Massive Brain Dump (MBD™)
Aug. 4th, 2009 01:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grrgoylThis entry is going to be nothing but non sequiturs, random thoughts and notes to myself. A massive brain dump, if you will. So I'll cut for your skipping pleasure.
Dogs, dogs, dogs. Not what you think. There's actually some guy harassing Tery at the hospital, claiming the dogs are barking all night and he's going to get us shut down.
I never thought I'd take the dogs' side, but this guy is full of shit. A) The hospital has been in operation since 1968 and this is the first complaint. B) The hospital has been around since 1968. If you don't want to hear dogs barking, don't buy a house next to an animal hospital. C) I can't speak for J.'s shifts, but I can count on one hand the number of times a dog has barked outside on my watch in two years. In my experience, they're usually too busy sniffing other dogs' output and generally scoping out the strange surroundings to think of barking. D) As for barking inside, yeah that happens, but they're underground with all the windows shut. This guy must have superhero hearing if that's what's bothering him. E) There are other dogs in the neighborhood that I hear all the time. And I also know from experience that it is absolutely impossible to know for sure what direction or how far away they are. F) If he wants something to complain about, why doesn't he start with Little Mexico (aka Taco Junior) across the street? On the weekends they shut down at 3 am and all the customers flood into the streets, screaming, laughing, drag racing, low riding, stereos throbbing, alarms alarming -- I'd take dog barking over that anytime.
Tery preemptively called Animal Control about this guy. They said he was probably trying to sell his house or something, and Tery's side of the story was duly on record and not to worry. Also as we know from experience, it's not as simple as complaining and seeing instant action. He needs to document exact times of violations, as well as be able to identify the dog. Lots of luck with that. I guess we have it fairly easy in that Tracey's dogs are the only ones in the vicinity so there's never any question it's them.
Not that this has softened me up towards Tracey's little angels. Quite the contrary -- I passed her in the parking lot heading to and from our cars as the dogs were in full swing. Normally I would have made a token effort to smile at her, but with that ungodly racket in the background I was literally physically incapable of feigning even that tiny civility.
It's just...her idea of discipline is laughable. It's hardly surprising the dogs are so uncontrollable. I overheard her once on the walkway as they were unleashing the same fury at her they do on everyone else (except me. They respect me more than her?) Her response to their barrage was a quiet, slightly hurt and wholly ineffective "Hey? Hey?"
No. If your dogs were otherwise well-behaved, well-socialized obedient animals you could act taken aback and surprised that they're making such a disturbance. Not when it's an almost hourly occurrence and you have in fact been fined almost to the point of getting a lien on your home (and even attended a hearing with the city only a week ago) for exactly this behavior. Unless you've been completely high the entire time (which isn't impossible).
On a different occasion a guy was walking his dog past the building. Tracey's dog went absolutely batshit. I started screaming at it to shut up, there were other dogs around, just DEAL WITH IT. The guy apologized to me good-naturedly. I assured him it wasn't his fault, Tracey's dog was just an asshole. "You got that right!" he agreed. I wish Tracey had been home so she could hear it wasn't just us who hated her dog.
~*~
Speaking of the hospital, back when I first started J., the regular night woman, claimed it was haunted. I haven't seen much to support this and frankly, she's nice enough but after decades of living alone and working third shift alone, she's not exactly my first choice of someone to stick on a witness stand.
Until a few weekends ago. I was walking the dogs at one end of the hall. I happened to hear a door creaking shut at the opposite end -- they're all on those hydraulic no-slam devices so this wouldn't be unusual, except for the fact that I had been down at this end for at least fifteen minutes already, and hadn't actually opened a door for at least a few hours. And don't say a breeze because we keep the windows shut lest we become overrun with flies.
That was a little fucking creepy. I did my best to shrug it off. Then I was packing up getting ready to leave for the night when across the room a hose that comes up through the table by the dental station suddenly started flopping and dancing around. ON ITS OWN. As if someone was under the table moving it. Or as if something nearby was cycling its motor enough to vibrate it, except it was flipping back and forth really violently.
You know in horror movies when that sort of thing happens and the girl tiptoes closer, calling out "Is anyone there?" investigating just long enough to get killed? Uh uh. I said (to myself), "Okay, I don't know what THAT is, but I'm OUTTA HERE." I didn't run upstairs but I didn't look back either.
I told Tery about it the next day. She spoke to one of the techs, who confirmed that yes, it had been doing that lately, and no, no one could figure out why. She laughed at the thought of it happening while I was alone there. Might I add that I'm still waiting for a rational explanation.
~*~
I've noticed lately the house-hunting shows I used to love on HGTV have been depressing me, because I fantasize about buying a place out in the middle of nowhere far away from people. ALL people. And the fact is this just isn't going to happen, not now, not soon, maybe not ever.
So in response I've gone into serious nesting mode, trying to pretty up the place we have. Bought a new (to us) dinette set (Craigslist), furniture rearranged, wall artwork, total makeover for the balcony (wish I'd taken before/after pictures, it's so dramatic). If I didn't know better I'd wonder if I was pregnant (impossible, unless it's immaculate, and wouldn't THAT throw some Bible thumpers into a tizzy).
But it kills me that my hard work to create an oasis of peace and beauty can be destroyed with just one bark of that fucking dog. Or one neighbor who feels like sharing their "fresh beats" (our affectionate nickname for Reggie's music).
Speaking of house hunting programming, I saw two shows back to back. The first was a hoity-toity divorcee shopping for a million-dollar retirement home in Florida. "Well, I suppose the Travertine floor will HAVE to do..." Oh, she was SO snooty and SO picky. Every dream mansion had something wrong with it, according to her.
The second show featured a 50-something black woman, grandmother, single, who had spent 14 years struggling to get out of debt. Now she was finally ready to buy her first home. She and her friend looked at average, nondescript tract housing. They walked into a bathroom, nothing remarkable about it whatsoever -- white walls, standard fixtures. "Girl, this here will be my SANCTUARY!" she exclaimed excitedly.
Guess which one I loved more?
~*~
House cleaning one day, Tery stumbled onto a small sheaf of memo paper, the fragile beginnings of what would have been a very ambitious novel (if she had stayed with it).
She read it over once more (as you do), thinking it wasn't half bad and she might return to it. It was a stirring tale of young love, complex interpersonal relationships, and a college girl's inspirational journey to womanhood.
The last written line, however, was a bit jarring: It said "Note to self: Add a werewolf." She remembers sitting next to me on a plane once, making me read it, and I guess that was my creative suggestion. And I still say it was a damn good one. Who knows? She could have beaten Stephanie Meyers to the punch.
~*~
I've been strangely silent on the death of Michael Jackson. Was it the tragic snuffing out of a brightly burning star far too soon? Or the inevitable conclusion of a life of overindulgence and paying people to ignore his best interests? Live by the illegally prescribed surgical anesthetic, die by the illegally prescribed surgical anesthetic is what I always say.
All my sympathies to the Jackson family. He might have been a wonderful person, but he lived his life like a spoiled Wonka child.
~*~
Tery is watching "Big Brother," much to my consternation. I've decided the show represents the very worst of humanity: deceit, manipulation, betrayal, narcissism, melodrama. Watching 13 generally unlikeable people slowly turn on one another (and then have the nerve to act outraged when it happens when it is, in point of fact, the entire purpose of the game) in pursuit of a cash jackpot couldn't be further from my idea of entertainment. My cat has more morals than these people.
Tery says it's these things that draw her in; that it's a "train wreck." I'm sure this is the excuse used by Jerry Springer fans in the thousands.
The thing is, "Big Brother" is practically a lifestyle. Three hour-long regular episodes a week, plus "Big Brother After Dark" (three thrilling hours a night of the guests padding around the kitchen and lounging on beds chatting ENDLESSLY about the intricacies of the "alliances"), plus a 24-hour live feed online.
I would never tolerate a show making that kind of demands on my time. That's more time than Tery and I spend together in an average week. Yet here it is in season ELEVEN. I'm really, really worried about our society (although Jerry Springer has considerably more to do with that sentiment).
*~*
My neighbor J. has taken it into her head to deepen our friendship. Fortunately the dog-sitting request never panned out -- the breeder agreed to hold the dog until J. buys a house. Guess she noticed how my lips were saying "yes" but my eyes were saying "no, god, why me?"
Perhaps even worse, she's decided we should be work-out buddies. She has a 3-year membership that she hasn't used in 2 (I think she spends lots of money on things she doesn't use. Like a $150 cheese board she decided she had to have and has only used once. I suspect she justifies such frivolous spending because she offsets it with a career of complaining to companies for financial reimbursement. Sure, I bitch about the occasional substandard service for a meal coupon, but this woman needs computer software to keep track of the people she's complained to. She tried to enlist me in the struggle to stop one of her peeves: the landscaping company blows grass clippings onto her porch (she's on the ground floor). I can see where that is annoying, but I explained it would be kind of difficult, living on the third floor, for me to write that letter with any degree of sincerity. Thankfully she agreed. I'm busy enough trying to get the drug dealer out of our building. I can't take on all her petty causes as well.)
She's the one with the hugely cluttered house. Her "dining room" is literally a wall of STUFF. Can't even set foot in it. I stopped by to pick her up once. As I watched her trip over piles and kick things over with every step, I joked she should go on the show "Clean House." "Gee, thanks," she said somewhat snarkily. I guess because she knows where everything is (or claims to), regardless of how it looks to the casual visitor, she doesn't consider it to be the complete pigsty it actually is. (Then on a subsequent visit as I walked through the door, she remarked, "The mess is still here." Guess my offhand comment really stung.)
Anyway, as I was saying, having a buddy doesn't work for me (although Ryan wasn't bad). I do mainly weights, which don't lend themselves to socializing as easily as the ellipticals. Initially she said she just wanted someone to drag her through the front door and then I could do my own thing. This turned out to be a lie.
First she followed me to the sit-up machines. "How many do you do?" she asked me. I do 4 sets of 30, which sounds impressive if you haven't set foot in a gym in 2 years. I assured her she didn't have to keep up with me, but it was a bit awkward.
Then I said "Today's my leg day," assuming she was going to head for the treadmill and leave me alone. Not so. "I'll do legs with you!" What followed was a tiny nightmare of trying to pick machines next to each other so she could talk to me, except of course there were other people getting in the way of this plan, and then she started this "I don't want to do that one. Or that one." GRRRR. LADY.
I just like to listen to my iPod, do my thing, and do it alone. It occurs to me I belong to two of the most misunderstood social groups in existence: bisexuals (I want to sleep with everyone) and loners (I prefer not to be around anyone). (This doesn't cause me the conflict you would expect.)
With any luck she'll find a house soon (she's actively searching, though she's so picky it could take months) and go back on her promise to still come back to work out with me -- as if I'd be heartbroken to lose her.
~*~
Today I finally got to see Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince the way I had originally intended: in IMAX 3D. Well, sort of a rip-off, only the first 12 minutes are in 3D. Which is actually okay -- I was thrilled that Coraline came out in 3D on Blu-ray, but the reality was after an hour I had such a headache I had to switch it over to 2D (plus it jacked with the colors something terrible).
I've seen it once again already since the first time, downloaded online. Oh hush. You know damn well I'm buying the DVD (most likely Blu-ray) the day it comes out. No one is losing a dime on me. Perhaps being so familiar with the movie already is what helped remove some of the stress I complained about in my last post. So ironically this audience was much better behaved.
Behind us in line were two teenaged Asian girls, who asked us giddily if we'd seen it yet -- they hadn't and wanted to know how it was. They ended up sitting in front of us, and just knowing such big fans were there really enhanced my experience. I wondered the whole time what they were thinking, and regretted not asking them directly when it was over.
So, on my third viewing, I can now say that this is my favorite of the franchise. The story moves along so well that the 2-1/2 hours really fly by (my friend agreed she didn't notice the length at all). The score is the most haunting of them all -- the composer thankfully resisted the urge to use the classic (but rather childish) "Harry Potter theme," or rehash any of the music from the previous 5. But most of all, the movie is simply gorgeous to look at. The cinematographer has such credits as Amelie and Across the Universe on his resume. He has an eye for when the full obvious shot isn't necessary, rather just a small part to create a still life vignette to convey an emotion (like only the upper left corner of Dumbledore's dead face). He should make LJ icons for a living.
Either the audio was better in this theater or it was just a result of fewer distractions, but I could hear the dialogue a lot clearer. I noticed more little details, like the names on some of the Weasley products, more of the text in the Advanced Potion-Making book, and how when Dumbledore and Harry apparate to the sea cave, they leave a huge "CRACK!" echoing off the walls of the castle. The fangirl in me had a teeny tiny orgasm, I freely admit.
It will take a few more viewings before I'll be able to look at anything other than Snape in all of Rickman's scenes, however.
When it was over I asked my friend, as someone who hasn't read the books and doesn't know how it ends, her opinion on Snape. Her first response was "He turned evil!" But then I was proud of her when she started to have her doubts when she realized Snape wasn't actually hurting Harry in the duel at the end. And this time if she developed any harebrained theories about the characters, she managed to keep them to herself.
Dogs, dogs, dogs. Not what you think. There's actually some guy harassing Tery at the hospital, claiming the dogs are barking all night and he's going to get us shut down.
I never thought I'd take the dogs' side, but this guy is full of shit. A) The hospital has been in operation since 1968 and this is the first complaint. B) The hospital has been around since 1968. If you don't want to hear dogs barking, don't buy a house next to an animal hospital. C) I can't speak for J.'s shifts, but I can count on one hand the number of times a dog has barked outside on my watch in two years. In my experience, they're usually too busy sniffing other dogs' output and generally scoping out the strange surroundings to think of barking. D) As for barking inside, yeah that happens, but they're underground with all the windows shut. This guy must have superhero hearing if that's what's bothering him. E) There are other dogs in the neighborhood that I hear all the time. And I also know from experience that it is absolutely impossible to know for sure what direction or how far away they are. F) If he wants something to complain about, why doesn't he start with Little Mexico (aka Taco Junior) across the street? On the weekends they shut down at 3 am and all the customers flood into the streets, screaming, laughing, drag racing, low riding, stereos throbbing, alarms alarming -- I'd take dog barking over that anytime.
Tery preemptively called Animal Control about this guy. They said he was probably trying to sell his house or something, and Tery's side of the story was duly on record and not to worry. Also as we know from experience, it's not as simple as complaining and seeing instant action. He needs to document exact times of violations, as well as be able to identify the dog. Lots of luck with that. I guess we have it fairly easy in that Tracey's dogs are the only ones in the vicinity so there's never any question it's them.
Not that this has softened me up towards Tracey's little angels. Quite the contrary -- I passed her in the parking lot heading to and from our cars as the dogs were in full swing. Normally I would have made a token effort to smile at her, but with that ungodly racket in the background I was literally physically incapable of feigning even that tiny civility.
It's just...her idea of discipline is laughable. It's hardly surprising the dogs are so uncontrollable. I overheard her once on the walkway as they were unleashing the same fury at her they do on everyone else (except me. They respect me more than her?) Her response to their barrage was a quiet, slightly hurt and wholly ineffective "Hey? Hey?"
No. If your dogs were otherwise well-behaved, well-socialized obedient animals you could act taken aback and surprised that they're making such a disturbance. Not when it's an almost hourly occurrence and you have in fact been fined almost to the point of getting a lien on your home (and even attended a hearing with the city only a week ago) for exactly this behavior. Unless you've been completely high the entire time (which isn't impossible).
On a different occasion a guy was walking his dog past the building. Tracey's dog went absolutely batshit. I started screaming at it to shut up, there were other dogs around, just DEAL WITH IT. The guy apologized to me good-naturedly. I assured him it wasn't his fault, Tracey's dog was just an asshole. "You got that right!" he agreed. I wish Tracey had been home so she could hear it wasn't just us who hated her dog.
~*~
Speaking of the hospital, back when I first started J., the regular night woman, claimed it was haunted. I haven't seen much to support this and frankly, she's nice enough but after decades of living alone and working third shift alone, she's not exactly my first choice of someone to stick on a witness stand.
Until a few weekends ago. I was walking the dogs at one end of the hall. I happened to hear a door creaking shut at the opposite end -- they're all on those hydraulic no-slam devices so this wouldn't be unusual, except for the fact that I had been down at this end for at least fifteen minutes already, and hadn't actually opened a door for at least a few hours. And don't say a breeze because we keep the windows shut lest we become overrun with flies.
That was a little fucking creepy. I did my best to shrug it off. Then I was packing up getting ready to leave for the night when across the room a hose that comes up through the table by the dental station suddenly started flopping and dancing around. ON ITS OWN. As if someone was under the table moving it. Or as if something nearby was cycling its motor enough to vibrate it, except it was flipping back and forth really violently.
You know in horror movies when that sort of thing happens and the girl tiptoes closer, calling out "Is anyone there?" investigating just long enough to get killed? Uh uh. I said (to myself), "Okay, I don't know what THAT is, but I'm OUTTA HERE." I didn't run upstairs but I didn't look back either.
I told Tery about it the next day. She spoke to one of the techs, who confirmed that yes, it had been doing that lately, and no, no one could figure out why. She laughed at the thought of it happening while I was alone there. Might I add that I'm still waiting for a rational explanation.
~*~
I've noticed lately the house-hunting shows I used to love on HGTV have been depressing me, because I fantasize about buying a place out in the middle of nowhere far away from people. ALL people. And the fact is this just isn't going to happen, not now, not soon, maybe not ever.
So in response I've gone into serious nesting mode, trying to pretty up the place we have. Bought a new (to us) dinette set (Craigslist), furniture rearranged, wall artwork, total makeover for the balcony (wish I'd taken before/after pictures, it's so dramatic). If I didn't know better I'd wonder if I was pregnant (impossible, unless it's immaculate, and wouldn't THAT throw some Bible thumpers into a tizzy).
But it kills me that my hard work to create an oasis of peace and beauty can be destroyed with just one bark of that fucking dog. Or one neighbor who feels like sharing their "fresh beats" (our affectionate nickname for Reggie's music).
Speaking of house hunting programming, I saw two shows back to back. The first was a hoity-toity divorcee shopping for a million-dollar retirement home in Florida. "Well, I suppose the Travertine floor will HAVE to do..." Oh, she was SO snooty and SO picky. Every dream mansion had something wrong with it, according to her.
The second show featured a 50-something black woman, grandmother, single, who had spent 14 years struggling to get out of debt. Now she was finally ready to buy her first home. She and her friend looked at average, nondescript tract housing. They walked into a bathroom, nothing remarkable about it whatsoever -- white walls, standard fixtures. "Girl, this here will be my SANCTUARY!" she exclaimed excitedly.
Guess which one I loved more?
~*~
House cleaning one day, Tery stumbled onto a small sheaf of memo paper, the fragile beginnings of what would have been a very ambitious novel (if she had stayed with it).
She read it over once more (as you do), thinking it wasn't half bad and she might return to it. It was a stirring tale of young love, complex interpersonal relationships, and a college girl's inspirational journey to womanhood.
The last written line, however, was a bit jarring: It said "Note to self: Add a werewolf." She remembers sitting next to me on a plane once, making me read it, and I guess that was my creative suggestion. And I still say it was a damn good one. Who knows? She could have beaten Stephanie Meyers to the punch.
~*~
I've been strangely silent on the death of Michael Jackson. Was it the tragic snuffing out of a brightly burning star far too soon? Or the inevitable conclusion of a life of overindulgence and paying people to ignore his best interests? Live by the illegally prescribed surgical anesthetic, die by the illegally prescribed surgical anesthetic is what I always say.
All my sympathies to the Jackson family. He might have been a wonderful person, but he lived his life like a spoiled Wonka child.
~*~
Tery is watching "Big Brother," much to my consternation. I've decided the show represents the very worst of humanity: deceit, manipulation, betrayal, narcissism, melodrama. Watching 13 generally unlikeable people slowly turn on one another (and then have the nerve to act outraged when it happens when it is, in point of fact, the entire purpose of the game) in pursuit of a cash jackpot couldn't be further from my idea of entertainment. My cat has more morals than these people.
Tery says it's these things that draw her in; that it's a "train wreck." I'm sure this is the excuse used by Jerry Springer fans in the thousands.
The thing is, "Big Brother" is practically a lifestyle. Three hour-long regular episodes a week, plus "Big Brother After Dark" (three thrilling hours a night of the guests padding around the kitchen and lounging on beds chatting ENDLESSLY about the intricacies of the "alliances"), plus a 24-hour live feed online.
I would never tolerate a show making that kind of demands on my time. That's more time than Tery and I spend together in an average week. Yet here it is in season ELEVEN. I'm really, really worried about our society (although Jerry Springer has considerably more to do with that sentiment).
*~*
My neighbor J. has taken it into her head to deepen our friendship. Fortunately the dog-sitting request never panned out -- the breeder agreed to hold the dog until J. buys a house. Guess she noticed how my lips were saying "yes" but my eyes were saying "no, god, why me?"
Perhaps even worse, she's decided we should be work-out buddies. She has a 3-year membership that she hasn't used in 2 (I think she spends lots of money on things she doesn't use. Like a $150 cheese board she decided she had to have and has only used once. I suspect she justifies such frivolous spending because she offsets it with a career of complaining to companies for financial reimbursement. Sure, I bitch about the occasional substandard service for a meal coupon, but this woman needs computer software to keep track of the people she's complained to. She tried to enlist me in the struggle to stop one of her peeves: the landscaping company blows grass clippings onto her porch (she's on the ground floor). I can see where that is annoying, but I explained it would be kind of difficult, living on the third floor, for me to write that letter with any degree of sincerity. Thankfully she agreed. I'm busy enough trying to get the drug dealer out of our building. I can't take on all her petty causes as well.)
She's the one with the hugely cluttered house. Her "dining room" is literally a wall of STUFF. Can't even set foot in it. I stopped by to pick her up once. As I watched her trip over piles and kick things over with every step, I joked she should go on the show "Clean House." "Gee, thanks," she said somewhat snarkily. I guess because she knows where everything is (or claims to), regardless of how it looks to the casual visitor, she doesn't consider it to be the complete pigsty it actually is. (Then on a subsequent visit as I walked through the door, she remarked, "The mess is still here." Guess my offhand comment really stung.)
Anyway, as I was saying, having a buddy doesn't work for me (although Ryan wasn't bad). I do mainly weights, which don't lend themselves to socializing as easily as the ellipticals. Initially she said she just wanted someone to drag her through the front door and then I could do my own thing. This turned out to be a lie.
First she followed me to the sit-up machines. "How many do you do?" she asked me. I do 4 sets of 30, which sounds impressive if you haven't set foot in a gym in 2 years. I assured her she didn't have to keep up with me, but it was a bit awkward.
Then I said "Today's my leg day," assuming she was going to head for the treadmill and leave me alone. Not so. "I'll do legs with you!" What followed was a tiny nightmare of trying to pick machines next to each other so she could talk to me, except of course there were other people getting in the way of this plan, and then she started this "I don't want to do that one. Or that one." GRRRR. LADY.
I just like to listen to my iPod, do my thing, and do it alone. It occurs to me I belong to two of the most misunderstood social groups in existence: bisexuals (I want to sleep with everyone) and loners (I prefer not to be around anyone). (This doesn't cause me the conflict you would expect.)
With any luck she'll find a house soon (she's actively searching, though she's so picky it could take months) and go back on her promise to still come back to work out with me -- as if I'd be heartbroken to lose her.
~*~
Today I finally got to see Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince the way I had originally intended: in IMAX 3D. Well, sort of a rip-off, only the first 12 minutes are in 3D. Which is actually okay -- I was thrilled that Coraline came out in 3D on Blu-ray, but the reality was after an hour I had such a headache I had to switch it over to 2D (plus it jacked with the colors something terrible).
I've seen it once again already since the first time, downloaded online. Oh hush. You know damn well I'm buying the DVD (most likely Blu-ray) the day it comes out. No one is losing a dime on me. Perhaps being so familiar with the movie already is what helped remove some of the stress I complained about in my last post. So ironically this audience was much better behaved.
Behind us in line were two teenaged Asian girls, who asked us giddily if we'd seen it yet -- they hadn't and wanted to know how it was. They ended up sitting in front of us, and just knowing such big fans were there really enhanced my experience. I wondered the whole time what they were thinking, and regretted not asking them directly when it was over.
So, on my third viewing, I can now say that this is my favorite of the franchise. The story moves along so well that the 2-1/2 hours really fly by (my friend agreed she didn't notice the length at all). The score is the most haunting of them all -- the composer thankfully resisted the urge to use the classic (but rather childish) "Harry Potter theme," or rehash any of the music from the previous 5. But most of all, the movie is simply gorgeous to look at. The cinematographer has such credits as Amelie and Across the Universe on his resume. He has an eye for when the full obvious shot isn't necessary, rather just a small part to create a still life vignette to convey an emotion (like only the upper left corner of Dumbledore's dead face). He should make LJ icons for a living.
Either the audio was better in this theater or it was just a result of fewer distractions, but I could hear the dialogue a lot clearer. I noticed more little details, like the names on some of the Weasley products, more of the text in the Advanced Potion-Making book, and how when Dumbledore and Harry apparate to the sea cave, they leave a huge "CRACK!" echoing off the walls of the castle. The fangirl in me had a teeny tiny orgasm, I freely admit.
It will take a few more viewings before I'll be able to look at anything other than Snape in all of Rickman's scenes, however.
When it was over I asked my friend, as someone who hasn't read the books and doesn't know how it ends, her opinion on Snape. Her first response was "He turned evil!" But then I was proud of her when she started to have her doubts when she realized Snape wasn't actually hurting Harry in the duel at the end. And this time if she developed any harebrained theories about the characters, she managed to keep them to herself.
Re: Werewolves...
Date: 2009-08-06 04:12 pm (UTC)- OFB