For me, every day is National Train Day.
Today was no exception, even though, technically, National Train Day was yesterday.
Today, we rode trains, I received chocolate, and had a Zombie for with for dinner.
The Zombie is what you get when you celebrate Mother’s Day. Along with some extra hugs and kisses.
Zombies for everyone!
Happy Mother’s Day.
Really, Peter Jackson? Really?
When the movie posters first appeared I got excited for the movie. I never completely got over Ralph Bakshi’s version, even though I have a framed copy of the movie poster, which I love and have proudly displayed in my home.
But remembering what Peter Jackson did to “Lord of the Rings”, I was sceptical and afraid. I became Smeagol arguing with Gollum. (Gollum is not a word recognized by spell-check. You’d think there would be a picture of Gollum in dictionary under ”precious” – Precious: see Gollum.)
My fears were well founded. We broke down and rented the movie and watched it in the comfort of our home in close proximity to private, clean bathrooms. I was hopeful, and those hopes were dashed almost immediately.
I have no words.
Actually, I have plenty of words. They’re just not the ones I’d hoped to have. Fuckfuckfuck.
THIS is why J.K. Rowling had such a tight grip on the filming of her books. Smart woman.
Like LOTR, the film was visually stunning. Like LOTR they stuck to a few basic plot points. And like LOTR, they changed the story for the purpose of … WHAT? Would someone please tell me why they (they=YOU Peter Jackson) think that changing an already rich, visual story makes it better for the screen? I understand judicious cutting. I don’t understand rewriting it. Actually, I do understand that you felt you had to tie it into, and justify, whatever the hell you did with LOTR.
AAUUUGGGGHHHHH. I’m going to have a nervous breakdown if I continue on in this line of reasoning.
It’s a good movie that’s losely based on a work of fiction. If you’re a fan of the book though, and believe the story ought to be told the way it was written, you will have to lower your expectations. A lot.
Not the fucking end, because it’s only part one.
I’ve always been moderate with my indulgences because I am the daughter of a recovering alcohlic. I don’t drink much, I don’t do drugs, I don’t gamble. I sound pretty fucking boring.
I do have a sugar (chocolate / ice cream) affinity with which I wrestle on a daily basis. It’s hard, though, since chocolate and ice cream are two of the four major food groups.
But now there’s Crack Seaweed.
Trader Joe’s sells it.
I can’t stop eating it. And I got only one bag on my last trip there. There are no Trader Joe’s near where I live, so I have to plan ahead and road trip with my mother and my insulated shopping bags. It’s a pain in the ass. I used to live less than four miles from one.
I suppose if I lived that close now, I’d have to go to Seaweedeaters Anonymous.
Because of this innocent looking package.
I thought it would be good with the brown rice I was having with dinner last night (per the serving suggestion on the package). So I opened it and started snacking on it while I was cooking. Remarkably, enough survived for dinner and it was really good on the rice. Brown rice can be so bland. So… brown rice.
My friend Gary was addicted to TJ’s coffee-flavored soy milk – until he couldn’t get it anymore. He used to call it Crack Soy. He had to give it up cold turkey.
Crack Cold Turkey?
The Boy used to like Trader Joe’s apple cereal bars. Crack Apple Bars doesn’t quite flow though.
Crack Tots?
Mmmmm, crack tots.
Somebody stop me. Or feed me.
I leave you with today’s moment of nature:
Crack Donkey
We’ve been having remarkably beautiful weather here the past few weeks. The sun has been out and unrelenting. I love sunlight, but I don’t love being in the sun. Which explains my hat collection, long-sleeved shirts, dark glasses, and constant search for shade.
I’ve been called a vampire. The light hurts my eyes. I’m also one of those people who gets a sunburn just walking to the mailbox (thus the hats, long-sleeved shirts and dark glasses).
Self-portrait – hiding from the sun in the car
This weekend was no exception in the long run of beautiful days. Which was desirable for a CAMA event. They were having their annual Spring Power-Up. The Power-Up is a permanent fixture on our calendar – right up there with birthdays, holidays, and the other events we may not miss.
Tractor drag race
The shows at CAMA are incomparable because of the location, the scenery, and the available shade. We bring folding camp chairs, reading material and we’re all set. It’s very low-key. The Boy is old enough now to go off on his own without supervision. He’s with his people, he’s familiar with the grounds and we are superfluous, except as a means of transportation, food and occasional wish-fulfillment.
There was an air horn for $5.00 which he badly wanted, but had no money to buy. But, the Boy being the Boy, somehow ended up with the horn without spending a dime.
Look what I got!
How does he do that?
This year he crossed a threshold. He has had enough experiences at these things where the stuff that made him really happy a couple of years ago, is on the cusp of boring him. He’s too old to be enchanted and googly-eyed at being allowed to ring the bell in the engine, but he’s still too young to be allowed to run the engine. This is all very frustrating.
The guys hanging out on the engine
He’s in no-mans-land. Enter a “peer” of sorts. A young man in his late teens with the same passions as the Boy. We continue to run into him at these types of events. He was with another friend, and the guys sat around joking and talking shop.
I sat around reading, and trying to doze in the car for a little while.
I’ve been going through family photos again. There are a lot of photos of people dozing at various events. I’ve joined the ranks. I’m that old now.
I don’t know how I feel about that.
On the way home, we stopped at a German restaurant for dinner. The Boy did not want to go. He preferred to get his chicken tenders from the barbecue place. But go we did, and his tune did a one-eighty when he saw the bounce house on the lawn of the restaurant. I guess it’s good we had to eat outside.
Potato salad presentation
Yeah, he had a sucky day.
I had a beer.
We both passed out in the car on the way home.
I leave you with today’s moment of nature:
The elementary school spring concert is a big deal. Partly because nearly half of the student body is involved in it. The sheer number of performers needing to be accommodated means that the concert is always held at the high school.
Seating is at a premium and standing room is the only option for late-comers until after the third and fourth-grade chorus sings. In third-grade, every student is expected to participate. In fourth-grade the attrition begins, but doesn’t become really noticeable until fifth-grade.
The third-grade chorus always performs first. That way, their families can get the hell out of there and make seats available for the people who didn’t plan well and got there late.
I thought this guy was very dapper in his seersucker jacket, even though he clearly doesn’t want to be there
The concert was to begin at 7:00pm. At about 7:01 the fire alarm went off. I didn’t realize this right away because I was reading and had my head down. The emergency lights were flashing but barely noticeable, and the announcement saying to evacuate was barely audible over the din from the crowd in the auditorium.
That fire alarm had been going off for several minutes and not one single person in that auditorium evacuated. Because nobody wanted to risk losing their seat. For example: We were there really early and when we arrived there was only one other person sitting in our section. I’m sure our seats down front were coveted by a lot of people. There was no fucking way that we were willingly going to give them up. Especially since we got there early.
Finally, the elementary school principal asked everyone to leave calmly. Which, after a collective sigh, we did.
The fire department came and turned off the alarm. The alarm which was pulled because a small(ish), unsupervised child was unable to control his impulses. Despite the fact that adults, who were not responsible for him but witness to the war of wills going on within him, advised him not to. Several times.
The Boy – not looking at the teacher/conductor
Can a five-year-old be arrested for pulling a fire alarm? He should be. Half the town was inconvenienced by that delinquent.
Although I have to acknowledge that what he did is what anybody who was ever a kid has always wanted to do but was too afraid of getting caught to actually do it.
It was a late night for everyone involved.
Except, of course, the third grade families. Curse them.
Still not looking at his teacher
Oh, and the Boy presented the first song sung by the fifth and sixth-grade chorus. He’s a natural speaking in front of a crowd. Sadly though, both songs were completely unmemorable.
But he sure looked handsome.
I leave you today with this moment of nature:
