrastinating - I'm going to go clean the kitchen and scrub the floors - so they can all be beautiful.

Why do we cry?

I watched Finding Neverland earlier today, an utterly moving film that would have had me sobbing had not my roommate been present. As it was, I couldn't hold back a momentary gush of tears. The first time I watched Finding Neverland, I almost bawled like a wee babe. My reaction to this film has made me want to know: why do people cry while watching a movie? I know why I do - I cry during sentimental moments, leavings and goodbyes, and deaths. The movie that has wrenched the most tears out of me to-date is without a doubt A Walk To Remember. My face was a constant flood for the entire last hour of the movie. For sentimental moments, let me think - how about The Patriot - when Benjamin Martin's daughter speaks to him for the first time, and begs him to stay. And how about in Finding Nemo - when Marlin and Nemo are reunited near the end, or even when Nemo almost dies. Or how about in Brokeback Mountain when Ennis agrees to walk his daughter down the aisle. And, how about the very end of Titanic, when Rose finally is reunited with Jack. Finally, what about the very end of A Time to Kill, when Karl Lee is reunited with his little girl Tanya - that gets me every time. Leavings and Goodbyes, hmmm, how about the end of Father of the Bride, Part II, when Mr. Banks has to say goodbye to Annie and the new baby. And how about in The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, when Frodo leaves the shire and all his friends and sails into the West. Or how about at the end of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, when Jen tells Lo to make a wish and then jumps. And deaths - I have plenty of these. Be forewarned: here be spoilers. If you do not wish to know the endings of these movies, then do not read past this point --> . Ok, now, let's see. How about the end of Million Dollar Baby, when Frankie does for Maggie what Maggie's father did for ol' axel. Or how about the end of Moulin Rouge!, when Christian's cries mingle with the mournful score as Satine breaths her last. Oh! How about in Baz Lurhman's production of William Shakespeare's Romeo + Juliet, when Juliet watches Romeo die with one last kiss, and then takes her own life. And what about the end of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, when Mr. Amos Diggory falls to his knees beside the lifeless body of his son. Or when Kong's bruised and broken body falls from the heights of the Empire State Building as Ann Darrow weeps for him. How about when Roxanne watches Cyrano doggedly continue his tale as his own life slips away in Cyrano De Bergerac. Or when Sylvia Llewelyan Davies makes her slow and regal process into Neverland in Finding Neverland. And this display of emotion is not limited to movies. In Juliet Marillier's Sevenwaters Trilogy, I cried as Sorcha left Red on the shores of Britain, as Red followed Sorcha to Erin and told her of the depth of his love, and as Sorcha slipped into the beyond to the sound of Red's voice. I cried as the funeral proceeded in the end of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I teared as Harry repeated what he had said to Scrimgeour, about being Dumbledore's man through and through, to Dumbledore and Dumbledore actually became choked up. I cried as Sirrius Black fell through the veil at the end of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I cried as I learned how Quasimodo's body was found, his skeleton entwined with that of La Esmerelda in Victor Hugo's The Hunchback of Notre Dame. In short, I have cried a great deal. Now I would like to ask something of you: what makes you cry when you watch a movie or read a book? What always gets you, at least ninety percent of the time, when you encounter it? Are you a big softie, like me, or does nothing ever make you shed a tear. Please, post a comment, or email it to me. I look forward to hearing your responses. If I get enough, I'll post them. Until then, Adieu.

Temporary Infidelity

As a member of the elite duo of connoisseurs of the male form that reside in my glorious abode, it is my duty to observe, critique, and when necessary, worship certain male forms, most often of the movie-actor persuasion. As such, forming a lasting, one-sided relationship with any particular specimen may prove difficult. I have lately celebrated my success with one-such relationship with Sean Bean. However, I feel compelled to admit the substitution in the object of my desire from Sean Bean to Oded Fehr. I do not know when Mr. Fehr supplanted Sean Bean, but I do believe it is only a temporary coup. I think it all started this past weekend when I was seeking out exemplary specimens of the male form to adorn my screen-saving slideshow. Oded Fehr was a past flame of mine, ever since I saw his gloriously bronzed and toned body, not to mention his chiseled features and long, ebony locks in the film The Mummy, and then again in The Mummy Returns. I tried to ignore my love of gazing his fine, masculine form. I immersed myself in pursuits of other fine males, which succeeded for a time thanks to Martin Henderson, Joaquin Phoenix, Goran Visnjic, Johnny Depp, Russell Crowe, and Karl Urban. But the moment that I typed "Oded Fehr" into the query box on google images, I knew I'd never be able to deny the depth of my partiality for Mr. Fehr. So I gave in and gave myself up to the mercy of the google gods as I viewed portrait after production still after candid photo. Perhaps this relationship will burn out quickly. Perhaps it may have potential. Perhaps I'll quit writing bollocks and write something of use next time I post. Who knows?

School Spirit....Me?

"Go Wolfpack!" "NC State!" Sorry, but if you know me, you would know that I've never said those words with anything but sarcasm. But I sense a chink in my armor of apathy towards my school. Have you seen my blog lately? Hello! Red, white, and black! OK, so none of the colors are truly red, white, or black, but you can get the general idea. And what about the recoloring job I did? Enough fishing for compliments, I'll desist.

On a different note, I went and saw Brokeback Mountain last night. I haven't cried that much in a theatre in a long while. I thought it was a great movie - but I really could have done without all of the sex scenes and nudity. I have the greatest respect for Anne Hathaway, and I think she did an excellent job in this film, but I don't want to see her birthday suit. I don't really care for Jake Gyllenhall (It's a personal thing, but I haven't liked him since I saw him in October Sky), but I really admired his work. The same for both Heath Ledger and Michele Williams. The film was a bit slow starting, but if you like sheep it's not a problem. After the slow introduction, we take a crash course on how to keep warm in a small tent. Overall, I liked this movie - the emotions, the story, and even some of the lines. My favorite line is when Jake Gyllenhall finally tells his father-in-law off - that was just hilarious! If you have an open mind and don't mind seeing some nudity, go see this film. You'll be glad you went.