...I can totally see down your dress.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
A Bunch of Thoughts Not Remotely Related
Eastern Promises is an amazing film. Very intense, but a little unnecessarily graphic in places. It isn't easy to watch, but it's fascinating. It's all about human trafficking in London, by the Russian mob. These poor girls come to England, thinking they'll have a better life, and get sold into slavery in mob-owned brothels.
The thing that really interested me was how the Russian mobsters have their life, and their history, told on their bodies through tattoos. It is a language all its own; many have religious symbology but of course have nothing to do with religion. A huge cross means you're a thief in good standing. A church with three spires means you've done three prison terms. If you have no tattoos, you're invisible. No other criminal will trust you, because they can't see your life story.
Of course, he's in it, which is good enough for me.
I have decided to just keep writing my Regency because I love it and I'm having fun and I don't care who knows it. If the traditional Regency is dead, and I never sell this thing, at least I had a darn good time.
And since Jane Austen is still making movie producers tons of money, I refuse to believe the Regency won't rise again. Not that I'm comparing myself to Jane, but you get the idea.
My blog friend December is having releases all over the freaking place! Can't wait for Personal Demons- sounds like such great fun. And she's having Zombie Week over at her place, so DQ- here's my tribute:
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Cause, Yeah...It's All About Me
I am on a constant quest to find myself, so I decided to get my own personal slogan. Special thanks to Missie and Jenny for helping me waste approximately an hour of my life.
I'll warn you. I'm easy but I'm not cheap.
"We" being coffee, chocolate, and Viggo Mortenson.
I think that should be the title of this blog.
I...don't think I'm gonna touch this one.
True...so true.
Say that three times fast! Go here. What is your personal slogan?
Have Robyn Your Way.
I'll warn you. I'm easy but I'm not cheap.
We Bring Robyn to Life.
"We" being coffee, chocolate, and Viggo Mortenson.
Only The Crumbliest Flakiest Robyn.
I think that should be the title of this blog.
It Takes A Tough Man To Make A Tender Robyn.
I...don't think I'm gonna touch this one.
If Only Everything in Life was as Reliable as a Robyn.
True...so true.
Lipsmackin' Thirstquenchin' Acetastin' Motivatin' Goodbuzzin' Cooltalkin' Highwalkin' Fastlivin' Evergivin' Coolfizzin' Robyn.
Say that three times fast! Go here. What is your personal slogan?
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Random Valentine's Day Musings
So I spent the day yesterday with Advil and a heating pad, because I pulled a muscle in my back. I did this when I was rescuing some kittens from Satanic bikers.
No, really! The poor little things were right there, in the street, about to get mowed down...oh, okay. I'm just putting that story out because I'm embarrassed to tell you that I did it ROLLING OVER IN BED. And not even during an energetic session of tea and crumpets- just rolling over. Gad, I'm pathetic.
At least I got to have some time with the TV all to myself, since sitting at the computer hurt. Thank Goodness for Blockbuster online, y'all, because 3:10 to Yuma rocks! Of course, any movie with Russell Crowe and Christian Bale gets an automatic two stars from me, but this movie is fabulous. Just enough Western shoot-em-up action to keep it moving, but the psychological play between Bale and Crowe was wonderful. Next up in my queue is Eastern Promises, with yummy Viggo Mortenson. I hear he does a full frontal knife fight; you have to admire his dedication. It takes guts to do a knife fight, fake or not, with your important bits dangling out.
I also saw a story on Good Morning America (and can I just say that I am a total sucker for how cute these anchors are together? They probably stop hugging and snarl nasty cheap shots at each other when they go to commercial, but I love their warm fuzzy patter!) and this story made me BAWL. Like a colicky baby. This soldier in Iraq, decorated for bravery, wasn't married and didn't have a lot of family. He's older, and his chances for getting a date are slimmer than they once were, if you catch my drift. He was chosen to receive letters from this 6 year old girl who wrote to soldiers as part of a church project. They kept writing, and this little girl got her older brothers and sister to start writing to him, too. He was writing and getting letters from these kids, and falling in love with them. They seemed to adore him as well, so their mother wrote to him. Their single mother. I'm sure you see where this is going.
Yes, the soldier and the single mom fell for each other from letters, emails, and phone calls. And suddenly the lonely man had a family. They all met him at the airport when he came home, and the people at the terminal were so enchanted with the homecoming that they cheered. A nice salute for a brave man. The couple married, and he now has a wife and four kids.
Romance ain't dead. Not by a long shot.
No, really! The poor little things were right there, in the street, about to get mowed down...oh, okay. I'm just putting that story out because I'm embarrassed to tell you that I did it ROLLING OVER IN BED. And not even during an energetic session of tea and crumpets- just rolling over. Gad, I'm pathetic.
At least I got to have some time with the TV all to myself, since sitting at the computer hurt. Thank Goodness for Blockbuster online, y'all, because 3:10 to Yuma rocks! Of course, any movie with Russell Crowe and Christian Bale gets an automatic two stars from me, but this movie is fabulous. Just enough Western shoot-em-up action to keep it moving, but the psychological play between Bale and Crowe was wonderful. Next up in my queue is Eastern Promises, with yummy Viggo Mortenson. I hear he does a full frontal knife fight; you have to admire his dedication. It takes guts to do a knife fight, fake or not, with your important bits dangling out.
I also saw a story on Good Morning America (and can I just say that I am a total sucker for how cute these anchors are together? They probably stop hugging and snarl nasty cheap shots at each other when they go to commercial, but I love their warm fuzzy patter!) and this story made me BAWL. Like a colicky baby. This soldier in Iraq, decorated for bravery, wasn't married and didn't have a lot of family. He's older, and his chances for getting a date are slimmer than they once were, if you catch my drift. He was chosen to receive letters from this 6 year old girl who wrote to soldiers as part of a church project. They kept writing, and this little girl got her older brothers and sister to start writing to him, too. He was writing and getting letters from these kids, and falling in love with them. They seemed to adore him as well, so their mother wrote to him. Their single mother. I'm sure you see where this is going.
Yes, the soldier and the single mom fell for each other from letters, emails, and phone calls. And suddenly the lonely man had a family. They all met him at the airport when he came home, and the people at the terminal were so enchanted with the homecoming that they cheered. A nice salute for a brave man. The couple married, and he now has a wife and four kids.
Romance ain't dead. Not by a long shot.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Not Really Sure About This
I just saw a news story about an eight-year-old boy who had misbehaved in school. As punishment, his mother made him stand outside the school, near the road, with a sign that said, "I was rude to my teacher" on one side and "I will make good choices" on the other. He did this for three hours.
Please don't get me wrong. I am beyond thrilled when I see any parent actually disciplining his or her child. Working in retail and volunteering at my own childrens' schools, I have seen the results of parents who think kids should never hear the word no. And I would call myself a fairly strict mom. I ground, I take away privileges, I say no to certain R-rated movies and M-rated video games. And, though I'm inviting censure from experts, as if they really read my blog-
Yes, I'm willing to admit it, internetz. Horrible creature that I am, I spanked my kids. But I did it in private. Haven't had to do it in years, though, which I think was the whole point, right?
I know that sometimes extreme parenting is called for. I'm reminded of a young African American man who stood up at some talk show and proudly announced that his mom beat him up and saved his life. He told the shocked crowd that when he was thirteen, his father had been gone for years, and the gang he started to hang out with reinforced the "ain't no woman gonna tell me what to do" machismo some teenage boys go through. This mamma told him he wasn't to go with those gang bangers, and he defied her. She had discussed the violence, the danger, etc., and he still defied her. One night when he was going out to them, she ran, jumped, and landed on him. She literally beat the crap out of him. Then she told him, "Now we're going to see your gang friends, and I'm going to watch while you tell them exactly who put this hurt on you." He was so embarrassed, and so shocked, he quit seeing the gang who was trying to recruit him. He's now in medical school, married, and has a good future.
But this boy who was rude to a teacher- he's eight. And I know he'll get over it; it wasn't that harsh, but it was humiliating. He should be disciplined, and made to apologize; but surely there was a way to handle that privately and net the same results, right?
Please don't get me wrong. I am beyond thrilled when I see any parent actually disciplining his or her child. Working in retail and volunteering at my own childrens' schools, I have seen the results of parents who think kids should never hear the word no. And I would call myself a fairly strict mom. I ground, I take away privileges, I say no to certain R-rated movies and M-rated video games. And, though I'm inviting censure from experts, as if they really read my blog-
Yes, I'm willing to admit it, internetz. Horrible creature that I am, I spanked my kids. But I did it in private. Haven't had to do it in years, though, which I think was the whole point, right?
I know that sometimes extreme parenting is called for. I'm reminded of a young African American man who stood up at some talk show and proudly announced that his mom beat him up and saved his life. He told the shocked crowd that when he was thirteen, his father had been gone for years, and the gang he started to hang out with reinforced the "ain't no woman gonna tell me what to do" machismo some teenage boys go through. This mamma told him he wasn't to go with those gang bangers, and he defied her. She had discussed the violence, the danger, etc., and he still defied her. One night when he was going out to them, she ran, jumped, and landed on him. She literally beat the crap out of him. Then she told him, "Now we're going to see your gang friends, and I'm going to watch while you tell them exactly who put this hurt on you." He was so embarrassed, and so shocked, he quit seeing the gang who was trying to recruit him. He's now in medical school, married, and has a good future.
But this boy who was rude to a teacher- he's eight. And I know he'll get over it; it wasn't that harsh, but it was humiliating. He should be disciplined, and made to apologize; but surely there was a way to handle that privately and net the same results, right?
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Again, ARRRGH!
Bernita's post yesterday got me thinking. And ticked off, truth be known. It seems that writers, romance writers in particular, are not only responsible for hordes of unsatisfied, lonely, crumpet-challenged housewives, now they are to blame for any of those impressionable readers having unprotected sex if condoms aren't specifically mentioned in the bouncy-bouncy scenes.
I have one question. Why do we keep having this conversation? It may happen and I'm just not aware of it, but I haven't read of mystery authors accused of alienation of affection because a beloved family member or friend always turns out to be whodunit, or western authors scolded for promoting violence when the sheriff shoots the bad guy. I know fantasy authors are accused of teaching children witchcraft all the time, but that's on the parents if they want to keep Junior's eyes off Harry Potter.
People are trying to convince me that simply by writing a story, I am responsible for influencing the decisions of a GROWN PERSON. Not just to inspire, to comfort, or even to thrill, but to convince them it's okay to engage in risky behavior. I ask you- why on earth would even a not-quite-fully-functioning adult look at something like this...
...and think the story gives them sound advice about anything?
I think I have a reasonable expectation that authors are going to do their research; say, if an author states boldly that orange juice and goat cheese is a cure for cancer I'd better see a footnote. Even so, I'm going to check with my doctor and read all I can before planting an orange tree and buying a goat. But not explicitly showing condom use? Okay by me. It's fantasy. I can ignore it or supply those in-between-the-lines details all by myself.
Even if I am convinced that a Greek billionaire is going to kidnap me, spirit me away on his yacht, and bribe me into marrying him.
I have one question. Why do we keep having this conversation? It may happen and I'm just not aware of it, but I haven't read of mystery authors accused of alienation of affection because a beloved family member or friend always turns out to be whodunit, or western authors scolded for promoting violence when the sheriff shoots the bad guy. I know fantasy authors are accused of teaching children witchcraft all the time, but that's on the parents if they want to keep Junior's eyes off Harry Potter.
People are trying to convince me that simply by writing a story, I am responsible for influencing the decisions of a GROWN PERSON. Not just to inspire, to comfort, or even to thrill, but to convince them it's okay to engage in risky behavior. I ask you- why on earth would even a not-quite-fully-functioning adult look at something like this...
...and think the story gives them sound advice about anything?
I think I have a reasonable expectation that authors are going to do their research; say, if an author states boldly that orange juice and goat cheese is a cure for cancer I'd better see a footnote. Even so, I'm going to check with my doctor and read all I can before planting an orange tree and buying a goat. But not explicitly showing condom use? Okay by me. It's fantasy. I can ignore it or supply those in-between-the-lines details all by myself.
Even if I am convinced that a Greek billionaire is going to kidnap me, spirit me away on his yacht, and bribe me into marrying him.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Somewhat Okay Satisfactory Tuesday
So my hubby was off yesterday, and we went to have quesadillas. I ignored you totally to stuff myself with cheese and chicken, in a blouse that encouraged my man to ogle my bosoms. It was a wonderful day; sorry I didn't bring leftovers.
So that's why I waited until today to talk about the Premiere Event in America. No, not the primary election. The Superbowl halftime show!
Seriously, will these idiots ever get it right? I mean, at least twice in a row? I know they're battling back from Janet Jackson's wardrobe malfunction, but to be honest, seeing a tiny flash of Jan's nipple shield wasn't the issue there. The NFL, CBS, and all the assorted people involved thought that Justin Timberlake aggressively stalking her singing about ripping her clothes off was just fine for a family show. I was more horrified by his behavior than hers, especially when he ripped off the pasty. The look on her face didn't suggest hot and sexy; it looked like she was being raped. It was disturbing on a lot of levels.
The Superbowl is supposed to be about celebration. Why can't we get "I Wanna Rock and Roll All Night" or "Living On A Prayer?" How much fun would the Foo Fighters be? Or, to go country, Rascal Flatts would have been a hoot. But Sunday night gave us Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. I've never been his biggest fan, but geez. Slow folk songs in that high, reedy voice does not spell "rockin' the house" to me. Hubby said it was like the easy listening Superbowl.
If they would just ask me about these things, everything would turn out fine.
So that's why I waited until today to talk about the Premiere Event in America. No, not the primary election. The Superbowl halftime show!
Seriously, will these idiots ever get it right? I mean, at least twice in a row? I know they're battling back from Janet Jackson's wardrobe malfunction, but to be honest, seeing a tiny flash of Jan's nipple shield wasn't the issue there. The NFL, CBS, and all the assorted people involved thought that Justin Timberlake aggressively stalking her singing about ripping her clothes off was just fine for a family show. I was more horrified by his behavior than hers, especially when he ripped off the pasty. The look on her face didn't suggest hot and sexy; it looked like she was being raped. It was disturbing on a lot of levels.
The Superbowl is supposed to be about celebration. Why can't we get "I Wanna Rock and Roll All Night" or "Living On A Prayer?" How much fun would the Foo Fighters be? Or, to go country, Rascal Flatts would have been a hoot. But Sunday night gave us Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. I've never been his biggest fan, but geez. Slow folk songs in that high, reedy voice does not spell "rockin' the house" to me. Hubby said it was like the easy listening Superbowl.
If they would just ask me about these things, everything would turn out fine.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)