meirwen_1988

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It is now nearly two weeks into the "Facebook only at work" phase that many of my friends labeled as a hiatus. 

I'm not sure if I labeled it at the time, maybe I did, but now after nearly two weeks of not being in Zuckerbergland at all when I am at home I find that it is likely the new normal.

Many of my friends assumed I was taking a break to avoid Avengers: Endgame spoilers, and/or Game of Thrones spoilers, and I admit the timing was triggered by those, but they aren't the cause. Over the last 18 months, and especially the last year, I have found FB to be more of a bad thing in my life than a good one. There are many good things associated with it. The "staying in touch" element is profoundly important, and the ability to find long-lost friends and relatives has brought real joy to my life. But the downsides are equally profound and demoralizing, even pain inducing. So, strict limits. No obligation. 

There are things I miss, but I'll find other ways to get those. So, not a hiatus. The new normal.

It's bad that it's two weeks before classes start and I'm already feeling overwhelmed. Meeting today, tomorrow, Thursday, Monday--all before faculty are supposed to be back. And every time I try to draw a line in the sand (with the support of my direct report), someone yanks me over it. I'm already done with semester, and it hasn't even started yet. On top of which it those same committments have eroded all the time I planned to spend researching and doing the first draft of a keynote address I have to give in March. I'm frustrated, tense, and feel that anxiety tightness in my chest that usually hits the second or third week in the semester after I've screwed up a class (session) for the first time that semester and doesn't leave until usually the last week of break. And now, 10 days before that, here it is, fully formed.

Yeah, I know. First world problems. I have a roof, food, job, acceptable level of health for someone 380 days from her 60th birthday. But there's something wrong when after 2 weeks "off" your best friend looks at you and says "You look exhausted."

So, in that way of things, I made a comment on a friend's post on Facebook. He's an old friend from college days, and one of the nicest human beings I had the pleasure to meet while I was part of an industry known more for its backbiting, selfishness, and neurosis than kindness. One of his friends responded to my comment--she thought it was "hilarious!" He then told her that "You would LOVE Rosemary, Alison."

It actually is kind of cool. The Alison is better known as Laura Ingall's nemesis Nellie Oleson from the Little House on the Prarie TV series.

The world is a funny place.

Right now, I'm watching Galaxy Quest, because no one plays a better Leonard Nimoy than Alan Rickman (sorry Zachary Quinto).

"Change is the essential process of all existence," Spock once said. Death is change, and that Mr. Nimoy, by the evidence of my own eyes an artist in many fields, and by all accounts a human being of inspiring empathy and passion, should die is inevitable. Yesterday, he did. On Facebook I put pictures, but no words. Changed the banner on my page. Changed my profile picture. Put up one of the saddest pictures I've ever seen. But no words.

I've known he was seriously ill for some time. I read when he disclosed his COPD. I've followed him on Twitter. Saw his announcements slowly, inexorably scaling back. Read the posts that spoke of time, and beauty, and impermanence. And, the logical part of my brain said "He is in his 80's. It is coming."

So I was not surprised. Still, when I saw the announcements, 20 minutes before I was to walk into film class and face 60 students, many of whom probably hated the film I showed on Wednesday (White Heat, Warner Bros., 1949), it took some effort to not walk in red-eyed and unable to function. A man I never met died, and it rocked me to the core.

I remember with crystaline clarity when I "met" Leonard Nimoy, in the alter ego of Mr. Spock, First Officer of the United Federation Starship Enterprise, NCC-1701. When the TV Guide for Premier Week came out, as usual, Daddy, Momma, and I (9 years old, and able to stay up until 10 o'clock now that I was in 4th grade!) went through it and marked the shows we wanted to watch, especially the "new" shows that we were going to "try out." For Thursday, Momma and I had marked Tarzan at 7:30, which meant Daddy lost out on F Troop at 8:00. But, we were pretty much in agreement to try out the show on NBC at 8:30--something called Star Trek. We had watched CBS's Lost in Space the night before (now in its second season). It was okay, but while I liked it fine, Mom and Dad weren't too impressed. Still, it was better than the other offerings.

So once Ron Ely finished swinging through the trees (still my favority Tarzan, by the way), we settled in for the new show. My little brother was asleep by then, and we just sat around our little round table, and watched the show.

When it was over, Daddy took the TV Guide and said "I guess we know what we're watching Thursday nights." Momma and I enthusiastically agreed. We were all three fans until the end of the third year, even though we knew that much of the third season was horrible. I remember the day I came home from school and my mother told me with great excitement that William Shatner had appeared on Jeopardy! that afternoon to thank everyone who wrote in to protest NBC's announcement that the show was going to be cancelled, and to announce the network had retracted that decision. It was the first thing she said to Daddy when he came home, and he said, "I know, it was on the radio in the car." He had a pleased smile on his face. If my parents' had had the money, I if I knew they existed, I know they would have given me any Star Trek toy I asked for. They did get me the model kit for the NCC-1701, but I got too discouraged by my imperfect efforts. It is still partially constructed in a box somewhere. But I digress.

My childhood, like most childhoods, was not easy. When I relate my experiences to some people, they always seem to say things like, "My childhood was rough, but nothing like yours." Maybe so. I have no scale of reference. But I do know that Spock saved me.

I think I realized, even before "Amok Time," that it was not, as McCoy often claimed, that Spock was emotionless. It was that Spock was determined not to let his pain, his passion, his frustration, his fear control him--he would be in control. He would think his way through, around whatever challenges were presented to him. His body, his emotions, would not control him--his mind would. And so, I became Spock. A pre-adolescent female human took as her role model and mentor a half-human Vulcan male. As did hundreds of thousands of others.

And I did it so completely, so perfectly, that it terrified my mother. I remember the day she exploded in frustation, "Stop being Spock. You can't keep all of that inside--it will destroy you!"

But while my Momma was wise, and right, about many things, about that one thing, she was wrong.

Yesterday, Leonard Nimoy died. He brought into perfect instantiation the creation of Gene Roddenberry--the conscience of the Enterprise, and, to many extents, the Federation of Planets: the brilliant, loyal, compassionate, logical son of Sarek and Amanda. That character SAVED MY LIFE AND SANITY by giving me hope, and a path, that enabled me to live through childhood sexual abuse at the hand of a trusted man; an alcoholic father; a chronically, ultimately terminally ill brother;  a mother who existed on the verge of death due to too many illnesses to list here; and crippling poverty.

I owe Gene Roddenberry, and Leonard Nimoy, more than I can ever express or repay.

Last night when I got the news about Ashley, I was numb. When I finally fell asleep, I had progressed to stunned.
This morning...well, let's just say, numbed and stunned were better.

But Linda is right, "Today is a day for hiding. And comfort food. And feeding stray cats. And taking care of people you love. And putting on panties. And forgiving your family. And having the courage to love again. And having the courage to embrace your sorrow.

Because that's what she did."

So I asked Rowan if she wanted to meet at the DEV after work. And sent out an invite to friends to meet us there.

Bills paid. Only one a little late. Except I'm not sure I got a bill. Because of STUPID postal carriers who keep misdelivering mail.

Managed to not flame any of my friends, multiples of whom posted incredibly stupid shit on Facebook. Go me. (No, if you can see this, I don't mean you.)

Have many thinky-thoughts about new house, new life, new patterns. No time yet. Must unpack boxes.

Kitty drama has been…traumatic for kitty and human. I'm hoping we've hit a holding pattern since we readjusted meds. We'll see how he manages with my going to the workshop. I'm cutting it short just in case. No Philly Museum for me this trip. I was really looking forward to going again on Saturday. Oh well. At least there will be dinner with friends.

Still trying to decide how much I miss television. And football. I haven't seen a football game yet this year and it's KILLING me. I want the news, and football, and those just aren't really available without live TV (at least not safely or legally, and I AM my daddy's little girl--he'd drive back to a store if he found out they gave him too much change back).

Okay, time for bed, because tomorrow I still have to clean up, pack, get the rental, and drive to Philly. That part doesn't bother me. It's getting from the outskirts into city center. I've gone down there 3 times now, but only as a passenger. Given that experience, I have NO desire to drive it myself, but, well, that's what's happening tomorrow. Pray for me.

What sucks:

Taking TAG (see kitten picture above) to the vet as an Urgent Care patient this AM. It became obvious this morning that he wasn't suffering from his usual "it's August and I've shed so much I have a hairball the size of Rhode Island I'm trying to get rid of" and the malaise is more serious. We eliminated the likelihood it is cardiac-related, and now we're onto "fun with nephrology." Trying to steel myself for bad news.

Finding out they changed the format of the class I'm teaching a Learning Community with, so the things we did in the past to align and support each other in the two classes just got thrown out the friggin' window, and classes start on Wednesday. Feel my joy.

Apparently yesterday while unpacking and cat-monitoring I did "something" to my right hand. Feels at the very least like I strained a muscle. Other options are sprained thumb, hyper-extended ligament or tendon, or something similar. Right now doing the whole heat/cold/support/NSAIDS thing in hopes that clears it up pretty quickly.

The "Best Office-mate in the World" is heading to Vietnam on Sept. 10 and will be gone until December. This sucks. A lot.

Not everything sucked:

The veterinary clinic where I take TAG is a cats-clusive vet, that not only treats only cats, but has them resident. I was greeted in the parking lot by a charming gentleman in a distinguished tuxedo.

I have a great boss and semi-boss.

I have time to get the semester started, if I really focus today and tomorrow (see above for possible contraindications of likelihood).

The unpacking yesterday resulted in numerous boxes emptied, and I can now get to a window in the future library, which means I can open it, making for more cross-ventilation. And, most importantly, I found the cookies!!

The-Best-Office-Mate-in-the-World is excited at this amazing opportunity, and I'm really happy for him.

A) That was a weird interface. Is LJ trying to be G+?

B) Grateful for good friends--both those with me in body and those whose good will is the wind beneath my wings.

C) GHOSTS. I has them. They showed up everywhere in the last 2 days as we were packing. Morguhn, Cat, Rannveigr, Mom, Daddy, Elinor....Satin, Shadow, Modi, Frigga, Popcorn, Brindy....and every one was a knife, and a balm.

D) Fall down now, go boom.

Okay, I wasn't right back.
And, in the interests of full disclosure, I didn't rewatch it. I tried. Truly. But I got about as far as when Wilson has his last gasp...oh, wait, not "Wilson"--Handles...and I just couldn't take it any more.

A while back a meme was going around the interweb, that in one incarnation looked a lot like this:
.

I don't get it.

Except for Torchwood, I can't really think of any important character who actually died in a Moffat world. We get noble and ignoble ends for lots of secondary characters, but not really anyone who matters. And, frankly, even with Torchwood it felt a little hollow, because it all felt so inevitable. Really--was anyone surprised when Tosh or Ianto died? Really??

No. Moffat has all this "street cred" for mercilessly killing off his characters, but I don't think he deserves it. He has a bunch of immortal characters to play with, and that "wibbly-wobbly timey-whimy stuff" that allows for a certain cavalier attitude with lives and consequences, and he then adds in soupcon of "I don't give a damn," and "POOF!" Lots of flash. No substance.

So, "Time of the Doctor." Where the Doctor finally has to deal with real personal mortality. Where he ages ("Worst Makeup in a Series Razzie goes to...."), and stays put for HUNDREDS of years. And then, TA DA, the Time Lords fix it "from beyond." And the Daleks have killed off all the other villains. And The Church gets totally trashed.

Even Clara couldn't save this one. (I like Clara. She reminds me a bit of Donna Noble, a bit of Sarah Jane, and just a bit of Romana I--how could I not?)

So I was asked what I thought of "Time of the Doctor." I think rather a lot of it. Sadly, not much good.

Right around Christmas and the turning of the year, dicea asked me to post my review of "The Time of the Doctor" and The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug. I said I would, and would throw in Catching Fire for free.

Even at the time I knew they would be less review than response, because what I want to say about them is filled with tangents, and layers, and caveats, and that's not a review.

So let's start with the Peter Jackson.

I don't like The Hobbit. Never have. I've bought a new copy to read, in hopes that 40 years on my reaction will change (on my list, not done yet). Yes. It has been over 40 years since I read The Hobbit. I am that old. The photo in the pageant book makes that devastatingly clear. But even with those intervening decades I knew that turning The Hobbit into three films was...ludicrous. Two, maybe, because there is a great deal of action in the book, and lots of locales, and to include them all, and have the story be clear...okay, I'll buy in for two. But three? *sigh* My head keeps screaming at me that it's all driven by profit and ego, and it makes me cranky, so I walk into the films cranky. It colors how I see the films, how I respond. Cranky. But the section covered in the second film, the Mirkwood scenes and introduction of Bard of Lake Town, is the only part of the book I recall with pleasure, so I was hopeful.

There are some good things, I think.

-Martin Freeman is well-cast as the younger Bilbo. There is enough talent in his performance, and attention to some Ian Holmish turns, that you can believe he grows into Frodo's uncle. Oh, he isn't the Bilbo from my head (which is good, because I really, really didn't like him at all), but he works in the fictive world that is the Lord of the Rings filmic universe.
-Sir Ian McKellen is, again, not my Gandalf, but in these films he is the wizard "quick to anger," and I missed that from the first films (of course his annoyance at the process in this project probably helped him be bad tempered--he probably wasn't always acting that part).
-My favorite dwarf (Balin) is still my favorite, though I think they've made him too old for me to believe he tried to re-establish the Kingdom of Moria (for those not obsessed with all things Middle Earth, Balin's is the tomb where Gimli mourns in The Fellowship of the Ring).
-The version of Thorin Oakenshield is...seductive in this film (younger and more charismatic than I recall from the book), and may be the best bit in the trilogy of films, because Richard Armitage really seems to me to be portraying all the best and worst of Dwarvenkind. I have to give the screenwriters some credit for that as well. By the end of the second film you can see how the Dwarven kings fell to the 7 rings, but also how that never worked in Sauron's favor. That thematic development requires time, and may be the only thing that doing three films benefits.
-The voice acting and CGI for Smaug were, I thought, some of the best of their type I have seen recently.
-And Thranduil. I was not impressed with the stills I saw of the character, nor the brief glimpse in Unexpected Journey. But in this film Lee Pace brings the darkness of elven longevity, and the arrogance of elves, firmly to the fore, while still preserving the strength and elegance of the race. Thranduil is...frightening, and he should be. He is not "bad" or "evil," but he should be feared, and avoided. If he cannot be avoided, he must be appeased. Those are the only options.
-Bard. Beautifully cast, strongly performed. Showing the strength of men, while also showing how they have fallen. (I may be influenced by the fact that he looks much more like the Strider in my head than Viggo Mortensen ever could.)

There are, however, some horrors in the film, and I don't mean the spiders, goblins, and Necromancer.

-Every. single. thing. Jackson dragged in. I'll stay with this film and not discuss elements that were in the first film but not brought into this one. The biggest offenders are Legolas and Tauriel. Really interesting fan fiction. They don't belong in the movie. They don't help the plot, and the scenes between her and Kili are...an embarrassment. Yes, they allow the Mirkwood section to go on longer, which is necessary since there are THREE films (see note above), but otherwise they are pandering to fangirls and political correctness (there aren't a lot of women in Tolkien's stories--deal with it: the ones that ARE in the stories are strong, matter, and are respected: I'll take that).
-The blatant pandering to videogame action sequences. Rather than action that looks and feels real the shots and events are clearly "and in the game this is where the PoV character will...." Hate it.
-The ridiculousness of Sylvester McCoy's portrayal of Radegast the Brown. I am sure McCoy is doing exactly what he was asked to do. Radegast is NOT comic relief, and I really resent how he is being used in these films.
-The horrible quality of the goblins, orcs, and wargs in these films drags me right out of Middle-Earth and smack into my theatre seat every time I see them. I thought maybe it was that I was so "accustomed to them" that I was being hypercritical. Then I rewatched HD versions of The Fellowship of the Ring and The Return of the King on my 32" 720dpi screen, and then watched my HD version of Unexpected Journey. Nope. The LotR orcs and wargs were better. MUCH better. The goblins, orcs, and wargs in The Hobbit films are more animation than anything else, where in the LotR films they were clearly live-action combined with CGI. They were "real," fully dimensional both visually and in motion. Watching the orcs and wargs in The Hobbit films almost makes me long for the Rankin-Bass version.
-The Master of Laketown. I adore Stephen Fry. I follow him on Twitter, I love A Bit of Fry and Laurie, I've watched his dramatic turns (on BBC mysteries or on Bones), and I delight in his character from the Black Adder series. But his Master is...horribly, horribly wrong. The Master is ridiculous, but that should be terrifying because of his incompetence and venality: he is not a buffoon, and yet that is how Fry plays him, because that is how it is apparently written in the screenplay.

When you look at my two lists they look fairly even. For this film, to be fair, they may be. I like this one much more than An Unexpected Journey overall, but the things I hate about it I hate with more passion and disdain than the first film, which I found...occasionally annoying but mostly innocuous. More than the first Hobbit movie, this film reminds me of how good Jackson, Boyens, and Walsh can be at really "getting" Tolkien's world and characters and adapting those to the medium of film. But the bloat in this one is horrific, and the juxtaposition of the moments of sheer "Yes!" with the "You've got to be kidding me." leaves a sour taste in my mouth when all is said and done, and that ultimately ruins the experience.

This turned out much longer than I'd expected, so I think The Doctor and Katniss will have to wait for another day. Night all.