Just seize SOMEthing!

We watched "Stand By Me" on Sunday, Rob Reiner's fantastic 1986 adaptation of Stephen King's short story "The Body". This story, and to only a slighter lesser extent the movie, exemplify King's literary and pop culture importance. He captures what it was like to be a 12 year old boy in the late 50s and early 60s. His work often delineates that period from the post-1963 America that crushed so many spirits after the fall of Camelot.

More importantly, seeing the young Gordie Lachance make up the story about Lard-Ass and the Vomit-Revenge serves, once again, to reiterate the as-yet unacted upon dream I have of being a writer.

Once again, however, it also serves to remind me that I have to actually DO some writing to be a writer.

And so, once AGAIN, I hereby rededicate myself to 1 hour of writing a day, be it the blog, something witty on Facebook, or, ideally, an actual story.

I find it apropos to start with the proposed expansion of my dream "I had dinner with Stephen King."

Carpe Noctem

While enjoying what may very well have been the last bit of peace and quiet, well, EVER, I caught the end of another episode of Angel. It was the conclusion of Fred's acclamation to the strange freedom of Earth, and of the fleeting infatuation she had for her rescuer, Angel. Just as she is about to tell Angel about her feelings, Cordelia storms in and shouts "They found her. She's alive!"

And the ultimate, tragicest love story continues...

Not Fade Away

While enjoying a ham and turkey lettuce wrap this morning, I was watching the end of an episode of Angel. It was the conclusion of the story arc in which they travel to Lorne’s homeworld, Pylea. Cordy becomes queen nee’ cow, Angel fight’s his demon, and Angel fights HER Grusalaag. Everyone wins, and they come home in Angel’s car with the help of Fred, who becomes a regular on the show. They’re all happy, and Cordy is STILL in the queen’s gold-bangled bikini top. I’m thinking to myself, what a wonderful show/universe – action, comedy, bikini-Cordy, character growth, the mainstreaming of so many of Joss Whedon’s stars (David Boreanez, Alyson Hannigan, SMG, Seth Green, etc.).
So, they come to the door of the hotel where they live, and Angel insists on saying “There’s no place…” and there sits Willow, silent, pregnant anguish announcing the death of Buffy Summers.

I burst into tears.

RSWR #14

Check out this Polish site with multiple versions of the Imperial March.

By "Polish" I mean 'originating in Poland', not 'amusingly absentminded'.