Category Archives: Alan Rickman

Truly, Madly, Deeply: R.I.P., Alan Rickman

I woke up to the news that Alan Rickman was dead. Ian had messaged me as I slept, and it was a shock when I looked at my social media and saw the dozens of well-wishes and condolences. Immediately, I went into denial. No, Alan Rickman was not dead–how could he be? How could my one true love* be dead? I read link after link, but it still seemed surreal. He had been fighting cancer–fuck cancer, by the way–and today, he lost that fight. Once I accepted it was true (on the surface, I don’t think I’ve fully accepted it yet), I cried. Full-on cried. I have had a crush on Alan Rickman for such a long time, and even though I knew he was older than I by twenty-five years, I had hoped that he’d be with us for many years to come.

I am not one to crush out on celebrities. Don’t get me wrong. I think there are hot actors such as Kate Winslet, Gina Torres, Helen Mirren, Ewan McGregor, Daniel Dae Lewis, and Idris Elba to name a few. I’ve drooled over Christina Hendricks and Salma Hayek and Michael Fassbender, not to mention (please, I’d really prefer you didn’t) all those carefully-tressed hair metal bands of the eighties. But, I’ve never cared much about them in real life, not to be rude about it. I’d read about them and be interested in what they have to say, but mostly, I just enjoyed looking at them and watching them/listening to them do their thing. Alan Rickman was different, for whatever reason. The first thing I really noticed him in was Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (though I was first attracted to Jason Isaacs, as you can see in this review. Please also note that even that early, I was pretty sure Snape was a good guy, and, yes, I’m tooting my own horn), even though I’d seen him before–including in the first Potter movie. He’s not typically handsome, and appreciating him takes time. There’s something about viewing the movie more than once, especially the scene in which he’s spelling that ponce played by Kenneth Branagh, that made me hot for him. It’s weird because he had that goofy wig on, but something about the voice and the masterful way he wielded his wand made me instantly smitten with him. Just below is a video with all his scenes from the movie, which is the way I watch a lot of his movies, tbh. He’s been in many shitty movies, but he’s always tackled each role with gusto and verve.

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Vienna and meOK.  Back to the travelogue.  After the thoroughly enjoyable Paper Raincoats (with Alex Wong and Ward the cellist, both of whom play with Vienna as well), on came Vienna.  The first thing that struck me (besides how utterly gorgeous she is, but what ugly boots) was how down-to-earth she was.  The theatre was intimate (maybe 200 seats), and she chatted with us as if we were guests in her home.

In an entirely cool moment, she talked about the people who couldn’t make it to the North Carolina show and asked if they were in the audience.  That’s us!  Kel and Rose**  shouted that we were there.  Vienna asked where we came from.  Kel said near Raleigh (Or Durham.  I don’t remember which).  Vienna was impressed and thankful that we had traveled so far to see her.  Later, Alex told us it was the better concert because he had all his instruments back (recovered by the airline at 4:30 in the morning).

I will admit to another twinge of envy because besides being incredibly hot and gorgeous, Vienna is extremely talented as well.  I played the cello for ten years and would like to pick it up again, and I’ve written a couple of songs (Flaccid Cock, anyone?  More on that in a bit), and I taught myself the guitar so I could write the music as well as the lyrics for my songs, but damn, girl can flat out sing and play the piano.

I liked the way she prefaced many of the songs with stories or just chatter.  She was completely at ease and in command of the stage.  She was low-key, but she had a presence.

Kel had told me earlier that she loved watching Alex play because he was so inventive in his instruments.  He would drum on anything he had at hand (including his body), and he’s a very talented musician.  Plus, he has a good energy/aura, so it’s very soothing to listen to/watch him.

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Blue Caravan*

On with my travelogue!  And yes, Alan Rickman will figure into it eventually.  I am not just pimping his name to inflate his cloud, I promise you.

OK.  Saturday morning.  Soccer Boy woke me up at ungodly o’clock.  I got ready, and then I gave the puzzle to Soccer Boy so he could reset it.  He did, saying with a smirk, “At least I didn’t solve it before resetting it” and then handed it to me.  I replied something to the effect of, “If you did, I’d have to kill you.”  Then this sweet boy looked at me and told me not to bury him “there” (and he pointed outside) because there are rocks there.  We then spent about a half an hour riffing on burying his body in Jersey (Kel has a friend who lives there).

Then, Kel came down and made the beignets.  Oh my god.  It’s like a little slice of heaven doing a happy dance in my mouth.  Nom nom nom beignets and powdered sugar–a great way to start the day.

Then, I got to watch the highly-amusing drama of Punk Girl sullenly moving around while slowly waking up and Irish Dancer racing around because she’s late, she’s late, for a very important date!  Then, we were off to the soccer fields which were an hour away.

Kel is the team photographer, so we sat in the end-zone.  Oh, wait, back the truck up!

Kel gave me my birthday prezzies in the morning, and they were goooood.  First is the t-shirt I am wearing right now.  It’s black (of course), with a snowwoman on it.  She has her stick hands on her hip and is giving attitude.  It says, “SNOW GIRL” right under her.  I’ve been wearing it ever since Kel gave it to me.  Next up was the second LOLCat book.  Since I love the website and I have the first book, it was great to get the second.  Last up was a gorgeous handmade journal from the Dominican Republic.  It’s beautiful.  She rocks.

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Consider My Mind Blown

OK.  I have to share with you how my mind was blown by visiting Kel.  As is my wont, it’s going to take some time, so sit back and relax.  Yes, grab your favorite beverage as I don’t want you to get dehydrated.

First, I have to give you some background on my family–specifically, my brother’s family.  At his house, I am not allowed to say gosh (derivative of God), darn (damn), shoot (shit), or anything that resembles any swear word in the slightest.  When my niece was young, I once was having a conversation with my brother in which I said something was stupid in response to something he said.  My SIL overheard us and got that ‘I just ate a lemon’ look on her face.   She said in a snippy voice, “We don’t use the word stupid in this house.”

I didn’t say anything, but I thought many nasty thoughts.  Stupid is a perfectly good word, and it wasn’t as if I was calling a person stupid–though I don’t think that should be a problem, either, as there are many stupid people in the world.  I love words, so it bothers me when someone bans one for no good reason.  Dare I say it’s stupid?  I do!

In addition, my brother is worried that I am a bad influence on my niece because she looks up to me so much.  I cannot talk about being bi, about not being a Christian, about premarital sex (not that I would, anyway), about my vaguely pagan beliefs, or anything else, really.  I have pretty much stopped going over there because I am not really wanted.  Plus, my SIL can suck the joy out of a room without saying a word.  I dealt with that with my father while I was growing up; I do not want to do the same now.

Because of my experience with my family, I was wary stepping into another person’s family.  Kel kept telling me to be myself, but I couldn’t quite believe that I should take her at her word.

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We Are Family

Welcome back, bitchez. Grab your favorite beverage, sit back and relax while I tell you about the wild goings-on that happened over the weekend. I finally got to meet my twin, Kel, in person, and boy did we have a ball. I got to lick her bunny and watch her strip her chicken!

I was nervous as I got off the plane because I still harbored the fear that I would disappoint Kel. It’s something that is ingrained in me from years of disappointing my real family. I had learned my lesson well–I am not enough. No matter how much Kel reassured me that I just had to be myself, I still had a fluttering of doubt as I stepped off the plane. Before I went, I emailed her to see what I should and shouldn’t say in front of her kids. She told me to just be myself, which wasn’t very reassuring to me. I told her I was bringing underwear because I didn’t want to offend/disturb anyone by going commando under my boxers. She told me not to be ridiculous–they didn’t wear unders, either, under their boxers. Still, I packed the panties just in case.

I called Kel as I got off the plane, and to my dismay, she didn’t answer. She ALWAYS has her phone on. I told her to turn on her damn phone and that I would see her in a few minutes.

When I saw her, I hugged her tightly and felt as if we were just continuing a conversation that we had started a year ago. We started babbling at each other as she took a pic of us to send the kids, her sis, and her husband. I stuck out my tongue, and we were off to the races after that.

Her house is an hour away from the airport. On the way, I texted everyone who texted her and made ribald suggestions (no, really?). She and I talked about everything under the sun, including what we were going to do the next day. The kids were at home waiting for us to return, despite the fact that it was going to be after midnight by the time we finally touched down. As we approached her house, two kids burst out of the garage door and started fighting with each other. Kel laughed and said they were fighting to see who would hug me first. I had started to get out of the van, but I quickly got back in and joked that I was skeered of them.

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Late Night Grumblings

My idea of perfection is Alan Rickman, chocolate, pizza, and sex (though not necessarily all at the same time.  That could get a bit messy).

I am in a down mood; I have been since my birthday, actually.

First of all, I am stoked to meet Kel, her sister, and her brood.  I cannot wait to hear Vienna (though it’ll be in Norfuck Norfolk, VA, and not Oriental), and I am excited to see how Kel is going to shoot me (with a camera, of course).  I don’t take good pics, so I’m curious to see what she can do with Alejandro (her trusty camera).

That said, I still have a shit-load to do before I go.  The house is still a mess, and I have a day and a half to clean it.  I also have my session in the morning.  I also have to wash my hair, and I probably will do one more load of laundry.  I also have that job hunt to do and other shit (including losing weight).  Instead, I sit on my flat ass and do nothing of importance.

My best friend and I had a heated discussion Friday night about regrets.  She’s the type to not regret things in life in part because she looks at the bigger picture.  She says, “Do I regret doing this?”  While the experience may have been painful, overall, she’s glad she did that or this or whatever.  On the other hand, I am all about regrets.  There are more experiences in my life that I would give up wholeheartedly than keep.  The abuse by my father?  Gone.  My entire childhood, in fact, would be erased.  Thailand?  Goodbye.  My relationship with D, I would keep.  My relationship with M, I would not.

In addition, I wanted to cut off some experiences at some point.  She said I couldn’t do that, and I said why not if we were playing pretend, anyway?

By the way, I hate the heat.  I am unbelievably grumpy right now.  I am wearing my South Park boxers, shirtless, my hair braided,  and still sweating like a pig.  I have SAD in the hot seasons, and I’m not Miss Perky at the best of times.

Oh, and FYWP (fuck you, Word Press).  I just lost more than half this post.  Fuckers.  I will try to reconstruct, but it won’t be easy.

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This and That and Alan Rickman, Too

I’ve been hearing mixed reviews of AIW–terribly mixed.  I am going to see it, but I’m wondering if I should wait until it’s on Netflix.  Then again, Alan Rickman, enough said.  On with the blog entry.

As I was cleaning the bathroom a few days ago as part of my plan to set a schedule with ScriptFrenzy as the carrot, I realized something:  I don’t want to do ScriptFrenzy.  I stopped cleaning for a second, stunned.  Perhaps I had mistaken my anticipation of the fun I would be having and the hard work I would be doing for–no.  I didn’t want to do it.  I am not a movie person (understatement, big time), and while I enjoyed my previous two ScriptFrenzy endeavors, scriptwriting is really not my thing.  Don’t get me wrong–I got one really good script out of the first year and a workable beginning of a script for my trilogy out of the second year, but it’s just not my bailiwick.  Furthermore, I realized that my therapist was right–I was doing it mostly to be doing something, but also to prove I could do it.

You know what?  I don’t need to prove that because I’ve done it twice.  With ease.  I’ve never had to prove that I can write a certain amount in a certain time–that’s not my problem.   NaNoWriMo is good for me because I can actually get a novel done–which is my bailiwick.

So, I scrapped the idea of doing ScriptFrenzy, which means my whole plan got tossed out as well.  However, I realized I could keep the schedule part of it and just substitute regular writing or submitting for the ScriptFrenzy part.  The problem is, would it be enough to make me actually do what I need to do?  I did it the first day when I had planned on doing ScriptFrenzy–except the exercise.  I had already decided not to tie in exercise with my ScriptFrenzy as carrot plan because I am having enough problems with my ED issues flaring up, and I’ve been slacking on the exercise thing, much to my shame and dismay.

Next.  I’m in a somber mood right now.  I don’t know why.  Maybe the temps in the high seventies and the incipient return of my spring bronchitis are to blame.  I think they are just the tip of the iceberg, though.  I am just in a melancholy mood.  Oh wait, my birthday is coming up.  That’s probably part of it.  And, I’ve been PMS’ing for about a month (three months since my last period), so that doesn’t help.

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Back on Terra Firma for 2010

All right.  Now that I’ve thrown my fantasy wishlist for 2010 out there, I’m going to try to come up with a more reasonable list.  Now, since I tend to be CDO about things, we shall see how well I do.  Let me repost the list:

  1. Lose 100 pounds
  2. Become self-supporting and self-sufficient
  3. Buy my own house
  4. Get back into theater
  5. Become a published author
  6. Get my online literary mag up and running
  7. Get laid
  8. Start playing the cello again
  9. Finish the long form in taiji and start pushing hands
  10. Start dating

#9 is doable.

#4, #7, #8, and #10 are theoretically easy, but psychologically difficult.  #2, #3, #5 will, sigh, take longer than a year.

#1 is doable with some strict discipline, as is #6.  Got that?

Good.  Now, I’m going tho throw all that out and start over again.

Awhile ago, I wrote down my goals in order of priority.  I am too lazy to look up the entry, mainly because I suspect that my priorities are different now.  And, because since I’m in charge here, I can pretty much write whatever I want.

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My 2010 Fantasy Wish List

I don’t make NY Resolutions, so this is not going to be about that.  Instead, this is going to be about…well, you’ll see.

As I was driving back from the airport to my house, I felt some relief to be getting away from my family and the pernicious insidiousness of Taiwanese beliefs about women, family, etc.  One thing my therapist commented on before I went on my trip was that the culture clash of family first v. independence was something I would have to deal with now.  She said it much more eloquently, but it’s what she meant.

Now, I am not saying that putting family first is an inherently-dysfunctional thing, any more than I am touting the superiority of rugged individuality.  I think both have their pluses and their minuses.   What I am saying is that when you skew crazily to either side, then there’s a problem.  In my case, in my family, the boundaries between each person are nonexistent.  What I want isn’t a factor at all.  It’s not that my parents don’t care what I want or think–they simply don’t realize that I could possibly think or want something other than what they think I want.

I have written in the past that my father is a narcissist, so the fact that he can’t fathom a me outside of him doesn’t surprise me.  However, the realization that my mother is just as much a narcissist in some ways is really bothersome to me.  I have spent much of my life grappling with issues with my mother (I gave up my father as a lost cause many years ago), and this new revelation throws things in a different light.  In addition, her ability at revisionist history is comparable to that of a current GOP congressperson, which is really disturbing.

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Do You Believe in Love?

j0385435My friend, Rubo, and I have been have a FB/Yahoo Messenger conversation about love.  Well, we were when I was actually on FB.  I am taking a hiatus because the FB police are after me–again.

Anyway, she turned me on to a group named The Storys.  They are a Welsh band, and I am totally addicted to them.  My favorite song is Journey’s End (Show Me Love).  I have listened to it well over fifty times in the past week, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the actual number is double that.  I bought their self-titled debut album, and the whole thing is excellent.   Here is a live version of my favorite song:

Well, Rubo has been on a kick of posting links on FB to their videos.  Her most recent one was I Believe in Love.  This is the rapidly becoming my second favorite song by The Storys.  Since I am a compulsive commenter, I quickly posted something about loving that song, even though I didn’t believe in love.

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