The week in a five-course meal
Jun. 11th, 2009 09:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grrgoylSoup:
In traffic on my way to the hospital my eye was caught by a GMC Jimmy with all of its doors off. Imagining itself to be a war-time Jeep? I'm not sure, but it looked pretty damn silly. I thought I'd give the driver the benefit of the doubt -- perhaps he'd lost them all in an accident. The way some SUV owners drive it wouldn't be impossible. Then he moved ahead of me and I saw he had one of those scrolling marquee signs over his license plate, reading "Show me your boobs!!" Oh, just an ass then. An ass mistaking Denver for Ft. Lauderdale.
~*~
Appetizer:
I realize how pathetic it sounds, but getting mail is the highlight of my day. This is why I compulsively order stuff online, so I have an almost constant flow of mail to look forward to.
So maybe you can appreciate why my world came crashing down Thursday when I realized the lock on our box was broken. The tab inside that latches it closed was missing the nut holding it on the bolt.
"No problem," I thought. "I'll just replace the nut." After fishing around I found one that seemed to fit, except wouldn't hand-tighten properly. "No problem," I thought. "I'll just get a ratchet wrench." It seemed to be going swimmingly until suddenly the whole damn bolt snapped right off in my hand. Okay, THAT was a problem.
This was at 7 pm, so no hope of calling anyone. First thing Friday morning I called our post office and described my situation (leaving out my attempted DIY). His first (and second) question was did I know who did it? "No one did it, the bolt was really old and just snapped," I answered. Choice B was "I suppose if anyone 'did it' I did." Choice C was "Even if it was a criminal act, how the hell should I know? It's not like I monitor the mailbox (most of the time)."
Once I convinced him there were no suspects he could bring in for questioning, he said only, "Okay, I'll send Maintenance out today." Oh, cool. That was easy.
Except of course it wasn't, because I'm still me and they're still a government agency. After neither of us did anything more about it all day, I called again at the end of my shift to find out the deal. I spoke to someone else, who told me I had to come in, fill out a lock change form and pay a $25 fee. Huh. I wish I had known this 8 hours earlier. I also felt slightly less nervous about covering up my vandalism since I would be paying for it.
I rushed in before they closed to jump through their hoops. Fortunately the clerk was really friendly and funny, or it could have gotten ugly. As it was, I couldn't resist asking why guy #1 couldn't be bothered to give me correct information. "I hate to say it, but he was probably a supervisor. They don't know what's going on." I snorted. "So how did he get to be supervisor?" He shrugged. "If you can't do the job, you get promoted?" We both had a chuckle at The Man and I promised I wasn't taking his name or anything.
Nice guy told me 2-3 days, might even be done Monday. That wasn't bad, even if I had to suffer a weekend of essentially two Sundays.
Except it wasn't Monday. Or Tuesday. Wasn't in fact until Wednesday. But let's not be too hasty, I didn't actually get the call until this morning Thursday. I wish nice guy hadn't raised my hopes falsely. But hey, what's the point of complaining? It's not like I can threaten to go somewhere else to get my mail delivered.
~*~
Entree:
About two weeks ago Ryan invited me to a downtown thing, "La Piazza," some kind of pavement chalk art (I at first thought it was trompe l'oeil, but no); well, I should say he forwarded me the ad, and when I asked about inviting MyFriendDeb, he copied me on the email asking John permission (when if you ask me it should've been John begging us to be included. Thank god they broke up for good before we had to deal with THAT bit of awkwardness).
It took place this past weekend, and Ryan at the last minute sprang the idea of bringing Lucy along (you remember my pal Lucy?) It didn't thrill me, but I couldn't really say no.
I worked all night and got up to meet Deb about 10:30ish. Ryan texted me because he was having a hard time getting going, they'd be a little late, sorry. Whatever, Ryan, Deb and I were on the train halfway there already.
It turned out to be full of awesome:
Just after seeing this we passed a guy wearing a Max t-shirt in the crowd. We asked if he planned that. He laughed nervously because he hadn't seen the piece yet (then 15 seconds later put it together)
Samurai-san
For Roxie. "Bunny! You're STINKY Bunny!"
My favorite famous art piece in all the world
My second favorite. This would look fabulous on our wall. Does anyone know what it's called or even if it's done by someone other than the chalk artist?
This was Deb's favorite. The lady was about 10 feet long and pretty impossible to capture in correct perspective without a ladder. The texture and detail were stunning.
Tried again.
This was taken extremely hastily (read on). It's the Convention Center Blue Bear!
We sort of regretted lingering respectfully over every little piece in the beginning, especially when it became obvious that the threatening rainstorm was no longer a question of "if" but "when." As big fat drops started plunking down, two guys with a ladder and a camera were dashing madly through the crowd, desperately trying to capture the masterpieces before they were washed away. Heartbreaking, but Deb assured me that was the point of the medium: the transient nature of beauty. (Deb's favorite was under a makeshift canopy so hopefully most of her survived.)
Did I say rainstorm? It began as a torrent and turned into hail. Kerrrazy. The kind of cool thing was the rain only washed away the loose chalk dust, leaving a subdued but perfect glassy image underneath:
Sad washed-away Bear.
We joked that such an event would be impossible in a place like Seattle, unless the pieces were all postage-stamp sized. I said a 4" x 6" piece would be the height of ambition. She laughed as I mimed frantically finishing a Polaroid-sized square before the rain hit.
Ryan never actually showed, instead bothering me with a stream of increasingly anxious texts asking about the weather and whether there was any point in them leaving the house. There wasn't, and I don't know if it was because I didn't have to see Lucy or because of my new self-protective, do-what-you-want attitude I've had to adopt towards Ryan, but I really wasn't that concerned.
Same thing with working out yesterday; Ryan teased me with an email asking if I minded if he rejoined me. Of course I didn't. Then he texted me all apologetic that he'd had a bad day and couldn't make it. Oh, Ryan, Ryan...I don't know what's sadder, the fact that you still think I'm actually counting on you for anything or the fact that I have to refuse to do so to avoid having my heart broken time and time again.
~*~
Dessert:
We've had just about all the foolishness from Tracey's dog(s) that we're going to take. Out there 24/7 barking their heads off at EV.RY.THING (which I grant you isn't as annoying as when they bark at NOTHING). Our only recourse is to keep fining her, and her only recourse is to keep paying the fines (presumably) and still not do anything about the underlying problem.
So I turned to Amazon, in search of a bark-stopping device you can put on your own property and not rely on your neighbor doing the right thing. It emits a painful (?) whistle only the dog can hear whenever they bark. The hope is that they're smart enough to make the association and think twice before barking again. Which is not at all a given here -- if these dogs had any trace of intelligence, surely they could learn after five years of watching the same people march back and forth twice a day that we aren't intruders or a threat (unless they can read our minds and see the murderous BB gun fantasies therein). But better get Board approval first -- they'd rather have a vicious dog barking at all hours than a bleeding eyesore of a radio device (it looks like a tiny birdhouse).
In addition to the numerous and occasionally humorous horror stories in the reviews that make us think maybe we don't have it that bad, there's a fair share of people expressing concern over punishing the animal when a bad owner is to blame. Fuck that. Until someone invents something that lets me inflict pain on Tracey without being prosecuted (voodoo doll? ski mask and a baseball bat? Doesn't need to be high-tech), I'll happily take it out on her dog(s).
Yes, I "love animals," but some animals need to work a little harder to earn it. Dogs most of all.
~*~
Aperitif:
I saw S. Darko. Being such a huge fan of Donnie, how could I not? Despite the massive online fan protest (which I wasn't aware of. Hell, I'd probably watch it even if I was).
Immediately afterward I had a detailed, thoughtful review planned out, most of which I have now forgotten. I'll cut anyway in case of inadvertent spoilage, and because after-dinner cocktails should be optional.
I loved Donnie Darko the first time I saw it, but couldn't have said why. Then I listened to the commentary, which simultaneously deepened my love and my irritation; irritation because there are leaps of logic in the movie that I believe are simply impossible to make without hearing the commentary. As much as I hate movies that spoonfeed you everything, the Darko universe is a bit TOO esoteric for me. But I still love it.
Which brings us to S., because this movie picks up Donnie's little sis Samantha (of Sparkle Motion fame) 7 years after his tragic death has torn the family apart beyond repair. She travels with her girlfriend Corey to Utah (actually Hollywood, but the car breaks down in Utah).
I don't want to go too much into the plot. Suffice to say that essentially it took all the major characterizations and events from Donnie and renamed and resituated them on the opposite coast, basically telling practically the same story. There's even a lame attempt to bring back Frank's iconic bunny mask as a "portal device," which is equal parts nostalgic and grating -- especially when the smelting process is shown in a montage style that seems more at home in Flashdance.
Not helping matters is that halfway through Samantha is killed and the whole film's POV shifts to Corey. The director admits in the commentary that it was a pretty risky and ballsy thing to do, and that he "still doesn't know for sure if it works or not." You're doing the DVD commentary; that horse has already left the barn.
But it's okay, because her friend creates another portal (within a portal) to bring her back. See, here's the Darko formula: Some catastrophic event rips the fabric of Time, creating an alternate timeline. It's the purpose of the "Manipulated Dead" (Frank the bunny originally) to guide the "Living Receiver" (Donnie) into sacrificing him/herself, creating a portal that will set Time right. There's another archetype, the "Insurance Trap" (Donnie's girlfriend Gretchen), a loved one of the Receiver whose job it is to die in the wrong timeline if the Receiver needs incentive to fulfill his/her destiny.
(I assure you, I only know all of this after listening to the commentary and reading through the extensive bonus features on Donnie, not from just watching the film.)
Some of the complaints online center around the fact that, according to Richard Kelly who did after all create this universe, these rips are extremely rare, making the idea of them happening not only 7 years apart but to two members of the same family downright ludicrous. Meanwhile others kind of like the idea of the formula playing out over and over again all over the world, the universe being saved every day without any of us realizing it. I think that scenario demonstrates a very childishly optimistic opinion of humanity.
So S. is the same movie as Donnie with different people in a different place. There's even liberal lifting of (many) direct quotes from the first film, provided either as a wink to the fans (largely unappreciated) or to hint at deeper meanings of the quotes that is even now being speculated about rabidly (and not always kindly).
The only thing new in this one is an adorably nerdy Jackson Rathbone (Jasper in Twilight, who only looked vaguely familiar to me until the end), who has a brush with a meteorite that slowly transforms him into something not human (though the movie ends before we get to see what). In the context of the rest of the mediocrity, the viewer only thinks, "Huh, that was a little weird" and moves on.
Jim Cunningham's pedophile has a counterpart in a too-pious priest here (as well as Kitty Farmer's overzealous disciple), and yes, Samantha as the Manipulated Dead even advises the Receiver to "Burn it (the church) to the ground." Oh STOP. Have you no SHAME???
Iraq Jack, the Living Receiver, is actually Grandma Death's son, a sort of interesting connection which gets buried in the rest of the film's shortcomings. Not to mention his unfortunate resemblance to Jake Gyllenhaal.
There's the same vaguely Biblical allegory with the sacrifice of an innocent, made a bit more obvious by incorporating thorns on the Frank mask that elicit whimpers of pain whenever Jack puts it on. Talk about underestimating your audience.
The director even has the nerve to use the original Sparkle Motion footage to show Samantha her past. I'm almost certain Richard Kelly didn't approve THAT.
The movie ends with the same haunting montage of all the people who have been touched by the alternate timeline, except nothing can ever top Gary Jules' version of "Mad World" here so they really shouldn't have even tried.
In conclusion, it's obvious this was a labor of love (the screenplay was written by a guy who calls himself "Donnie's #1 fan"). But in his attempt to stay unswervingly true to the laws of Donnie's universe, he became too fearful to bring anything new to the table. I don't think it deserves the vitriol being heaped upon it by the faithful -- it should be seen by Donnie fans perhaps to satisfy their curiosity. Anyone else will probably leave hopelessly confused and wondering what all the fuss with the first movie was about.
In traffic on my way to the hospital my eye was caught by a GMC Jimmy with all of its doors off. Imagining itself to be a war-time Jeep? I'm not sure, but it looked pretty damn silly. I thought I'd give the driver the benefit of the doubt -- perhaps he'd lost them all in an accident. The way some SUV owners drive it wouldn't be impossible. Then he moved ahead of me and I saw he had one of those scrolling marquee signs over his license plate, reading "Show me your boobs!!" Oh, just an ass then. An ass mistaking Denver for Ft. Lauderdale.
~*~
Appetizer:
I realize how pathetic it sounds, but getting mail is the highlight of my day. This is why I compulsively order stuff online, so I have an almost constant flow of mail to look forward to.
So maybe you can appreciate why my world came crashing down Thursday when I realized the lock on our box was broken. The tab inside that latches it closed was missing the nut holding it on the bolt.
"No problem," I thought. "I'll just replace the nut." After fishing around I found one that seemed to fit, except wouldn't hand-tighten properly. "No problem," I thought. "I'll just get a ratchet wrench." It seemed to be going swimmingly until suddenly the whole damn bolt snapped right off in my hand. Okay, THAT was a problem.
This was at 7 pm, so no hope of calling anyone. First thing Friday morning I called our post office and described my situation (leaving out my attempted DIY). His first (and second) question was did I know who did it? "No one did it, the bolt was really old and just snapped," I answered. Choice B was "I suppose if anyone 'did it' I did." Choice C was "Even if it was a criminal act, how the hell should I know? It's not like I monitor the mailbox (most of the time)."
Once I convinced him there were no suspects he could bring in for questioning, he said only, "Okay, I'll send Maintenance out today." Oh, cool. That was easy.
Except of course it wasn't, because I'm still me and they're still a government agency. After neither of us did anything more about it all day, I called again at the end of my shift to find out the deal. I spoke to someone else, who told me I had to come in, fill out a lock change form and pay a $25 fee. Huh. I wish I had known this 8 hours earlier. I also felt slightly less nervous about covering up my vandalism since I would be paying for it.
I rushed in before they closed to jump through their hoops. Fortunately the clerk was really friendly and funny, or it could have gotten ugly. As it was, I couldn't resist asking why guy #1 couldn't be bothered to give me correct information. "I hate to say it, but he was probably a supervisor. They don't know what's going on." I snorted. "So how did he get to be supervisor?" He shrugged. "If you can't do the job, you get promoted?" We both had a chuckle at The Man and I promised I wasn't taking his name or anything.
Nice guy told me 2-3 days, might even be done Monday. That wasn't bad, even if I had to suffer a weekend of essentially two Sundays.
Except it wasn't Monday. Or Tuesday. Wasn't in fact until Wednesday. But let's not be too hasty, I didn't actually get the call until this morning Thursday. I wish nice guy hadn't raised my hopes falsely. But hey, what's the point of complaining? It's not like I can threaten to go somewhere else to get my mail delivered.
~*~
Entree:
About two weeks ago Ryan invited me to a downtown thing, "La Piazza," some kind of pavement chalk art (I at first thought it was trompe l'oeil, but no); well, I should say he forwarded me the ad, and when I asked about inviting MyFriendDeb, he copied me on the email asking John permission (when if you ask me it should've been John begging us to be included. Thank god they broke up for good before we had to deal with THAT bit of awkwardness).
It took place this past weekend, and Ryan at the last minute sprang the idea of bringing Lucy along (you remember my pal Lucy?) It didn't thrill me, but I couldn't really say no.
I worked all night and got up to meet Deb about 10:30ish. Ryan texted me because he was having a hard time getting going, they'd be a little late, sorry. Whatever, Ryan, Deb and I were on the train halfway there already.
It turned out to be full of awesome:
Just after seeing this we passed a guy wearing a Max t-shirt in the crowd. We asked if he planned that. He laughed nervously because he hadn't seen the piece yet (then 15 seconds later put it together)
Samurai-san
For Roxie. "Bunny! You're STINKY Bunny!"
My favorite famous art piece in all the world
My second favorite. This would look fabulous on our wall. Does anyone know what it's called or even if it's done by someone other than the chalk artist?
This was Deb's favorite. The lady was about 10 feet long and pretty impossible to capture in correct perspective without a ladder. The texture and detail were stunning.
Tried again.
This was taken extremely hastily (read on). It's the Convention Center Blue Bear!
We sort of regretted lingering respectfully over every little piece in the beginning, especially when it became obvious that the threatening rainstorm was no longer a question of "if" but "when." As big fat drops started plunking down, two guys with a ladder and a camera were dashing madly through the crowd, desperately trying to capture the masterpieces before they were washed away. Heartbreaking, but Deb assured me that was the point of the medium: the transient nature of beauty. (Deb's favorite was under a makeshift canopy so hopefully most of her survived.)
Did I say rainstorm? It began as a torrent and turned into hail. Kerrrazy. The kind of cool thing was the rain only washed away the loose chalk dust, leaving a subdued but perfect glassy image underneath:
Sad washed-away Bear.
We joked that such an event would be impossible in a place like Seattle, unless the pieces were all postage-stamp sized. I said a 4" x 6" piece would be the height of ambition. She laughed as I mimed frantically finishing a Polaroid-sized square before the rain hit.
Ryan never actually showed, instead bothering me with a stream of increasingly anxious texts asking about the weather and whether there was any point in them leaving the house. There wasn't, and I don't know if it was because I didn't have to see Lucy or because of my new self-protective, do-what-you-want attitude I've had to adopt towards Ryan, but I really wasn't that concerned.
Same thing with working out yesterday; Ryan teased me with an email asking if I minded if he rejoined me. Of course I didn't. Then he texted me all apologetic that he'd had a bad day and couldn't make it. Oh, Ryan, Ryan...I don't know what's sadder, the fact that you still think I'm actually counting on you for anything or the fact that I have to refuse to do so to avoid having my heart broken time and time again.
~*~
Dessert:
We've had just about all the foolishness from Tracey's dog(s) that we're going to take. Out there 24/7 barking their heads off at EV.RY.THING (which I grant you isn't as annoying as when they bark at NOTHING). Our only recourse is to keep fining her, and her only recourse is to keep paying the fines (presumably) and still not do anything about the underlying problem.
So I turned to Amazon, in search of a bark-stopping device you can put on your own property and not rely on your neighbor doing the right thing. It emits a painful (?) whistle only the dog can hear whenever they bark. The hope is that they're smart enough to make the association and think twice before barking again. Which is not at all a given here -- if these dogs had any trace of intelligence, surely they could learn after five years of watching the same people march back and forth twice a day that we aren't intruders or a threat (unless they can read our minds and see the murderous BB gun fantasies therein). But better get Board approval first -- they'd rather have a vicious dog barking at all hours than a bleeding eyesore of a radio device (it looks like a tiny birdhouse).
In addition to the numerous and occasionally humorous horror stories in the reviews that make us think maybe we don't have it that bad, there's a fair share of people expressing concern over punishing the animal when a bad owner is to blame. Fuck that. Until someone invents something that lets me inflict pain on Tracey without being prosecuted (voodoo doll? ski mask and a baseball bat? Doesn't need to be high-tech), I'll happily take it out on her dog(s).
Yes, I "love animals," but some animals need to work a little harder to earn it. Dogs most of all.
~*~
Aperitif:
I saw S. Darko. Being such a huge fan of Donnie, how could I not? Despite the massive online fan protest (which I wasn't aware of. Hell, I'd probably watch it even if I was).
Immediately afterward I had a detailed, thoughtful review planned out, most of which I have now forgotten. I'll cut anyway in case of inadvertent spoilage, and because after-dinner cocktails should be optional.
I loved Donnie Darko the first time I saw it, but couldn't have said why. Then I listened to the commentary, which simultaneously deepened my love and my irritation; irritation because there are leaps of logic in the movie that I believe are simply impossible to make without hearing the commentary. As much as I hate movies that spoonfeed you everything, the Darko universe is a bit TOO esoteric for me. But I still love it.
Which brings us to S., because this movie picks up Donnie's little sis Samantha (of Sparkle Motion fame) 7 years after his tragic death has torn the family apart beyond repair. She travels with her girlfriend Corey to Utah (actually Hollywood, but the car breaks down in Utah).
I don't want to go too much into the plot. Suffice to say that essentially it took all the major characterizations and events from Donnie and renamed and resituated them on the opposite coast, basically telling practically the same story. There's even a lame attempt to bring back Frank's iconic bunny mask as a "portal device," which is equal parts nostalgic and grating -- especially when the smelting process is shown in a montage style that seems more at home in Flashdance.
Not helping matters is that halfway through Samantha is killed and the whole film's POV shifts to Corey. The director admits in the commentary that it was a pretty risky and ballsy thing to do, and that he "still doesn't know for sure if it works or not." You're doing the DVD commentary; that horse has already left the barn.
But it's okay, because her friend creates another portal (within a portal) to bring her back. See, here's the Darko formula: Some catastrophic event rips the fabric of Time, creating an alternate timeline. It's the purpose of the "Manipulated Dead" (Frank the bunny originally) to guide the "Living Receiver" (Donnie) into sacrificing him/herself, creating a portal that will set Time right. There's another archetype, the "Insurance Trap" (Donnie's girlfriend Gretchen), a loved one of the Receiver whose job it is to die in the wrong timeline if the Receiver needs incentive to fulfill his/her destiny.
(I assure you, I only know all of this after listening to the commentary and reading through the extensive bonus features on Donnie, not from just watching the film.)
Some of the complaints online center around the fact that, according to Richard Kelly who did after all create this universe, these rips are extremely rare, making the idea of them happening not only 7 years apart but to two members of the same family downright ludicrous. Meanwhile others kind of like the idea of the formula playing out over and over again all over the world, the universe being saved every day without any of us realizing it. I think that scenario demonstrates a very childishly optimistic opinion of humanity.
So S. is the same movie as Donnie with different people in a different place. There's even liberal lifting of (many) direct quotes from the first film, provided either as a wink to the fans (largely unappreciated) or to hint at deeper meanings of the quotes that is even now being speculated about rabidly (and not always kindly).
The only thing new in this one is an adorably nerdy Jackson Rathbone (Jasper in Twilight, who only looked vaguely familiar to me until the end), who has a brush with a meteorite that slowly transforms him into something not human (though the movie ends before we get to see what). In the context of the rest of the mediocrity, the viewer only thinks, "Huh, that was a little weird" and moves on.
Jim Cunningham's pedophile has a counterpart in a too-pious priest here (as well as Kitty Farmer's overzealous disciple), and yes, Samantha as the Manipulated Dead even advises the Receiver to "Burn it (the church) to the ground." Oh STOP. Have you no SHAME???
Iraq Jack, the Living Receiver, is actually Grandma Death's son, a sort of interesting connection which gets buried in the rest of the film's shortcomings. Not to mention his unfortunate resemblance to Jake Gyllenhaal.
There's the same vaguely Biblical allegory with the sacrifice of an innocent, made a bit more obvious by incorporating thorns on the Frank mask that elicit whimpers of pain whenever Jack puts it on. Talk about underestimating your audience.
The director even has the nerve to use the original Sparkle Motion footage to show Samantha her past. I'm almost certain Richard Kelly didn't approve THAT.
The movie ends with the same haunting montage of all the people who have been touched by the alternate timeline, except nothing can ever top Gary Jules' version of "Mad World" here so they really shouldn't have even tried.
In conclusion, it's obvious this was a labor of love (the screenplay was written by a guy who calls himself "Donnie's #1 fan"). But in his attempt to stay unswervingly true to the laws of Donnie's universe, he became too fearful to bring anything new to the table. I don't think it deserves the vitriol being heaped upon it by the faithful -- it should be seen by Donnie fans perhaps to satisfy their curiosity. Anyone else will probably leave hopelessly confused and wondering what all the fuss with the first movie was about.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-06-11 05:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-11 05:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-11 05:24 pm (UTC)From Robin O
Date: 2009-06-12 01:31 am (UTC)I don't recognize the composition, but the style of your mystery artist is very Joan Miro. My guess is your chalk artist imitated a chunk of one of his paintings.
Re: From Robin O
Date: 2009-06-12 11:59 am (UTC)I had to laugh at the soup, I hope I didn't spray you :)
Re: From Robin O
Date: 2009-06-16 07:52 pm (UTC)Re: From Robin O
Date: 2009-06-16 07:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-12 09:58 am (UTC)So they DIDN'T include any Philosophy of Time Travel information in the movie itself, right? Cause that may have salvaged it a little bit, if they had.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-16 07:56 pm (UTC)They did, and it's another topic of contention among the fans (those that haven't dismissed the movie outright as trash). For some reason, and inexplicably, Samantha is carrying Roberta Sparrow's book with her. People all say "maybe Donnie gave it to her," which begs the headache-inducing question of why it would still be around after Donnie had corrected the time rip.
The most annoying thing is how the screenwriter seems to have just scavenged bits and pieces from the original without getting us any closer to any answers about the original.
Miro
Date: 2009-06-14 11:21 pm (UTC)Oh, and there's a rather famous poem about his work - you can see it at: http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-would-like-to-be-a-dot-in-a-painting-by-miro/
Re: Miro
Date: 2009-06-14 11:22 pm (UTC)Re: Miro
Date: 2009-06-16 07:59 pm (UTC)Google image searched it. I like it! I like his use of blue period. So deep and peaceful. Why couldn't there be an exhibit of HIM at the Tate? (pouty)
S.Darko
Date: 2009-06-16 12:46 am (UTC)Re: S.Darko
Date: 2009-06-16 08:02 pm (UTC)(Also welcome back. I was beginning to truly worry)