SPICY MUSTARD WINGS & PB&J WINGS (straight from the Rachel Ray magazine):
PEPPERONI, SPINACH & GARLIC PIZZA WITH DEVIL SAUCE ON WHOLE WHEAT THIN CRUST:
IT WAS GOOD.
Monday, January 12, 2009
fit for a new season
to ring in the new season of 24, we cooked up some pretty tasty grub:
SPICY MUSTARD WINGS & PB&J WINGS (straight from the Rachel Ray magazine):
PEPPERONI, SPINACH & GARLIC PIZZA WITH DEVIL SAUCE ON WHOLE WHEAT THIN CRUST:
IT WAS GOOD.
SPICY MUSTARD WINGS & PB&J WINGS (straight from the Rachel Ray magazine):
PEPPERONI, SPINACH & GARLIC PIZZA WITH DEVIL SAUCE ON WHOLE WHEAT THIN CRUST:
IT WAS GOOD.
audition
you might think that, after acting professionally for going on 11 years now and doing a great deal of both stage and commercial work prior to that, that I wouldn't get nervous before auditions anymore... certainly not doing something like public speaking. on the contrary, I still get butterflies, and sometimes even psych myself out.
I rarely tell anyone outside of my husband about any auditions or callbacks. there are a couple of reasons for this: A) just like a teacher's career is made up of certain elements - say, prepping for lessons, making copies, teaching, grading papers, etc. - the acting profession has the same sort of ongoing elements, like getting auditions, prepping for them, going on them, getting more, prepping, going, getting more, prepping, going... all the while, juggling the jobs you've managed to book already. if you get booked, you'll get a phone call. if not... no phone call. all I mean is that... auditions are simply a central part of what this profession is, and they're always coming and going with varying degrees of quantity. and B) because they occur with some regularity (hopefully) and the odds of booking them varies, it's just easier to go audition, do the best I can do, leave, and forget about it. unless I book it, and then woo-hoo!! but the truth is, it's probably psychologically easier to believe you're likely NOT going to book the job for whatever reason... I'm not blonde, or 5'8, or not tan, or can't rollerblade, or any number of things out of my control. It helps to remember this, so I can try to relax and just be present and have a good, memorable audition for future relationship-building with that casting director, director, or producer. it's too easy to give in to worry, or self-doubt, or comparisons to other actors in the room, or how much money this gig could be, or... etc. the deal is, if you tell someone about the audition, you might get the natural follow-up question... "did you hear about that audition?!" ... and then you think, "no, I HAVEN'T heard anything. crap. THANKS." because, like I said, I've forgotten about it. :)
Anyway, I bring up this old topic because I had a really nice callback today. It's weird - I was fairly certain I choked in the initial audition before Christmas a bit, but there were only 6 of us at the callback today, and I know there was at least one big call here in Houston and 2 calls in Dallas. So that leads me to believe either 1) I'm better than I thought I was or 2) a lot of other actors really blew it. ha! anyhoo, I took care this go-round to be super-prepared, which involved being solid with the lines, ready with the client notes for wardrobe, and staying relaxed and outer-focused (rather than getting all in my head... much better if you can stay open and light, talking to people, etc). I got there early and spent time in the car thanking God and praising Him, and asking only for a good experience. and when I left, I felt the prayer was more than answered. that's not to say I think I booked the job... but I have a fighting chance, and those cats I read for (who knew me already) will continue to have a good impression of me. I do see, though, that a huge part of the equation is my preparedness, and that often my nerves are directly tied to the fact that I didn't cover all the bases before I got to the audition. hmmm.
that makes me think of my first on-camera audition in this city, over ten years ago... it was for an industrial. I nervously paced around my aunt's pool running lines for hours, and showed up at the agency for the audition soooo nervous but as ready as I could possibly be. I wanted so badly to prove to them they'd done a smart thing by signing me... and I guess I was still a bit unconvinced I was a real on-camera talent, since the bulk of my experience to that point was primarily stage-related. booking that job was huge for me.
so here I am, still learning that the key to success is the same as it was in college... learn your lines. be on time. be present. warm up. listen when people talk to you. if you don't know what you're doing, smile and act like you do. behave as a professional.
don't worry... I'll understand if you want to ask me if I got this job later. to be real, I hope so, because I would like this particular paycheck. but whatever... I did my best, and now it's time to let it go. maybe I should focus on the training video I'm voicing for Schlumberger tomorrow morning... I can say it - "Shlum-ber-zhay" - but every time I see the word 'Schlumberger' in print all I see is "Slum-burger".
m.y.
I rarely tell anyone outside of my husband about any auditions or callbacks. there are a couple of reasons for this: A) just like a teacher's career is made up of certain elements - say, prepping for lessons, making copies, teaching, grading papers, etc. - the acting profession has the same sort of ongoing elements, like getting auditions, prepping for them, going on them, getting more, prepping, going, getting more, prepping, going... all the while, juggling the jobs you've managed to book already. if you get booked, you'll get a phone call. if not... no phone call. all I mean is that... auditions are simply a central part of what this profession is, and they're always coming and going with varying degrees of quantity. and B) because they occur with some regularity (hopefully) and the odds of booking them varies, it's just easier to go audition, do the best I can do, leave, and forget about it. unless I book it, and then woo-hoo!! but the truth is, it's probably psychologically easier to believe you're likely NOT going to book the job for whatever reason... I'm not blonde, or 5'8, or not tan, or can't rollerblade, or any number of things out of my control. It helps to remember this, so I can try to relax and just be present and have a good, memorable audition for future relationship-building with that casting director, director, or producer. it's too easy to give in to worry, or self-doubt, or comparisons to other actors in the room, or how much money this gig could be, or... etc. the deal is, if you tell someone about the audition, you might get the natural follow-up question... "did you hear about that audition?!" ... and then you think, "no, I HAVEN'T heard anything. crap. THANKS." because, like I said, I've forgotten about it. :)
Anyway, I bring up this old topic because I had a really nice callback today. It's weird - I was fairly certain I choked in the initial audition before Christmas a bit, but there were only 6 of us at the callback today, and I know there was at least one big call here in Houston and 2 calls in Dallas. So that leads me to believe either 1) I'm better than I thought I was or 2) a lot of other actors really blew it. ha! anyhoo, I took care this go-round to be super-prepared, which involved being solid with the lines, ready with the client notes for wardrobe, and staying relaxed and outer-focused (rather than getting all in my head... much better if you can stay open and light, talking to people, etc). I got there early and spent time in the car thanking God and praising Him, and asking only for a good experience. and when I left, I felt the prayer was more than answered. that's not to say I think I booked the job... but I have a fighting chance, and those cats I read for (who knew me already) will continue to have a good impression of me. I do see, though, that a huge part of the equation is my preparedness, and that often my nerves are directly tied to the fact that I didn't cover all the bases before I got to the audition. hmmm.
that makes me think of my first on-camera audition in this city, over ten years ago... it was for an industrial. I nervously paced around my aunt's pool running lines for hours, and showed up at the agency for the audition soooo nervous but as ready as I could possibly be. I wanted so badly to prove to them they'd done a smart thing by signing me... and I guess I was still a bit unconvinced I was a real on-camera talent, since the bulk of my experience to that point was primarily stage-related. booking that job was huge for me.
so here I am, still learning that the key to success is the same as it was in college... learn your lines. be on time. be present. warm up. listen when people talk to you. if you don't know what you're doing, smile and act like you do. behave as a professional.
don't worry... I'll understand if you want to ask me if I got this job later. to be real, I hope so, because I would like this particular paycheck. but whatever... I did my best, and now it's time to let it go. maybe I should focus on the training video I'm voicing for Schlumberger tomorrow morning... I can say it - "Shlum-ber-zhay" - but every time I see the word 'Schlumberger' in print all I see is "Slum-burger".
m.y.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
NOT for the faint of heart... or stomach.
I'm warning you up front... no reading this post and then blaming me for making you feel queasy. or inclined to call PETA. it's your last chance to stop reading and go do something lovely, like eat cake or organize your sock drawer...
My dog has always been sort of a picky eater. Thankfully, for most of his life he was content with good old fashioned Dog Chow, regular, plain. No Kibbles and Bits, nothing fancy. And he didn't really like dog treats. Why would he like bacon-flavored dog treats when he knows real bacon exists in the world? The occasional pig-ear would be chewed on, or bones, but that's about it. Now that he's a bit older, he's apparently developed a taste for the more expensive dry food (this was discovered at G'ma Linda's, as he tried to gobble all of Bullet's food) so now we buy the good stuff for him, sometimes mixing it with all sort of things we know he likes... bacon, shredded cheese, leftovers, the fat off of my steak, a drizzle of bacon grease, etc. I know. There is a school of thought that it is very bad for the dog to eat such things. I respect that view. However, I've secretly given him bits of real people food all his 13 years, and now that we know he has cancer I don't think this is the time to lay down the law. Plus, we just want him to keep eating. So far so good... even though he ignores his food sometimes, he's still doing pretty well and, as I blogged before, he's growing rather, um, SOLID.
In the last couple of years, we've discovered that Chino does have a sweet tooth of sorts. Yes, I think he does. As I am partial to the dark chocolate s'more husband brought me from The Chocolate Bar yesterday, my dog really diggs opossum. As he reminded us last night... when we opened the door to let him in and there, in a patch of light, was the latest victim, brought up to the back door, no doubt, to show us what a fierce hunter and generous giver he is. We collectively groaned and I tried not to barf as we called to Chi and checked him out, to see if he'd sustained any injury. One leg appeared to have a little scratch. His breath was the grossest thing ever and I tried to think of something else. We immediately put him in the shower and I scrubbed him all over. To assuage your fears, he's fine and he's had all his shots. This morning he's fine and showing no signs of craziness or rabid-dog symptoms. He's already been out and forlornly sniffed the place he left his, ah, friend last night. barf.
The opossum chronicles began a couple of years ago in Hico, Texas. I'd taken Chino home with me, and left him to hang out in my YaYa's gigantic backyard overnight. It really is huge, with tons of trees and a fish pond to tantalize him. While drinking coffee the next morning at my folks' house, the phone rang. "Chino is a warrior!" my YaYa crowed. "He got a 'possum last night!" "Wha?!" was my response, I think. He'd brought the dead animal up to the back door, to ensure it was YaYa's morning surprise when she ventured out. She was pretty non-plussed... people who live in the country are so much less squeamish about death. She was actually thankful, I think, that he rid her of a pest in her yard. When we got to town, they'd disposed of the grody evidence but Chi had these marks on his face, smelled horrible, and grinned and pranced around like a proud... well, warrior.
We all laughed, and I took the above picture. Because, as a disgusted-yet-proud mom, I know it's all about chronicling the journey. We came home, and hubby-then-boyfriend and I found a stuffed opossum for him to play with. He loved it.
What happened next was just... epic. EPIC.
It was a dark and stormy night. Okay, not stormy. But dark. I was home alone. I was living with my aunt at the time, and she was out of town. The dog was out back, and I was about to take a shower. Deciding to let the dog in, I walked to the back door and saw him there through the glass, outside. "Hm", thought I. "I didn't know he took his stuffed animal outside." So I opened the door. And in ran a gleeful, energetic Chino, with a freshly expired opossum hanging from his mouth. HE RAN INTO THE HOUSE. TRAILING DROPLETS OF RED SUBSTANCE. Like any self-respecting woman, I screamed and jumped up on the kitchen counter, curling my legs up as far as possible to get my feet away from the beasts and the droplets and the situation at large. Chino looked at me, clearly expecting a high-five. Oh, and I was buck naked. Because I was GOING to take a shower.
I somehow shooed him out the door again. And flipped out. And obsessively, squeamishly cleaned the floor, in my birthday suit, all the while listening to my dog happily crunching down on his victim directly outside the door. Yes, I heard crunching. That was the first time I thought I would vomit. Then, I had to sit there and consider what to do next. I managed to open the door and cajole the dog away from his new BFF. I grabbed him by the collar, propelled him to the bathroom, and bathed him. and bathed him again. I thought I would upchuck in the shower. With him smelling like he just left a salon, I went over the floors again, desiring nothing more than to sanitize the world around me. I threw away his collar. Chi whined a little to be let back out, missing the thing on the back porch. And there it was, the final task. What was I supposed to do with it?! I poked my head out and surveyed the situation. Gross. Barf. Was it all the way dead? It was crunched on, so surely so, right? I rooted around in the laundry room for tools to deal with disposing of the thing, and only found a dustpan and some tool for poking the thing. I honestly don't remember what the tool was... must've blocked it out. Oh, I was dressed by this point as well. "Finally!" you all think in relief.
I went out armed with these paltry tools and poked the thing to, you know, make sure it was dead. It's teeth were barred, so scarily that I started talking to myself and wigging out. I knew there were better, superior tools out under the carport, but it was dark and there were apparently opossums running rampant. I tried to wedge the dustpan under the animal, which had that eerie weight of death, which freaked me out all over again. That's when I started crying, and seriously considered calling 'a man' to do it, any man. The shame of it all kept me from doing that, so I sucked it up and managed to somehow finagle the poor carcass into a trash bag, and drag the bad to the dumpster, and roll the dumpster to the curb. And bang down on the lid to make sure it was really closed. Then I went inside and texted my aunt, who howled at the story.
So, my dog has a taste for opossum. Everyone has a weakness, I guess, especially instinctive beasts. I confess, as totally stomach-turning as I find it, there's a tiny part of me that is thankful he's feeling good enough to get himself a 'possum. However, because I don't want you to go away with gory images in your head, here's my good boy:
And for the record, I never actually tossed my cookies. I'm obviously the toughest woman you know, duh.
-m.y.
My dog has always been sort of a picky eater. Thankfully, for most of his life he was content with good old fashioned Dog Chow, regular, plain. No Kibbles and Bits, nothing fancy. And he didn't really like dog treats. Why would he like bacon-flavored dog treats when he knows real bacon exists in the world? The occasional pig-ear would be chewed on, or bones, but that's about it. Now that he's a bit older, he's apparently developed a taste for the more expensive dry food (this was discovered at G'ma Linda's, as he tried to gobble all of Bullet's food) so now we buy the good stuff for him, sometimes mixing it with all sort of things we know he likes... bacon, shredded cheese, leftovers, the fat off of my steak, a drizzle of bacon grease, etc. I know. There is a school of thought that it is very bad for the dog to eat such things. I respect that view. However, I've secretly given him bits of real people food all his 13 years, and now that we know he has cancer I don't think this is the time to lay down the law. Plus, we just want him to keep eating. So far so good... even though he ignores his food sometimes, he's still doing pretty well and, as I blogged before, he's growing rather, um, SOLID.
In the last couple of years, we've discovered that Chino does have a sweet tooth of sorts. Yes, I think he does. As I am partial to the dark chocolate s'more husband brought me from The Chocolate Bar yesterday, my dog really diggs opossum. As he reminded us last night... when we opened the door to let him in and there, in a patch of light, was the latest victim, brought up to the back door, no doubt, to show us what a fierce hunter and generous giver he is. We collectively groaned and I tried not to barf as we called to Chi and checked him out, to see if he'd sustained any injury. One leg appeared to have a little scratch. His breath was the grossest thing ever and I tried to think of something else. We immediately put him in the shower and I scrubbed him all over. To assuage your fears, he's fine and he's had all his shots. This morning he's fine and showing no signs of craziness or rabid-dog symptoms. He's already been out and forlornly sniffed the place he left his, ah, friend last night. barf.
The opossum chronicles began a couple of years ago in Hico, Texas. I'd taken Chino home with me, and left him to hang out in my YaYa's gigantic backyard overnight. It really is huge, with tons of trees and a fish pond to tantalize him. While drinking coffee the next morning at my folks' house, the phone rang. "Chino is a warrior!" my YaYa crowed. "He got a 'possum last night!" "Wha?!" was my response, I think. He'd brought the dead animal up to the back door, to ensure it was YaYa's morning surprise when she ventured out. She was pretty non-plussed... people who live in the country are so much less squeamish about death. She was actually thankful, I think, that he rid her of a pest in her yard. When we got to town, they'd disposed of the grody evidence but Chi had these marks on his face, smelled horrible, and grinned and pranced around like a proud... well, warrior.
We all laughed, and I took the above picture. Because, as a disgusted-yet-proud mom, I know it's all about chronicling the journey. We came home, and hubby-then-boyfriend and I found a stuffed opossum for him to play with. He loved it.
What happened next was just... epic. EPIC.
It was a dark and stormy night. Okay, not stormy. But dark. I was home alone. I was living with my aunt at the time, and she was out of town. The dog was out back, and I was about to take a shower. Deciding to let the dog in, I walked to the back door and saw him there through the glass, outside. "Hm", thought I. "I didn't know he took his stuffed animal outside." So I opened the door. And in ran a gleeful, energetic Chino, with a freshly expired opossum hanging from his mouth. HE RAN INTO THE HOUSE. TRAILING DROPLETS OF RED SUBSTANCE. Like any self-respecting woman, I screamed and jumped up on the kitchen counter, curling my legs up as far as possible to get my feet away from the beasts and the droplets and the situation at large. Chino looked at me, clearly expecting a high-five. Oh, and I was buck naked. Because I was GOING to take a shower.
I somehow shooed him out the door again. And flipped out. And obsessively, squeamishly cleaned the floor, in my birthday suit, all the while listening to my dog happily crunching down on his victim directly outside the door. Yes, I heard crunching. That was the first time I thought I would vomit. Then, I had to sit there and consider what to do next. I managed to open the door and cajole the dog away from his new BFF. I grabbed him by the collar, propelled him to the bathroom, and bathed him. and bathed him again. I thought I would upchuck in the shower. With him smelling like he just left a salon, I went over the floors again, desiring nothing more than to sanitize the world around me. I threw away his collar. Chi whined a little to be let back out, missing the thing on the back porch. And there it was, the final task. What was I supposed to do with it?! I poked my head out and surveyed the situation. Gross. Barf. Was it all the way dead? It was crunched on, so surely so, right? I rooted around in the laundry room for tools to deal with disposing of the thing, and only found a dustpan and some tool for poking the thing. I honestly don't remember what the tool was... must've blocked it out. Oh, I was dressed by this point as well. "Finally!" you all think in relief.
I went out armed with these paltry tools and poked the thing to, you know, make sure it was dead. It's teeth were barred, so scarily that I started talking to myself and wigging out. I knew there were better, superior tools out under the carport, but it was dark and there were apparently opossums running rampant. I tried to wedge the dustpan under the animal, which had that eerie weight of death, which freaked me out all over again. That's when I started crying, and seriously considered calling 'a man' to do it, any man. The shame of it all kept me from doing that, so I sucked it up and managed to somehow finagle the poor carcass into a trash bag, and drag the bad to the dumpster, and roll the dumpster to the curb. And bang down on the lid to make sure it was really closed. Then I went inside and texted my aunt, who howled at the story.
So, my dog has a taste for opossum. Everyone has a weakness, I guess, especially instinctive beasts. I confess, as totally stomach-turning as I find it, there's a tiny part of me that is thankful he's feeling good enough to get himself a 'possum. However, because I don't want you to go away with gory images in your head, here's my good boy:
And for the record, I never actually tossed my cookies. I'm obviously the toughest woman you know, duh.
-m.y.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
my latest JAM...
and an experiment, since I've never tried posting a song here like this:
04.The Re-Arranger - Mates of State
yay, it works!! rock out, everybody!! this is off of Mates of State's latest album... they're a husband and wife duo that are new to me, but I have a link to Kori's blog over there with other things that interest, band on the diaper run...
04.The Re-Arranger - Mates of State
yay, it works!! rock out, everybody!! this is off of Mates of State's latest album... they're a husband and wife duo that are new to me, but I have a link to Kori's blog over there with other things that interest, band on the diaper run...
tid-bits
following our Soup Bible (that's really what it's called, I'm not trying to be sacrilegious), husband made chicken stock from scratch the other night. he took this gorgeous picture of the ingredients:
food is pretty. :)
*******************
our new year looked like this:
US WATCHING THE ABOVE:
I MADE A CAKE WITH YELLOW CAKE MIX, LIGHT COOL WHIP, YOGURT, AND STRAWBERRIES, AND GOT TO USE MY YAYA'S CAKE STAND FOR THE FIRST TIME:
So, we ate cake, watched 24, and drank apple juice and ginger ale mocktails (which is a delectable combination, by the way). We're sooooo edgy.
********************
a picture from Christmas I found that I look at most days:
********************
I got the paperwork affirming my second mortgage paid-in-full... at the top of the document it reads as follows:
DATE OF NOTE: DEC 12...
BORROWER: ROCK A LAMP , AN UNMARRIED WOMAN
LOL!!! Just like that, my name and defining characteristic (at the time)! So weird... and untrue, now.
food is pretty. :)
*******************
our new year looked like this:
US WATCHING THE ABOVE:
I MADE A CAKE WITH YELLOW CAKE MIX, LIGHT COOL WHIP, YOGURT, AND STRAWBERRIES, AND GOT TO USE MY YAYA'S CAKE STAND FOR THE FIRST TIME:
So, we ate cake, watched 24, and drank apple juice and ginger ale mocktails (which is a delectable combination, by the way). We're sooooo edgy.
********************
a picture from Christmas I found that I look at most days:
********************
I got the paperwork affirming my second mortgage paid-in-full... at the top of the document it reads as follows:
DATE OF NOTE: DEC 12...
BORROWER: ROCK A LAMP , AN UNMARRIED WOMAN
LOL!!! Just like that, my name and defining characteristic (at the time)! So weird... and untrue, now.
Monday, January 5, 2009
sunday brain candy
this past Sunday, church was chock-full of interesting and challenging ideas for me. our Bible class discussion centered around this article from Times Online ("As an athiest, I truly believe Africa needs God" by Matthew Parris). after listening to some interesting comments and opinions, I left the class considering the term 'evangelism' and what that means, how we use it, what we intend it to mean, etc. one of the views expressed noted how different evangelistic efforts are when they're accomplished by persons actually committed to living in the areas they're trying to reach over a period of time and are accompanied by quality of life improvements... building infrastructure, educating, feeding and clothing, etc. when we speak of evangelistic efforts stateside, my mind tends to jump to stranger-focused goals of special events and tracts, structuring of churches to appeal to seekers, etc. in speaking with husband later, however, I decided that maybe that's my issue - my view of evangelism might be way too myopic. evangelism isn't just funding someone else to fly across the ocean to teach people about Jesus, or having a huge rally, or hiring someone to deliver persuasive sermons and plan events, or an event to feed the community twice a year, or fish symbols on my car, or... insert whatever images pop into your head. evangelism is telling about what God has done... not just what He did once, back in the day, but what He's done in me and in my community, and what He's continuing to do and what I hope He does, and we all have ample opportunity to talk about such things every day, with all of the people we already know in and out of our faith communities. and we should probably be sharing God's work and the mystery and wonder and victory and struggle of it all with both sets of people, right? I think that's the real trick... just living as though you're a believer of what you believe, and that it has great, life-changing value, and talking about it as we attempt to walk humbly with our God. that maybe sharing the gospel with people includes the necessity of my learning to communicate what God has done and continues to do in me to the people who already know me, as though it is important to me. as though I'm dependent on Him, and curious about Him, and grateful to Him. maybe that's where it starts, actually. I hope to reflect more of this sentiment as I journey through this next year.
which leads into Mike Mc's sermon about praise, which convicted me in my guts. to paraphrase, his simple premise was something like, 'we praise things all the time... we praise the things we value.' it's true - as this blog proves, we can't wait to tell people about movies, or books, or recipes, or this beauty product we love, or our favorite sports team. we praise these things because they have value to us that is intrinsically personal, and it makes up the fun, multi-colored collage of "me" and the things I choose. I confess that I tend to view God more as either my conscience or my inmost-wish-granter, and I spend very little time in real praise of Him. which is honestly embarrassing, considering I have so much to be outrageously thankful for. don't misread me... I'm laughing ruefully on my end, not brow-beating, because along with the embarrassment comes a gratefulness for the patience of my Father, who doesn't need my praise, but would certainly like to bless and communicate with me through it. Mike also pointed out more than a few examples in the new testament where Jesus did something incredible, wonderful... and the response of those around Him was to criticize and look for fault rather than praise the extraordinary and miraculous. the point being that perhaps the problem with malcontents is faulty perspective - that through eyes looking to praise and search out God at work in the world, it becomes more difficult to remain a critical jerk. I think this is why gratitude is a regular topic at meetings... when you're busy concentrating on things you're grateful for and progress made thus far, the list of things that are bothering you almost pales to nothing.
Dearest God, I praise you today for your wisdom and goodness, for your patience and character, for correction and blessing, and for your constant Help.
which leads into Mike Mc's sermon about praise, which convicted me in my guts. to paraphrase, his simple premise was something like, 'we praise things all the time... we praise the things we value.' it's true - as this blog proves, we can't wait to tell people about movies, or books, or recipes, or this beauty product we love, or our favorite sports team. we praise these things because they have value to us that is intrinsically personal, and it makes up the fun, multi-colored collage of "me" and the things I choose. I confess that I tend to view God more as either my conscience or my inmost-wish-granter, and I spend very little time in real praise of Him. which is honestly embarrassing, considering I have so much to be outrageously thankful for. don't misread me... I'm laughing ruefully on my end, not brow-beating, because along with the embarrassment comes a gratefulness for the patience of my Father, who doesn't need my praise, but would certainly like to bless and communicate with me through it. Mike also pointed out more than a few examples in the new testament where Jesus did something incredible, wonderful... and the response of those around Him was to criticize and look for fault rather than praise the extraordinary and miraculous. the point being that perhaps the problem with malcontents is faulty perspective - that through eyes looking to praise and search out God at work in the world, it becomes more difficult to remain a critical jerk. I think this is why gratitude is a regular topic at meetings... when you're busy concentrating on things you're grateful for and progress made thus far, the list of things that are bothering you almost pales to nothing.
Dearest God, I praise you today for your wisdom and goodness, for your patience and character, for correction and blessing, and for your constant Help.
in my dream, the vampires were hunting jack bauer...
aside from last week's grody and annoying sickness, one of the things I will remember about this holiday are the mini-addictions that took over my life and sleep schedule... namely:
and
we barreled through and watched the whole first season of 24, and have begun the second. I hate to speak ill of my sex, but why are the women on 24 so stupid?! ack, I wanted to strangle Kim Bauer myself!
as for the Twilight series... um, yeah, I know. vampires. vampire love in high school. mm-hmm. I feel your judgement. and yet I - dare I say it? yes, I think I shall - I DEVOURED them, staying up all hours of the night to finish the stories. M took me to see the movie yesterday afternoon, and I was predictably let down. books turned into movies are a tricky thing, aren't they? the things I liked about the 2 Twilight books I've read - the overall eloquence and thoughtful quality of the books, the sweeping and all-encompassing 'forever' love between Bella and Edward, the concept of restraint between lovers - all of that takes time to set and develop, to hook you in and help you believe, and it's hard to achieve that in a couple of hours. I was also not appreciative of some of the liberties taken with the story and dialogue, but what can you do. C. Hardwicke directed, and she directed Thirteen, which was horrifying and something probably every parent would do well to watch, but I couldn't help but wish it wasn't such a... teen movie. silly, I know, since that's it's primary audience... but still. the setting looked like I imagined it would, though. another series that I think has had a good visual jump to the big screen are the Harry Potter books... it all looks as I thought it would, and they've done a fairly decent job of concentrating on the major plot points in the films and faithfully rendering them. probably my all time favorite book-to-screen experience is this one:
the novels by L. Alcott are my favorite of all time. for me, this film wins for being very very true to the book. all of the girls were wonderful... special mention must obviously be made of K. Hepburn as Jo. it's affecting and has the feel of the book... sweet and fun and earnest and home-spun in the best way.
don't talk to me about the newest version.... w. ryder as Jo is just... no. and s. sarandon is not Marmee.
any books you think made great movies? or wretched movies?
and
we barreled through and watched the whole first season of 24, and have begun the second. I hate to speak ill of my sex, but why are the women on 24 so stupid?! ack, I wanted to strangle Kim Bauer myself!
as for the Twilight series... um, yeah, I know. vampires. vampire love in high school. mm-hmm. I feel your judgement. and yet I - dare I say it? yes, I think I shall - I DEVOURED them, staying up all hours of the night to finish the stories. M took me to see the movie yesterday afternoon, and I was predictably let down. books turned into movies are a tricky thing, aren't they? the things I liked about the 2 Twilight books I've read - the overall eloquence and thoughtful quality of the books, the sweeping and all-encompassing 'forever' love between Bella and Edward, the concept of restraint between lovers - all of that takes time to set and develop, to hook you in and help you believe, and it's hard to achieve that in a couple of hours. I was also not appreciative of some of the liberties taken with the story and dialogue, but what can you do. C. Hardwicke directed, and she directed Thirteen, which was horrifying and something probably every parent would do well to watch, but I couldn't help but wish it wasn't such a... teen movie. silly, I know, since that's it's primary audience... but still. the setting looked like I imagined it would, though. another series that I think has had a good visual jump to the big screen are the Harry Potter books... it all looks as I thought it would, and they've done a fairly decent job of concentrating on the major plot points in the films and faithfully rendering them. probably my all time favorite book-to-screen experience is this one:
the novels by L. Alcott are my favorite of all time. for me, this film wins for being very very true to the book. all of the girls were wonderful... special mention must obviously be made of K. Hepburn as Jo. it's affecting and has the feel of the book... sweet and fun and earnest and home-spun in the best way.
don't talk to me about the newest version.... w. ryder as Jo is just... no. and s. sarandon is not Marmee.
any books you think made great movies? or wretched movies?
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