timeripple | there's the wind and the rain and the mercy of the fallen

Mmmmm sweet life-giving rain.

Strawberries on sale at Shaws the past couple of weeks. The ones this week are enormous and full of delicious, real strawberry flavor. Amazing.

Oh, funny thing. I was reading Vol. 1 of the Hana Kimi manga (yes, I was THAT BORED this weekend), and apparently the creator named Sano after half of a Johnny’s duo. She also apparently based the Mizuki-Sano dynamic on a Myojo photo of the duo-- Sano was wearing a dog suit? monkey suit? something? and his partner was dressed as a woman.

Well, that explains a few things.

So bored. Maybe I should read some more Herodotus, or something. (Joke. Joke! Or is it?!) I could always finish my paper. Or I could write some reviews, I guess.

Ye Olde Movie Reviewe: Miss Potter. I wanted to watch this because we’d been lectured at about Beatrix Potter a few weeks back. I’m not a major fan of Renee Zellweger, or even a minor one really, but her performance here is very good. Ewan McGregor is, well, Ewan McGregor. (I’ve been staring at the DVD case, thinking something seems off, and I just realized what it is: his rather impressive mustache doesn’t make an appearance there. Heheheh.) I’ll admit to ffwding through a few bits when I just couldn’t take the cuteness or the awkwardness, both of which are deliberate but which I didn’t feel like dealing with. (I didn’t let myself get invested enough in their relationship because I know how it ends. Can you think of anything more emotionally devastating in a romantic movie than Ewan McGregor dying of consumption?)

(I thought not.)

There was some playing fast and loose with certain facts that went on, but for the purposes of Telling a Good Story I’m prepared to overlook that.

My favorite thing about the movie was Emily Watson’s character (Millie Warne), a confirmed spinster who says (without rancor) that men are good only for financial support and procreation, then turns around and promptly tells Beatrix not to be silly and to marry Norman Warne at once. She’s adopted a particular philosophy because it suits her lifestyle and she’s determined to be happy, and she’s delighted to find somebody who shares that view. But if something better comes along for that friend, a chance to be happy in a different and powerful way, she cheerfully throws her philosophy out the window. Life philosophy is for making you happy. Want to try a new kind of happiness not condoned by your current philosophy? Simple: trade it in for another one, then go forth and be happy!

I love a character who acknowledges that sometimes sticking to your principles is not a great idea. It’s possible to interpret her ordering Beatrix to marry as revealing an unhappiness with her own spinsterhood, a secret longing for marriage for herself. But I think what she’s really saying is that if an ideal marriage isn’t possible, spinsterhood is infinitely preferable to an unhappy marriage. Marriage and happiness are NOT the same thing, to her mind. Happiness, not marriage, is the object of her life as a Victorian woman. Marriage PLUS happiness? Even better. But don’t hold your breath.

So in lots of ways, she’s kind of an anti-Charlotte Lucas.

*ahem* Okay, done with the psychoanalysis for now. Also the coherent portion of this entry.

...

Oh Alias. Why end a season with a cliffhanger when you can have THREE? (Well, okay, one giant cliffhanger and two giant fake-outs that contribute significantly to the cliffhangery-ness. I LOVE FAKE-OUTS. Just... in retrospect! When I know they're fake-outs!)

On plus side (by which I mean Squee Central), My So-Called Life has finally made it to DVD and is in public libraries. I used to watch this show with my dad, back when it first aired. That was a long time ago. It’s kind of astounding to think of how many things this show predates. Columbine. 9/11. The entire past eight years. I hesitate to say that there’s an innocence about it, exactly, but it lacks a certain undercurrent of fear, or something. There’s a quietness to the humor, and a pervasive subtlety and understatedness and truthfulness that are really remarkable. I don’t think I appreciated all these things when I was... *checks date* ...um, nine years old.

It is true. I was not a critically perceptive nine-year-old.

...

The above was written four days ago, back when I still had some modicum of rational thought. As of today and halfway through the series, my reactions are more like this:

AHAHAHAHAHAHA. OH DEAR GOD. The poor kids. They have all these feelings and have no idea how to deal with them. They do all these things and they don’t know why. The stunning amounts of awkwardness! The total inability to communicate! IT’S AMAZING. :D:D:D

I love television.