Where do I begin this one? A month ago? Two? Three???
I know.
I will begin and end with Neil Diamond....
....there are worse places.
A brief history; My mother is a HUGE Neil Diamond fan (hereafter referred to as 'Neilikins', which is what she calls him ;) ) We have seen him in concert countless times over the last 30 years. In fact, we have not missed a show that he played in Toronto in that time...Usually alone, sometimes with company. One memorable year we saw him with my high school best friend and her mother at Maple Leaf Gardens. When there still was a Maple Leaf Gardens
Soooo....
When it was announced last fall that he was returning yet again I thought it was perfect timing! I would buy her tickets for a Christmas present and we would see him in July of this year. Excellent. (I went online to buy the tickets 3 hours after they went on sale. There was one set of two left. A few random singles here and there, but only ONE pair left together...the man is selling out the ACC 40 years after he started in the biz..that's pretty impressive, I must say. But, I digress....)
Christmas came, minus my sister who was undergoing surgery for a rogue gall bladder that had gone to the dark side; the tickets were given, there was much merriment....
Fast forward to February 2012. Mum had been having back and side pains for a while plus a couple of cases of 'food poisoning', sometimes the 'discomfort' was enough to keep her up at night. Her doctors said that it was probably scar tissue from HER rogue gall bladder....20 odd years ago.,,
Not bloody likely, thinks mum.
One day she'd had enough, and was a little worried that the 'pain' was her heart, so her sister and she went on their merry way to the emerg. I receive a phone call from my mum telling me this. I was still working 11 hour days in The Pit Of Despair (a basement I rented for my grooming shop....Hades, Hell, The Dungeon...it had many names, but only one purpose; to suck the life force out of me...) She wanted me to not be expecting her to be at home when I got there. Thanks :)
I get home around 8. My aunt calls.
She tells me to come to the hospital.
She tells me that my mother has pancreatic cancer.
I was just about to eat dinner.
I almost threw it all back up.
I didn't finish it.
I rush to the hospital. We sit there until about 4am when the doctor finally comes in to tell us that she's not sure it's pancreatic cancer. it could just be a cyst. Right on the duct, thus the pain
(thank Dog for the pain)
and that they want to keep her in for a few days.
This is where it started.
She had a Whipple (they take part of the pancreas, intestines, bowel, gall bladder and everything else that is connected to the pancreas, then re-route everything, sew it all together, and hope for the best. It took 7 hours) procedure performed on March 21. The three year anniversary of my father's death. I wasn't too happy about that, but I try not to be too superstitious. It went well.
From there it was downhill.
I closed my business at the end of March, figuring that I was, really, the only one in the country, save for my 82 year old aunt, so I needed to be more available. I took up house call grooming.
My mother ended up having two more surgeries. One was 'minor' to repair a leak. One was MAJOR to try and stop a tiny artery from bleeding her to death..
she was close....
She spent a week in the CCU, or 'Hades' as she likes to call it. She became depressed, she became non-verbal. The occasional communication she would offer was through nods, head shakes, or grunts. This was WAY too close to how my dad had been. I was spending every visiting hour that I was not closing up shop, moving out of The Dungeon, or house calling at the hospital. I was exhausted. I couldn't cope alone. I was terrified of losing my mother, I was terrified about closing the 'sure thing' business which was killing me, I was terrified of ending up in the gutter. I was terrified of being alone, even though I should be used to that by now.
She pulled through. Warrior that she is.
She spent some time in rehab, she got stronger. They said they were going to start chemo and radiation "just to be sure". Here we go again.
The first three weeks of chemo was ok. She had regular doctors appointments which involved us sitting around in the hospital for 4-8 hour days waiting, patiently, for her morning appointments to finally take place, usually this happened in the late afternoon. I lost more and more money, I became more and more panicky.
What was I going to do? I was able to groom a few dogs a week, fitting them in around her schedule, my account was constantly in the negative column, creditors were calling wanting their money, I wasn't able to pay any credit card bills off, I was barely even able to scrape together enough change from the floor of my car and the black hole it the bottom of my purse to buy milk and bread...
I couldn't tell her though,
She was going through enough.
She had a week off chemo before starting a daily radiation and a 24 hour chemo drip.
In that week off, oddly enough, Neilikins came to town.
I took to Twitter that day, I tweeted to my (pathetic number of) followers
(most of whom are just random porn accounts...why? Seriously, you have nothing better in your life?)
that I was taking mum to #NeilDiamond and with everything that had happened in the 6 months since I gave her the tickets, we really weren't sure she'd even be around for the concert.
I didn't know that they were putting tweets up on the screen before the concert.
Mine came up last.
It stayed up the longest.
It faded just as the lights did and the music started.
I thought mum would cry.
The rest of the story is still being written. Well, dictated, I guess.
She is still doing well.
I now have another (mind numbing) part time job and between that, the grooming, and mum's daily radiation/doctor/random 4 hour magnesium infusion appointments I am working non stop. Only some of it earns me a little money which, may, slowly, climb that - into a +....I hope.
I don't want to end up in jail for non-payment of everything.
There is more I want to write about this. About her/our experiences with the hospital. About her pain, her treatment, her strength, and about
mememememe
and my own trouble...but I just can't. This is not the time to be selfish.
My trouble will sort itself out.
I have time to make it right.
Mum is immediate.
I want to write about how the lack of family here has made me really, really want to get my dual citizenship and blow off to England, where everyone is a stone's throw from everyone else, and things like this are not dealt with, mainly, alone. Where if one person can't do this day, then there are a dozen or so more on the family list who can. Where there is family, where there are so many people with my blood in their veins that I really couldn't feel like I was trying to swim in quicksand, there would be someone a few doors down to pull me out, brush me off, and stand beside me, to reinforce me, daily, so that I could continue to help mum, and not feel, daily, so selfishly, like I wanted to collapse into myself and just stop.
I'm too tired.
I'm too stressed.
I'm too panicky.
It's still to fresh,
But, thank you Neilikins, thank you for giving us, at least, one more concert that we went to together.
There.
I managed to start and finish with Neil Diamond.
Like I said I would,
'till next time;
You only get one family,
cherish them while you have them.
Unless they're total wankers,
Then just do as you see fit.
IrishRed
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Saturday, June 23, 2012
NTL Frankenstein...
I have just returned from seeing the National Theatres production of Frankenstein. For those who have not heard of it it is BRILLIANT.
http://www.nationaltheatre.org.uk/63286/productions/frankenstein.html
NT and Danny Boyle took it in a different direction.
They cast two red hot stars who were to alternate the roles of The Creature and The Doctor on each night. I can't begin to imagine the unbelievable strain this put on these two.
Having to flip flop
emotions
and lines
and motivation
and physicality
and bearing
and behaviour
and language
and style
and costumes
and make up
andandand
night after night after night after.
There is a good reason why they tied for Best Actor at the Oliviers.
They are remarkable.
Both of them.
I waited until I had seen both versions until I blogged. I wanted to have the full picture.
It left me conflicted and, in retrospect, perhaps I should have written the two separately because
hot damn
did each leave me with a
different echo in my head,
a different resonation in my soul
and a different taste in my mouth.
The first one I saw was with Jonny Lee Miller (hereafter referred to as JLM to save my poor fingers a bit) as The Doctor
(not THE Doctor, Mr. Who does not play a role)
and Benedict Cumberbatch (hereafter referred to BC) as The Creature.
And the second one with the roles reversed.
Please forgive if it is disjointed and back and forth and confusing. But my mind is reeling.
Ok, so. What is there to say? I am so happy I saw both versions. When I saw JLM as The Doctor, to be unfairly honest, I was sort of shocked by his sweatiness. I understand that the stage lights are hot and his costume was heavy but he just sort of ignored it like it wasn't there.
Which it was.
Very much so.
It was dripping off him, saturating his hair. It was very much evident. He didn't use it, he seemed to just pretend it wasn't happening. I thought this odd.
But (despite my adoration and respect for BC) this is not a hate for JLM, by no means. Read on and you'll see.
He was sweaty as the Creature too, but that was good and fine, the Creature is a hot mess, sweat is to be expected. I was impressed that he has no self consciousness and just let the drool fly, literally,
(although I was worried that it would drown his co-stars a few times...)
Nevertheless he said that his portrayal was based on his 2 year old son, and nothing drools like a two year old...except for a hot Basset Hound perhaps. This was made most obvious by his absolute delight in discovering he could fit his foot in his mouth....
and that it tasted bad.
BC said he studied people recovering from stroke and other brain illness, watched them learn again how to manipulate their bodies, how to make this leg go there, this hand grasp this.
Both takes are valid. The Creature is, technically, a baby when he emerges. He needs to learn first hand how to move, what everything does, how to work muscles and balance and dexterity. Just like JLM's 2 year old.
However, BC's idea is also valid; because The Creature is made of adults, he is composed of body parts that have seen years of use but are being driven by a new brain, and this new brain must learn how to manipulate muscles and limbs that have been used before, have been there done that in another lifetime with another captain at the helm. They are not new-born limbs with no strength and co-ordination, but the brain behind them is unused to moving THESE particular muscles and limbs. It was used, before, to drive another person's body. Muscle memory still has to fire at the controls of this new vehicle.
The Creature is a highly physical role. At the beginning he is born, alone, and must learn quickly, like all mammals,
how to stand
how to walk
how to run.
BC was unashamed of flopping around like a fish on a line on the stage for 10 minutes, wearing nothing but a tiny loincloth that I was worried
(and hoping)
would slip off.
In this section he was more convincing.
He was more abandoned.
Less self aware.
JLM made it look more like a dance, the moves were choreographed. He was thinking of each one as he did it.
However if I hadn't seen BC do this part
so raw,
so naked,
perhaps I would not have seen it as such.
At first I thought that perhaps JLM is better suited to the Doctor, he is a little wooden, a little too expressionless in parts (but not always) although he is a fine example of physical fitness which served him well, because
DAMN
is that a hugely physical role.
Although BC was more physical,
JLM more mental.
BC was never still as The Creature (I'll just call him TC from here on. My fingers tire already)
He was leaping and
jumping and
climbing and
shifting and
spinning and
never not doing
SOMETHING,
like he was on fire with life,
he was consumed with it,
he had to keep moving because he COULD,
he was Mike Myers' little helmeted kid tethered to the jungle gym.
He was energy,
just pure energy. Fire and spark and muscle and joy at being so.
JLM, from the get go, was a more thoughtful Creature, a more introspective one. He had the physical to fall back on when he needed to, but he seemed more interested in firing his brains than his muscles.
I started to think my initial impression of him being better as The Doctor was wrong,.
JLM delivered his final monologue with great conviction and emotion, when he is telling The Doctor (ok, he'll just be TD from here, don't confuse it with any banking institutions!) how he failed his own creation. He thinks TD is dead; at first he is disappointed that his game will end, but then he is overcome with emotion,
the sense of loss,
that he's been deserted and left alone again by the only other creature who can understand him.
His delivery actually made my eyes prick a little.
With BC's creature in this scene you get more a feeling of sadness that his toy is broken. That the game has ended, and that he will become bored without a playmate.
JLM's doctor....
was a selfish bastard.
He was in it for his own pride and glory. He cared not a toss about others, he only cared about his work
(I think I've dated him)
it was all about himhimhim.....he is not a likable man in the slightest. He is brilliant, yes, but shallow and empty.
I did not like that Doctor at all. (to be clear, the character, not the portrayal. It speaks of JLMs own talent that he evoked emotion from his audience)
BC's doctor (may I just say this man is an insane talent, INSANE.) made me understand his motives; he made me maybe not hate him so much.
He found humour in the lines and delivered them with a smirk.
He was sweaty too, but he made it work for the character, he didn't ignore it and just hope for the best,
he wiped his face with his hands and sleeve,
he used it to express the manic fire in the doctor's head,
the twitchiness of the brilliant and borderline insane.
In this handling of normal bodily functions I was more impressed with BC's ability to use what was happening, not to just plunder ahead as if nothing was happening....
It was fascinating to see two actors bring two totally different takes to the same roles. One scene that really crystallized the difference between the two doctors, for me anyway,
(because I am a girl who,
at heart, is a sappy sot who,
like TC,
just wants love and storybook endings)
was when Victor tells Elizabeth he loves her as he's walking out of their bedchamber,
just after their wedding,
to find and kill TC, and Elizabeth,
silly girl that she is,
thinks maybe tonight, their wedding night, would hold something else in store....
JLM delivered the line almost as an afterthought, a
"oh, yeah, we just got married and I should maybe remember that there are other people in this world besides me and my creation",
which worked very well for his more...uptight... interpretation of the character.
BC delivered it as a truth.
As a promise to return, not an afterthought,
more of a "I should have said this first, but my brain ran away with me"
apology almost.
With JLM as Victor you walk away, or I did at least, not feeling that he was at all sorry for what he had created, just sorry that it had gone wrong. That he was PROUD of what he'd done, and why not?
He created LIFE!
But he was angry that it spiraled out of his control despite the fact that for all intents and purposes
he was it's KING,
it's GOD!
How dare it not obey him?
At the heart of it; JLM's Victor is a control freak, this' thing' can not co-exist with people, it's hideous and disobedient and thinks for itself. It must be destroyed. After all, it was just an experiment, it should behave as such, it should not think that it's deserving of love and affection, it should not go about thinking it's more than it is..
It should not think at all!
I get that, that's how I interpreted the character when I first read Shelley's book.
BC made you aware, with the exact same script and lines, that he regretted what he'd done, how he'd created life and then denied it the chance to live. He created a likeness of himself and then was shocked when it seeked companionship rather than solitude,
love rather than hate,
that it had all the same emotions and needs and desires of a human, but would never,
could never,
be accepted. He regretted having to learn that there are consequences to his actions at the expense of his wife's life. That she died because he'd broken a promise.
He was not angry, not really,
not at TC.
He understood. It killed him. He had no purpose left anymore. He'd made a mistake and he, his wife, his brother, paid the ultimate price for it.
The Creature did too. A high price.
As he said (which was more noticeable, or at least more meaningful, more memorable with JLM's Creature) that at the hand of his father he learned the hardest and final lesson about being a man; he learned how to lie.
And he hated that he killed, did Jonny's Creature.
He hated it.
But the logical mind he had been given,
the mind that saw black and white,
that mind told him that there are consequences to every action and that the punishment must fit the crime.
Victor killed the creature's bride, therefore the creature must kill Victor's bride.
There was no alternative.
But you could see, in the conflict and the torture all over JLM's face, how much he truly regretted it, how much he hated to end the life of a kind, smart woman who had treated him as an equal.
His Creature had come a long way from the one who had slaughtered a kind, blind old man who had educated him, who had promised him that his family would accept him.
They didn't.
They feared him,
like everyone else who could see him.
He burned the whole family.
Even the kind old blind man, who had given him the power of language and reason and logic.
But the Kind Old Blind man had Lied to him.
The Kind Old Blind Man thought his family was better then they were.
Perhaps he was better off that way. Not having to live the rest of his days knowing his own son,
his own flesh and blood,
was capable of such intolerance and hostility.
JLMs Creature learned from them that appearances are important.
That if no one could SEE him then he was just as good as them...
but when they saw him,
his scarred. twisted face,
his sutured body....
well. Then he was no longer a rational logical, thinking person, but a
monster.
(Girls, especially, we know what this is like. We're raised with it, saturated with it, inundated with it daily. If we are pretty and busty we must be stupid (psst. Fella's, it's not OUR IQ which drops as the chest size increases, it's yours) and if we are plain and bookish then we must be smart...and probably best left alone because what would the guys think if they saw us with her? I am not saying that there are not women who are just as shallow.
There are.
They exist
But not, often, in as great numbers.
The Shallow Girls tend more towards power and money than looks ;) )
Them, the Kind Old Blind Man and his kinfolk
he destroyed out of pain and fear and self loathing.
Elizabeth he destroyed because he had no choice, in his mind.
Out of love,
and fear, and
lessons learned.
To my eyes; BC's Creature didn't seem to have that same regret, his creature was saddened that he had to kill, but just sort of got on with it.
He slaughtered the Kind Old Blind Man and his ungrateful kin out of anger.
Out of take thatedness,
out of 'you hurt me and I'll hurt you worseedness'
out of acting out,
externalizing his pain and shame,
not rationalizing it, and not, really, learning from it.
JLM's creature evolved more.
JLM killed Elizabeth with sorrow. He did it because that's the only way he could reach TD. He did it because of the pain and suffering he was feeling at the loss of his own bride.
You felt that BC was killing Elizabeth more to hurt Victor than to teach him a lesson.
As for The Bride....
JLM's doctor, I feel, had never any intention of giving her to TC, he just wanted to
prove he could,
he wanted to create perfection,
to dangle it before TC,
then to take it away again because he could.
See? Control Freak.
BCs doctor I really feel meant to give her to TC, he had compassion, he had feelings, he felt bad.
It wasn't until he thought about them breeding that he thought,
maybe,
not such a good idea.
But I don't feel he'd created her with the intention of destroying her.
Two shows, same script, same direction, same setting and two TOTALLY different experiences.
It felt fresh, like I hadn't seen it before, noticing certain lines more prominently with each actors interpretation of each character...
As I see the bottom line;
JLMs Victor was
angry and self absorbed.
Proud and infallible.
Arrogant and righteous.
He had few regrets
and fewer emotions
that didn't directly involve him or his work.
He wasn't particularly moved by the devastation that his actions brought to others as long as his work continued.
BCs Victor was empathetic and regretful.
Had the ability to care and love.
Was devastated by his own shortcomings and mistakes.
He was horrified by what he had caused to occur.
JLMs Creature was hurt and confused. He was lost in these emotions that he didn't have the capacity to understand,
but he yearned to and tried to
understand.
He wanted people to understand what their actions caused. He wanted to teach, not harm. He understood that the only person who could ever love him was his master and that he could now become the master himself, but he wouldn't be as cruel.
He would teach him better.
He wouldn't abandon him.
He just wanted to belong.
He learnt from Paradise Lost that you CAN find paradise and if you're good enough and try hard enough, then maybe you can keep it. Maybe it won't be lost. And if it is, maybe you can find another one....
BCs creature was angry and resentful and like a petulant 2 year old.
WHY can't he have what he wants!
It's not FAIR and someone has to pay for it!
He learnt anger and hatred and that you hurt and destroy what you don't understand,
that you throw your toys,
hard,
at those who try to take them from you.
What Paradise Lost seemed to teach him was that when you find something good, it will
inevitably
be taken from you.
Do unto others, but do it first, sort of deal.
And he was angry about that. He was angry that he couldn't have everything
and Victor was to blame
and Victor was going to be punished for it.
I can completely switch tactics here an go into what makes a great actor great. (also VERY curious to see how JLM handles Sherlock now that BC has made the role so perfectly him) I could go on to say that today's young actors lack of skill can be blamed, partially, on the fact that movies now, for the most part, are like a mobile over a crib. They are colourful and pretty and they move and they entertain you and you don't even have to do a damn thing to enjoy it. Just sit and stare. They spoon feed and keep your eyes moving with kablooies and lights and fast movement and shiny things. If this is what you were raised on, and this is what you're starring in and this is buying you 12 million dollar houses before you're even out of your teens...well, what's the motivation to learn your craft? Why bother? The CGI and the editing team do it for you. The director tell you what to do when and how..(I am not saying there isn't good, young talent out there, but I think you'd be hard pressed to find a whole lot of it in the under 30 crowd....)
This is (one of) my theory, for what it's worth;
Jonny Lee Miller is (almost) 40, Benedict Cumberbatch is (almost) 36.
These are not kids.
These boys were raised on movies and toys that expected you to participate,
to have a brain.
To take an active role in your entertainment.
They were raised to use their imagination.
In their formative years they had to make a toy do something. It didn't do it for you.
They probably made forts out of sofa cushions, as did my sister and I, they probably played more with the box than the toy inside, as did my sister and I, they probably read books that were not about toxic relationships with sparkly vampires but more about the battle of 'good' and 'evil' and internal conflicts and seeing yourself in your adversary who is a vampire who turns into a fire ball in the sun, not a disco ball.
Their movies and tv shows, like my sister and I, were softer, subtler,
less graphic-ing, more acting.
They were about more genuine problems and feelings and less about how many kablooies can we have in the first 5 minutes and how much money can we spend on spfx?
And how many people can we kill
in how many graphic ways
for no real reason other than to show we can do it?
(Oh... hang about... is that Dr. Frankenstein?)
Again, don't get me wrong, there are films out there today that are subtle and clever and thoughtful....(not a whole heck of a lot of them are coming out of the US,) but they are there, but who sees them? The teens? The 20somethings? Not many.
Do I enjoy senseless movies that can just pacify me for a few hours with no effort on my part?
Absolutely.
But not always.
Here we are now.
Entertain us.
So my review has taken me through the play, out through the other side into why youngsters don't have the same mettle as Mr. Cumberbatch and Mr. Miller. The same abilities.
I wonder what would happen if you placed Taylor Lautner on stage and asked the same of him that was asked of these two. What would happen? Would you get two totally different takes on the exact same character? Would you be able to
hearseefeel
with the same spoken lines two totally different men?
Yeah.
Ok
Till next time. Be kind to the Creature you create, because it may destroy you in the end.
Irishred
http://www.nationaltheatre.org.uk/63286/productions/frankenstein.html
NT and Danny Boyle took it in a different direction.
They cast two red hot stars who were to alternate the roles of The Creature and The Doctor on each night. I can't begin to imagine the unbelievable strain this put on these two.
Having to flip flop
emotions
and lines
and motivation
and physicality
and bearing
and behaviour
and language
and style
and costumes
and make up
andandand
night after night after night after.
There is a good reason why they tied for Best Actor at the Oliviers.
They are remarkable.
Both of them.
I waited until I had seen both versions until I blogged. I wanted to have the full picture.
It left me conflicted and, in retrospect, perhaps I should have written the two separately because
hot damn
did each leave me with a
different echo in my head,
a different resonation in my soul
and a different taste in my mouth.
The first one I saw was with Jonny Lee Miller (hereafter referred to as JLM to save my poor fingers a bit) as The Doctor
(not THE Doctor, Mr. Who does not play a role)
and Benedict Cumberbatch (hereafter referred to BC) as The Creature.
And the second one with the roles reversed.
Please forgive if it is disjointed and back and forth and confusing. But my mind is reeling.
Ok, so. What is there to say? I am so happy I saw both versions. When I saw JLM as The Doctor, to be unfairly honest, I was sort of shocked by his sweatiness. I understand that the stage lights are hot and his costume was heavy but he just sort of ignored it like it wasn't there.
Which it was.
Very much so.
It was dripping off him, saturating his hair. It was very much evident. He didn't use it, he seemed to just pretend it wasn't happening. I thought this odd.
But (despite my adoration and respect for BC) this is not a hate for JLM, by no means. Read on and you'll see.
He was sweaty as the Creature too, but that was good and fine, the Creature is a hot mess, sweat is to be expected. I was impressed that he has no self consciousness and just let the drool fly, literally,
(although I was worried that it would drown his co-stars a few times...)
Nevertheless he said that his portrayal was based on his 2 year old son, and nothing drools like a two year old...except for a hot Basset Hound perhaps. This was made most obvious by his absolute delight in discovering he could fit his foot in his mouth....
and that it tasted bad.
BC said he studied people recovering from stroke and other brain illness, watched them learn again how to manipulate their bodies, how to make this leg go there, this hand grasp this.
Both takes are valid. The Creature is, technically, a baby when he emerges. He needs to learn first hand how to move, what everything does, how to work muscles and balance and dexterity. Just like JLM's 2 year old.
However, BC's idea is also valid; because The Creature is made of adults, he is composed of body parts that have seen years of use but are being driven by a new brain, and this new brain must learn how to manipulate muscles and limbs that have been used before, have been there done that in another lifetime with another captain at the helm. They are not new-born limbs with no strength and co-ordination, but the brain behind them is unused to moving THESE particular muscles and limbs. It was used, before, to drive another person's body. Muscle memory still has to fire at the controls of this new vehicle.
The Creature is a highly physical role. At the beginning he is born, alone, and must learn quickly, like all mammals,
how to stand
how to walk
how to run.
BC was unashamed of flopping around like a fish on a line on the stage for 10 minutes, wearing nothing but a tiny loincloth that I was worried
(and hoping)
would slip off.
In this section he was more convincing.
He was more abandoned.
Less self aware.
JLM made it look more like a dance, the moves were choreographed. He was thinking of each one as he did it.
However if I hadn't seen BC do this part
so raw,
so naked,
perhaps I would not have seen it as such.
At first I thought that perhaps JLM is better suited to the Doctor, he is a little wooden, a little too expressionless in parts (but not always) although he is a fine example of physical fitness which served him well, because
DAMN
is that a hugely physical role.
Although BC was more physical,
JLM more mental.
BC was never still as The Creature (I'll just call him TC from here on. My fingers tire already)
He was leaping and
jumping and
climbing and
shifting and
spinning and
never not doing
SOMETHING,
like he was on fire with life,
he was consumed with it,
he had to keep moving because he COULD,
he was Mike Myers' little helmeted kid tethered to the jungle gym.
He was energy,
just pure energy. Fire and spark and muscle and joy at being so.
JLM, from the get go, was a more thoughtful Creature, a more introspective one. He had the physical to fall back on when he needed to, but he seemed more interested in firing his brains than his muscles.
I started to think my initial impression of him being better as The Doctor was wrong,.
JLM delivered his final monologue with great conviction and emotion, when he is telling The Doctor (ok, he'll just be TD from here, don't confuse it with any banking institutions!) how he failed his own creation. He thinks TD is dead; at first he is disappointed that his game will end, but then he is overcome with emotion,
the sense of loss,
that he's been deserted and left alone again by the only other creature who can understand him.
His delivery actually made my eyes prick a little.
With BC's creature in this scene you get more a feeling of sadness that his toy is broken. That the game has ended, and that he will become bored without a playmate.
JLM's doctor....
was a selfish bastard.
He was in it for his own pride and glory. He cared not a toss about others, he only cared about his work
(I think I've dated him)
it was all about himhimhim.....he is not a likable man in the slightest. He is brilliant, yes, but shallow and empty.
I did not like that Doctor at all. (to be clear, the character, not the portrayal. It speaks of JLMs own talent that he evoked emotion from his audience)
BC's doctor (may I just say this man is an insane talent, INSANE.) made me understand his motives; he made me maybe not hate him so much.
He found humour in the lines and delivered them with a smirk.
He was sweaty too, but he made it work for the character, he didn't ignore it and just hope for the best,
he wiped his face with his hands and sleeve,
he used it to express the manic fire in the doctor's head,
the twitchiness of the brilliant and borderline insane.
In this handling of normal bodily functions I was more impressed with BC's ability to use what was happening, not to just plunder ahead as if nothing was happening....
It was fascinating to see two actors bring two totally different takes to the same roles. One scene that really crystallized the difference between the two doctors, for me anyway,
(because I am a girl who,
at heart, is a sappy sot who,
like TC,
just wants love and storybook endings)
was when Victor tells Elizabeth he loves her as he's walking out of their bedchamber,
just after their wedding,
to find and kill TC, and Elizabeth,
silly girl that she is,
thinks maybe tonight, their wedding night, would hold something else in store....
JLM delivered the line almost as an afterthought, a
"oh, yeah, we just got married and I should maybe remember that there are other people in this world besides me and my creation",
which worked very well for his more...uptight... interpretation of the character.
BC delivered it as a truth.
As a promise to return, not an afterthought,
more of a "I should have said this first, but my brain ran away with me"
apology almost.
With JLM as Victor you walk away, or I did at least, not feeling that he was at all sorry for what he had created, just sorry that it had gone wrong. That he was PROUD of what he'd done, and why not?
He created LIFE!
But he was angry that it spiraled out of his control despite the fact that for all intents and purposes
he was it's KING,
it's GOD!
How dare it not obey him?
At the heart of it; JLM's Victor is a control freak, this' thing' can not co-exist with people, it's hideous and disobedient and thinks for itself. It must be destroyed. After all, it was just an experiment, it should behave as such, it should not think that it's deserving of love and affection, it should not go about thinking it's more than it is..
It should not think at all!
I get that, that's how I interpreted the character when I first read Shelley's book.
BC made you aware, with the exact same script and lines, that he regretted what he'd done, how he'd created life and then denied it the chance to live. He created a likeness of himself and then was shocked when it seeked companionship rather than solitude,
love rather than hate,
that it had all the same emotions and needs and desires of a human, but would never,
could never,
be accepted. He regretted having to learn that there are consequences to his actions at the expense of his wife's life. That she died because he'd broken a promise.
He was not angry, not really,
not at TC.
He understood. It killed him. He had no purpose left anymore. He'd made a mistake and he, his wife, his brother, paid the ultimate price for it.
The Creature did too. A high price.
As he said (which was more noticeable, or at least more meaningful, more memorable with JLM's Creature) that at the hand of his father he learned the hardest and final lesson about being a man; he learned how to lie.
And he hated that he killed, did Jonny's Creature.
He hated it.
But the logical mind he had been given,
the mind that saw black and white,
that mind told him that there are consequences to every action and that the punishment must fit the crime.
Victor killed the creature's bride, therefore the creature must kill Victor's bride.
There was no alternative.
But you could see, in the conflict and the torture all over JLM's face, how much he truly regretted it, how much he hated to end the life of a kind, smart woman who had treated him as an equal.
His Creature had come a long way from the one who had slaughtered a kind, blind old man who had educated him, who had promised him that his family would accept him.
They didn't.
They feared him,
like everyone else who could see him.
He burned the whole family.
Even the kind old blind man, who had given him the power of language and reason and logic.
But the Kind Old Blind man had Lied to him.
The Kind Old Blind Man thought his family was better then they were.
Perhaps he was better off that way. Not having to live the rest of his days knowing his own son,
his own flesh and blood,
was capable of such intolerance and hostility.
JLMs Creature learned from them that appearances are important.
That if no one could SEE him then he was just as good as them...
but when they saw him,
his scarred. twisted face,
his sutured body....
well. Then he was no longer a rational logical, thinking person, but a
monster.
(Girls, especially, we know what this is like. We're raised with it, saturated with it, inundated with it daily. If we are pretty and busty we must be stupid (psst. Fella's, it's not OUR IQ which drops as the chest size increases, it's yours) and if we are plain and bookish then we must be smart...and probably best left alone because what would the guys think if they saw us with her? I am not saying that there are not women who are just as shallow.
There are.
They exist
But not, often, in as great numbers.
The Shallow Girls tend more towards power and money than looks ;) )
Them, the Kind Old Blind Man and his kinfolk
he destroyed out of pain and fear and self loathing.
Elizabeth he destroyed because he had no choice, in his mind.
Out of love,
and fear, and
lessons learned.
To my eyes; BC's Creature didn't seem to have that same regret, his creature was saddened that he had to kill, but just sort of got on with it.
He slaughtered the Kind Old Blind Man and his ungrateful kin out of anger.
Out of take thatedness,
out of 'you hurt me and I'll hurt you worseedness'
out of acting out,
externalizing his pain and shame,
not rationalizing it, and not, really, learning from it.
JLM's creature evolved more.
JLM killed Elizabeth with sorrow. He did it because that's the only way he could reach TD. He did it because of the pain and suffering he was feeling at the loss of his own bride.
You felt that BC was killing Elizabeth more to hurt Victor than to teach him a lesson.
As for The Bride....
JLM's doctor, I feel, had never any intention of giving her to TC, he just wanted to
prove he could,
he wanted to create perfection,
to dangle it before TC,
then to take it away again because he could.
See? Control Freak.
BCs doctor I really feel meant to give her to TC, he had compassion, he had feelings, he felt bad.
It wasn't until he thought about them breeding that he thought,
maybe,
not such a good idea.
But I don't feel he'd created her with the intention of destroying her.
Two shows, same script, same direction, same setting and two TOTALLY different experiences.
It felt fresh, like I hadn't seen it before, noticing certain lines more prominently with each actors interpretation of each character...
As I see the bottom line;
JLMs Victor was
angry and self absorbed.
Proud and infallible.
Arrogant and righteous.
He had few regrets
and fewer emotions
that didn't directly involve him or his work.
He wasn't particularly moved by the devastation that his actions brought to others as long as his work continued.
BCs Victor was empathetic and regretful.
Had the ability to care and love.
Was devastated by his own shortcomings and mistakes.
He was horrified by what he had caused to occur.
JLMs Creature was hurt and confused. He was lost in these emotions that he didn't have the capacity to understand,
but he yearned to and tried to
understand.
He wanted people to understand what their actions caused. He wanted to teach, not harm. He understood that the only person who could ever love him was his master and that he could now become the master himself, but he wouldn't be as cruel.
He would teach him better.
He wouldn't abandon him.
He just wanted to belong.
He learnt from Paradise Lost that you CAN find paradise and if you're good enough and try hard enough, then maybe you can keep it. Maybe it won't be lost. And if it is, maybe you can find another one....
BCs creature was angry and resentful and like a petulant 2 year old.
WHY can't he have what he wants!
It's not FAIR and someone has to pay for it!
He learnt anger and hatred and that you hurt and destroy what you don't understand,
that you throw your toys,
hard,
at those who try to take them from you.
What Paradise Lost seemed to teach him was that when you find something good, it will
inevitably
be taken from you.
Do unto others, but do it first, sort of deal.
And he was angry about that. He was angry that he couldn't have everything
and Victor was to blame
and Victor was going to be punished for it.
I can completely switch tactics here an go into what makes a great actor great. (also VERY curious to see how JLM handles Sherlock now that BC has made the role so perfectly him) I could go on to say that today's young actors lack of skill can be blamed, partially, on the fact that movies now, for the most part, are like a mobile over a crib. They are colourful and pretty and they move and they entertain you and you don't even have to do a damn thing to enjoy it. Just sit and stare. They spoon feed and keep your eyes moving with kablooies and lights and fast movement and shiny things. If this is what you were raised on, and this is what you're starring in and this is buying you 12 million dollar houses before you're even out of your teens...well, what's the motivation to learn your craft? Why bother? The CGI and the editing team do it for you. The director tell you what to do when and how..(I am not saying there isn't good, young talent out there, but I think you'd be hard pressed to find a whole lot of it in the under 30 crowd....)
This is (one of) my theory, for what it's worth;
Jonny Lee Miller is (almost) 40, Benedict Cumberbatch is (almost) 36.
These are not kids.
These boys were raised on movies and toys that expected you to participate,
to have a brain.
To take an active role in your entertainment.
They were raised to use their imagination.
In their formative years they had to make a toy do something. It didn't do it for you.
They probably made forts out of sofa cushions, as did my sister and I, they probably played more with the box than the toy inside, as did my sister and I, they probably read books that were not about toxic relationships with sparkly vampires but more about the battle of 'good' and 'evil' and internal conflicts and seeing yourself in your adversary who is a vampire who turns into a fire ball in the sun, not a disco ball.
Their movies and tv shows, like my sister and I, were softer, subtler,
less graphic-ing, more acting.
They were about more genuine problems and feelings and less about how many kablooies can we have in the first 5 minutes and how much money can we spend on spfx?
And how many people can we kill
in how many graphic ways
for no real reason other than to show we can do it?
(Oh... hang about... is that Dr. Frankenstein?)
Again, don't get me wrong, there are films out there today that are subtle and clever and thoughtful....(not a whole heck of a lot of them are coming out of the US,) but they are there, but who sees them? The teens? The 20somethings? Not many.
Do I enjoy senseless movies that can just pacify me for a few hours with no effort on my part?
Absolutely.
But not always.
Here we are now.
Entertain us.
So my review has taken me through the play, out through the other side into why youngsters don't have the same mettle as Mr. Cumberbatch and Mr. Miller. The same abilities.
I wonder what would happen if you placed Taylor Lautner on stage and asked the same of him that was asked of these two. What would happen? Would you get two totally different takes on the exact same character? Would you be able to
hearseefeel
with the same spoken lines two totally different men?
Yeah.
Ok
Till next time. Be kind to the Creature you create, because it may destroy you in the end.
Irishred
Friday, October 28, 2011
Fuck-sox, I suck at this.....
Soooooooooo.....a year....almost 2....damn. Maybe I should be more on the ball? I LOVE to write, really I do. I just don't seem to find enough time for it....or other things that I should find time for...more on that later....
So, since my last update I have seen my Beloved Duran Duran again. 3 years after the last concert. Those boys have GOT to hit the T Dot more often.
Simon may no
t be a pretty blonde young thang anymore, he has aged gracefully. Look at him; all bearded yummy scruff (our kids would have blue eyes), in fact it was Simon's 53rd birthday last night (October 27, 2011) and he got to spend it at the ACC, alone, with me....um, ok alone with me and 6,000 other screaming idjits who sang him Happy Birthday off key, and whoo-hoo-ed and shrieked, and got all hot and bothered and 16 again, and felt, for SURE that tonight, toNIGHT he was going to pick me, of course he was going to pick me. He likes boobs; I gots boobs, he's got a great sense of humour; I've got a great sense of humour, he's clever; I'M clev...well, I can appreciate clever....alas, no...He did not pick me. He never picks me. 27 years I've been trying to get him or Roger to pick me, 27 years they've denied me....However he did pick two skinny, (I'm a lot of things, but skinny I ain't) lucky ladies to climb up on stage and 'introduce' him after he had 'introduced' the rest of the band (playyourfuckingbassJohn). He hugged them. Beyotches. They didn't even give him a good introduction. They didn't even tell him that he was their fucking daddy...I would have.
But I digress. The concert, of course, kicked ass. They always kick ass. They know how to bring it; they've always known how to bring it. Simon's pipes are pure and true, he didn't even falter near the end. Not even after he shoved his own head into his birthday cake (it'sreallyfuckingtasty,actually) and got a nose full of icing (therealshroud), he manages, they ALL manage, to make a full ACC feel like a living room, like they are talking to, playing to, flirting with YOU and only you. Roger pounded the skins as if he was half the age he is; mellowed, aged, beautifully, like brandy. John playedhisfuckingbass like it was on fuckingfire; joking, playing with the audience, coming on to 6,000 people. And Nick? He posed, and pouted, his hair and make up perfect, fingers skimming his keyboard like he was stroking a child's cheek...too poetic? Apologies.
No poetry.
Wild Boys.
Still.
Hot, strutting, sexy as hell.
Mature....but not boring. Never boring. Silly; joking; flirty; intimate; animal; dirty thoughts ("America is beautiful, but visiting Canada is like fucking your naughty mistress" paraphrase, but close enough. I think even the men in the room wanted to be his Naughty Mistress...I know I did....)
I obsess easily. Obsessing about Simon is fun. Naughty. Dirty. A little perverted...Just a little....Just imagine that voice whispering obscenities; telling you what he likes; telling you how he likes it; and cracking a few jokes in between.....
ok. Now I feel like I'm about 14....And I am not embarrassed to tell you that I am embarrassed by what I've confessed to the world (or the two people who used to read my blog but don't anymore since I haven't blogged in almost 2 facking years!!) hmmmm....maybe I need to stop living in my head and start living? Nah, what's in my head is more fun than what's out there ;) (I've misplaced my future, could I please borrow yours?)
Ok. Enough D2....Onto another D. Donny. SX Geminis Adonis. My beautiful horse.
He is 22 now. I've had him 21 years. Would you think, from this picture (thank you Mariah! www.bunchwelunchwith.com) that this boyo was 22 years old? 23 next April 13?
LOOK at him
. Pure beauty. Pure love. Pure. He is not well. He has a torn muscle in his off hind. Somewhere in the hamstring. He is walking peg-legged on the leg. We are trying to re-hab him back to better then 50% if we can. He can't be a lawn ornament. That would kill him. I am thankful that this has happened closer to retirement age, it would have been more heartbreaking had it happened when he was 10...but will his aging muscles heal as well, as quickly, as solidly as they may have when he was younger? I have faith in the old boy. I have faith that he WILL recover well.
The vet thinks he must have slipped, just a little, going down a hill...and presto chango....
Tomorrow we have a Treasure Hunt on Horseback at the barn. Donny will not be taking part. This will make him sad. He LOVES games...LIVES for games....I have been voted a Team Captain....How can I Captain anything without my right-hand horse? HE is why I am so good, HE is why we win....not me, I'm just...well, I'm just me without my boy. I am riding a gray named Mickey. I have never ridden Mickey.....I am not sure how this is going to go. I want to win. I ALWAYS want to win on horseback....but will I want to....can I want to, without him?
It will be interesting....I will keep you posted....Honest. I will try to remember to blog tomorrow and let y'all know how it goes....
Now, to sleep, perchance to dream of Simon and I walking through a field with D......;)
Till tomorrow...honest....
In harmony
IrishRed
So, since my last update I have seen my Beloved Duran Duran again. 3 years after the last concert. Those boys have GOT to hit the T Dot more often.
Simon may no
t be a pretty blonde young thang anymore, he has aged gracefully. Look at him; all bearded yummy scruff (our kids would have blue eyes), in fact it was Simon's 53rd birthday last night (October 27, 2011) and he got to spend it at the ACC, alone, with me....um, ok alone with me and 6,000 other screaming idjits who sang him Happy Birthday off key, and whoo-hoo-ed and shrieked, and got all hot and bothered and 16 again, and felt, for SURE that tonight, toNIGHT he was going to pick me, of course he was going to pick me. He likes boobs; I gots boobs, he's got a great sense of humour; I've got a great sense of humour, he's clever; I'M clev...well, I can appreciate clever....alas, no...He did not pick me. He never picks me. 27 years I've been trying to get him or Roger to pick me, 27 years they've denied me....However he did pick two skinny, (I'm a lot of things, but skinny I ain't) lucky ladies to climb up on stage and 'introduce' him after he had 'introduced' the rest of the band (playyourfuckingbassJohn). He hugged them. Beyotches. They didn't even give him a good introduction. They didn't even tell him that he was their fucking daddy...I would have.But I digress. The concert, of course, kicked ass. They always kick ass. They know how to bring it; they've always known how to bring it. Simon's pipes are pure and true, he didn't even falter near the end. Not even after he shoved his own head into his birthday cake (it'sreallyfuckingtasty,actually) and got a nose full of icing (therealshroud), he manages, they ALL manage, to make a full ACC feel like a living room, like they are talking to, playing to, flirting with YOU and only you. Roger pounded the skins as if he was half the age he is; mellowed, aged, beautifully, like brandy. John playedhisfuckingbass like it was on fuckingfire; joking, playing with the audience, coming on to 6,000 people. And Nick? He posed, and pouted, his hair and make up perfect, fingers skimming his keyboard like he was stroking a child's cheek...too poetic? Apologies.
No poetry.
Wild Boys.
Still.
Hot, strutting, sexy as hell.
Mature....but not boring. Never boring. Silly; joking; flirty; intimate; animal; dirty thoughts ("America is beautiful, but visiting Canada is like fucking your naughty mistress" paraphrase, but close enough. I think even the men in the room wanted to be his Naughty Mistress...I know I did....)
I obsess easily. Obsessing about Simon is fun. Naughty. Dirty. A little perverted...Just a little....Just imagine that voice whispering obscenities; telling you what he likes; telling you how he likes it; and cracking a few jokes in between.....
ok. Now I feel like I'm about 14....And I am not embarrassed to tell you that I am embarrassed by what I've confessed to the world (or the two people who used to read my blog but don't anymore since I haven't blogged in almost 2 facking years!!) hmmmm....maybe I need to stop living in my head and start living? Nah, what's in my head is more fun than what's out there ;) (I've misplaced my future, could I please borrow yours?)
Ok. Enough D2....Onto another D. Donny. SX Geminis Adonis. My beautiful horse.
He is 22 now. I've had him 21 years. Would you think, from this picture (thank you Mariah! www.bunchwelunchwith.com) that this boyo was 22 years old? 23 next April 13?
LOOK at him
. Pure beauty. Pure love. Pure. He is not well. He has a torn muscle in his off hind. Somewhere in the hamstring. He is walking peg-legged on the leg. We are trying to re-hab him back to better then 50% if we can. He can't be a lawn ornament. That would kill him. I am thankful that this has happened closer to retirement age, it would have been more heartbreaking had it happened when he was 10...but will his aging muscles heal as well, as quickly, as solidly as they may have when he was younger? I have faith in the old boy. I have faith that he WILL recover well.The vet thinks he must have slipped, just a little, going down a hill...and presto chango....
Tomorrow we have a Treasure Hunt on Horseback at the barn. Donny will not be taking part. This will make him sad. He LOVES games...LIVES for games....I have been voted a Team Captain....How can I Captain anything without my right-hand horse? HE is why I am so good, HE is why we win....not me, I'm just...well, I'm just me without my boy. I am riding a gray named Mickey. I have never ridden Mickey.....I am not sure how this is going to go. I want to win. I ALWAYS want to win on horseback....but will I want to....can I want to, without him?
It will be interesting....I will keep you posted....Honest. I will try to remember to blog tomorrow and let y'all know how it goes....
Now, to sleep, perchance to dream of Simon and I walking through a field with D......;)
Till tomorrow...honest....
In harmony
IrishRed
Saturday, January 16, 2010
The Eighth, Soul Searching
Ok, so the eighth (now doesn't THAT word look silly?) is soul searching. This will not be an easy one for me, I was taught to not show weakness, to not show if something wasn't right. So please don't judge me too harshly for this installment. It may take a while.
It has come to my attention over the last few years that I may not be as....liked as I thought I was. I honestly do try to be kind, to be friendly, to be understanding of people's fear's and phobia's.
I was a Girl Guide, I try to help other people every day.
I strive for humour and sincerity.
I don't do this because I want it back.
I do this because it is right to do this, I do this because it makes me feel good to help people, I do this because I like to help people, I do this because I am my mother's daughter and I don't know how else to be.
But it would be nice to get some of it back. Is that naive of me?
It started a few years ago when, what I thought was, a good friend of mine did something to me that made me feel very betrayed. She passed me over for an old friend of her's who had not spoken to her, or been nice to her, or even said anything nice about her for years. I don't, really, blame her, but it didn't change the feeling of betrayal, of hurt, of being blindsided that I had continued to trust her after the other person came back into her life and it bit me in the ass.
Then, while my father was in hospital dying, I noticed something else. There was no one outside of my mother and her sister around. All of my 'friends' seemed to desert me when I needed them. ("where is my friend when I need you most? Gone away") I received no phone calls of "how are you doing?", there seemed to be no outside helping hands reaching out....no, I lie, there were a few. A handful of Wonderful Ladies who work in the same building as I do who never let a day pass without asking how things were going, a friend out West who regularly checked in with me and a friend back East who would do the same.
At his funeral I was shocked at how few people showed up to support us. The Wonderful handful of Ladies took time off to come, my best friend from high school who I had seen once in the last 15 years (thank you, Karen, you have no idea how much it meant to me that you were there), Earl, who has been a brother to us for over 25 years, and a handful of my mothers friends. The two who live nowhere nearby, obviously, could not come, but one of them did send us a beautiful bouquet of flowers, (thank you, Annebel and Cathy, for being there as best as you could at a distance). I think there were about 20 people who took time to come who were not family members. My ex best friends mother sent me a condolence e-mail, but not my ex best friend.
In the time leading up to his death the only non-family members who offered in-person support were the Wonderful handful of Ladies. I had one friend tell me that someone else's dad was dying too, and change the subject. At work no one said 'boo' to me until I left the room, and then the talking about me would begin. And let me add that none of it was nice.
When I returned to work I was told how hard the previous week had been for them.
Two weeks later I had a cherished staff member of two years quit. I recently found out that part of the reason was that I had been 'negative' and that I had not been on the ball about a couple of business related issues during the 8 weeks that my father had been hospitalized. I have since found out that she really, really doesn't like me.
Things have gotten back to me about what some people think of me, and none of it is pleasant to hear. All I can think is that I must really come off in a way I do not intend to. That people take my sarcasm as harshness when it is just a defence mechanism and it's also my sense of humour, I was raised by British parents in a darn near total English family. Dry is our humour. Sarcasm is our language. I can't help that. But I think that it is misunderstood.
I think that it's misunderstood that sometimes, when someone is gloomy and glum and negative and down in the dumps, what they really really need is a hug. And they don't need a knife in their back while the hug is being given.
I am not a tactile person (see the English note above, lol), but even a verbal hug, a "we understand what you're going through, let's talk about it", is far better karma then just treating the person like dirt.
How could you? How could you possibly take someone who is already down, and push them further down? How do you sleep at night? How do you put on your make up in the morning without looking at yourself in the mirror? How can you be so selfish as to only see yourself? To not see that maybe the person in front of you, the one that you are disliking so much, may need help? May be crying out for help in the only way that they know how to?
I lived my life trying to live up to what my father wanted.
And what my mother wanted.
And they were two very different people that they wanted.
My father wanted me to be a cut throat business woman who stepped on toes and treated people harshly (while being skinny and beautiful and having men fall all over themselves to look after me) and my mother wanted me to be kind and helpful and sweet to all (while bagging myself a rich husband and giving her lots of grandkids).
I am stuck in the middle. There is no way to be both things. And I don't know what to do. I can try to modify my behaviour, but how? The mother side of me wants me to be accommodating to everyone, but the father side tells me to make sure that they know it is a favour.
This is very hard to do. It seems that I am coming off as a bitch, and that is the opposite of what I am.
I don't like confrontation, the mother side of me deals with it passive aggressively (which I hate) and the father side of me tells me to write off the problem. I make a bad compromise by tolerating being treated in a manner that I am not comfortable with until resentment grows. Then I snap.
I am no good at dealing with the problems as they arise because I was never given the tools to do it. I try to not say anything right away, in case tomorrow I feel like it was not such a bad thing for the other party to have done in the first place, which is usually the case, but then the same situation, inevitably, rises again, and I do what I did the first time, so it happens again, and again and again....this is where men have it easier. They get pissed off, they tell you, it's over. It's not brought up again. They vent, you say sorry, it's done. Women are not programmed to do that. We are programmed to be tolerant, gentile people. Who then get so full of anger that we become bitches.
Nobody knows what I went through with my father's death. Nobody knows the internal dragons I was slaying, or at least trying to hold at bay. Nobody knows how fucking hard it was to be there for him every fucking day and try desperately to not think of how much I had hated him growing up. Trying to stay my hand. Trying to put aside the comments he'd made that had cut me to the bone every day of my life. Putting on the back burner every derogatory remark he had made about my body, my intellect, my being. Nobody knows because nobody asked. Nobody cared enough to even find out how I was dealing with it. If I was dealing with it.
One of the Wonderful Ladies told me that they weren't asking because they were afraid. They didn't know how to deal with it. Well, that may be true, but; I don't care. There are times when you have to crawl far enough out of your own ass to realize that there are other people in this world besides yourself. Maybe someone is hurting. And maybe you could help with that.
I try not to put people down. I try to understand where they are coming from. I don't laugh at phobia's (I have a few of my own. I know what it's like to have people laugh at them), I don't mock people's fears.
I have a very nervous stomach. If I feel stressed I grind my teeth, clench my jaw, and live in a semi-permanent state of nausea. Some days the nausea is mild, other day's it controls my life. At this point I should add that one of my phobia's is emetophobia, the fear of vomiting. This does not make for an easy life. It is made worse by people who just don't get what a phobia is. Who make fun of my nauseousness. Who see it as a hindrance to their lives, and don't think about what it does to my life. Me. Who has to live with it every waking moment of every day.
When a celebrity comes out with a book about their lives, their fears, their parenting. Everyone says: "oh dear, how terrible! How could people treat them like that??". But when it happens to someone you know....well, too many people just can't understand why you can't just get over it already. Why is that? Why are we, as a race, more inclined to feel sympathy and empathy towards total strangers then to the people right in front of us?
This is all I can post right now. I am tired. Introspection and soul baring is exhausting. This post may be deleted before you read it. My father may make me do it ;P
In harmony. Please,
IrishRed
It has come to my attention over the last few years that I may not be as....liked as I thought I was. I honestly do try to be kind, to be friendly, to be understanding of people's fear's and phobia's.
I was a Girl Guide, I try to help other people every day.
I strive for humour and sincerity.
I don't do this because I want it back.
I do this because it is right to do this, I do this because it makes me feel good to help people, I do this because I like to help people, I do this because I am my mother's daughter and I don't know how else to be.
But it would be nice to get some of it back. Is that naive of me?
It started a few years ago when, what I thought was, a good friend of mine did something to me that made me feel very betrayed. She passed me over for an old friend of her's who had not spoken to her, or been nice to her, or even said anything nice about her for years. I don't, really, blame her, but it didn't change the feeling of betrayal, of hurt, of being blindsided that I had continued to trust her after the other person came back into her life and it bit me in the ass.
Then, while my father was in hospital dying, I noticed something else. There was no one outside of my mother and her sister around. All of my 'friends' seemed to desert me when I needed them. ("where is my friend when I need you most? Gone away") I received no phone calls of "how are you doing?", there seemed to be no outside helping hands reaching out....no, I lie, there were a few. A handful of Wonderful Ladies who work in the same building as I do who never let a day pass without asking how things were going, a friend out West who regularly checked in with me and a friend back East who would do the same.
At his funeral I was shocked at how few people showed up to support us. The Wonderful handful of Ladies took time off to come, my best friend from high school who I had seen once in the last 15 years (thank you, Karen, you have no idea how much it meant to me that you were there), Earl, who has been a brother to us for over 25 years, and a handful of my mothers friends. The two who live nowhere nearby, obviously, could not come, but one of them did send us a beautiful bouquet of flowers, (thank you, Annebel and Cathy, for being there as best as you could at a distance). I think there were about 20 people who took time to come who were not family members. My ex best friends mother sent me a condolence e-mail, but not my ex best friend.
In the time leading up to his death the only non-family members who offered in-person support were the Wonderful handful of Ladies. I had one friend tell me that someone else's dad was dying too, and change the subject. At work no one said 'boo' to me until I left the room, and then the talking about me would begin. And let me add that none of it was nice.
When I returned to work I was told how hard the previous week had been for them.
Two weeks later I had a cherished staff member of two years quit. I recently found out that part of the reason was that I had been 'negative' and that I had not been on the ball about a couple of business related issues during the 8 weeks that my father had been hospitalized. I have since found out that she really, really doesn't like me.
Things have gotten back to me about what some people think of me, and none of it is pleasant to hear. All I can think is that I must really come off in a way I do not intend to. That people take my sarcasm as harshness when it is just a defence mechanism and it's also my sense of humour, I was raised by British parents in a darn near total English family. Dry is our humour. Sarcasm is our language. I can't help that. But I think that it is misunderstood.
I think that it's misunderstood that sometimes, when someone is gloomy and glum and negative and down in the dumps, what they really really need is a hug. And they don't need a knife in their back while the hug is being given.
I am not a tactile person (see the English note above, lol), but even a verbal hug, a "we understand what you're going through, let's talk about it", is far better karma then just treating the person like dirt.
How could you? How could you possibly take someone who is already down, and push them further down? How do you sleep at night? How do you put on your make up in the morning without looking at yourself in the mirror? How can you be so selfish as to only see yourself? To not see that maybe the person in front of you, the one that you are disliking so much, may need help? May be crying out for help in the only way that they know how to?
I lived my life trying to live up to what my father wanted.
And what my mother wanted.
And they were two very different people that they wanted.
My father wanted me to be a cut throat business woman who stepped on toes and treated people harshly (while being skinny and beautiful and having men fall all over themselves to look after me) and my mother wanted me to be kind and helpful and sweet to all (while bagging myself a rich husband and giving her lots of grandkids).
I am stuck in the middle. There is no way to be both things. And I don't know what to do. I can try to modify my behaviour, but how? The mother side of me wants me to be accommodating to everyone, but the father side tells me to make sure that they know it is a favour.
This is very hard to do. It seems that I am coming off as a bitch, and that is the opposite of what I am.
I don't like confrontation, the mother side of me deals with it passive aggressively (which I hate) and the father side of me tells me to write off the problem. I make a bad compromise by tolerating being treated in a manner that I am not comfortable with until resentment grows. Then I snap.
I am no good at dealing with the problems as they arise because I was never given the tools to do it. I try to not say anything right away, in case tomorrow I feel like it was not such a bad thing for the other party to have done in the first place, which is usually the case, but then the same situation, inevitably, rises again, and I do what I did the first time, so it happens again, and again and again....this is where men have it easier. They get pissed off, they tell you, it's over. It's not brought up again. They vent, you say sorry, it's done. Women are not programmed to do that. We are programmed to be tolerant, gentile people. Who then get so full of anger that we become bitches.
Nobody knows what I went through with my father's death. Nobody knows the internal dragons I was slaying, or at least trying to hold at bay. Nobody knows how fucking hard it was to be there for him every fucking day and try desperately to not think of how much I had hated him growing up. Trying to stay my hand. Trying to put aside the comments he'd made that had cut me to the bone every day of my life. Putting on the back burner every derogatory remark he had made about my body, my intellect, my being. Nobody knows because nobody asked. Nobody cared enough to even find out how I was dealing with it. If I was dealing with it.
One of the Wonderful Ladies told me that they weren't asking because they were afraid. They didn't know how to deal with it. Well, that may be true, but; I don't care. There are times when you have to crawl far enough out of your own ass to realize that there are other people in this world besides yourself. Maybe someone is hurting. And maybe you could help with that.
I try not to put people down. I try to understand where they are coming from. I don't laugh at phobia's (I have a few of my own. I know what it's like to have people laugh at them), I don't mock people's fears.
I have a very nervous stomach. If I feel stressed I grind my teeth, clench my jaw, and live in a semi-permanent state of nausea. Some days the nausea is mild, other day's it controls my life. At this point I should add that one of my phobia's is emetophobia, the fear of vomiting. This does not make for an easy life. It is made worse by people who just don't get what a phobia is. Who make fun of my nauseousness. Who see it as a hindrance to their lives, and don't think about what it does to my life. Me. Who has to live with it every waking moment of every day.
When a celebrity comes out with a book about their lives, their fears, their parenting. Everyone says: "oh dear, how terrible! How could people treat them like that??". But when it happens to someone you know....well, too many people just can't understand why you can't just get over it already. Why is that? Why are we, as a race, more inclined to feel sympathy and empathy towards total strangers then to the people right in front of us?
This is all I can post right now. I am tired. Introspection and soul baring is exhausting. This post may be deleted before you read it. My father may make me do it ;P
In harmony. Please,
IrishRed
Sunday, January 3, 2010
The Seventh. A New Year
OK. So. I haven't written anything for, oh, about 7 months. So we begin with the New Year's Resolutions. Make at LEAST one entry a month. Shouldn't be too hard, right? I mean I've already started the first one....
I was reading back over my last year's posts...and I was a little...how would Ralphie say it? Bembarrassed about some of them. The old me would delete them so that no one further than already has could read them and roll their eyes...the new me is going to be a kinder, gentler me who allows me to make the same mistakes as I forgive in others. It's time to start treating me good. To this end I resolve to allow myself to forgive myself things that are bembarrassing, shaming, oopsies, and just plain bad judgement calls, depending, of course, on the fact that I did handle whatever situation I smegged up with the best tools available to me at the time and that I didn't just have a mondo brain fart that rendered me temporarily stupid.
I am going to set myself smaller, more reachable resolutions this year, so that I may fulfill them and not just scream in frustration that I just can't do it , of course I can.
I resolve to work on my novel (a pathetic attempt at a dark vampire book I have been writing, and re-writing, and scrapping, and re-starting, and throwing out for about a decade now), I will set aside at least one day a month with which to bembarrass myself with this undertaking, and I will forgive myself, and beg forgiveness of my absent muse, for the badness of it.) At least it will satisfy the beast inside me which demands writing.
I resolve to lose 15 pounds by June. That may sound simple. And if it does, than you do not know of the other beast inside me which demands chocolate. A LOT of chocolate. Daily. Or I change....and not change nice....not change for the good....Hulk hungry.
I resolve to be thankful for the things I have, and not cry over the things I don't. If I want one of those things bad enough, I will not complain about not having it, but rather endeavor to find a means to the end. What do I have that I am thankful for? Things that other people do not? (not necessarily in this order): I have a home; I have a family (albeit a rapidly diminishing one); I have a successful business; I have my health; I have friends (note to self: reconnect with friends); I have food to eat (and chocolate...); I have talent; I have intelligence; I have a spell checker; I have a good sense of humour; I have a car; I have a horse (see next resolution); I have two wonderfully silly dogs; I have two great cats; I have a wonderful mother; I have enough money to save for two modest one week vacations a year; I have warm clothes; I have an Internet connection; I have an endless supply of tea; I have a Tim Horton's within walking distance; I do not have any life altering allergies.
That's enough for now, I don't want to become too thankful!
I resolve to spend time every month with the first love of my life, SX Geminis Adonis. My wonderful Arabian gelding. Donny. I bought Donny at the tender age of 19 (my tender age, not his. He was but a wild, naughty yearling when I bought him). I have had him for 19 years. Almost to the day. And I have not seen him for the last year of that. It makes me sick with longing. I miss him, every freakin day I miss him. THIS is one of the things that I am so very much not thankful to my business for. It has run me too many years, it has run me into the ground so that I spend my weekends crashed on the couch not doing the things I love, like riding my horse...nice segue into the next resolution if I do say so myself....
I resolve to start running my business, not letting it run me. I resolve to book my days so that I can enjoy the time that I am not at work, and not spend the time nursing my aching body to prepare it, just in time, to start again on Monday...of course, since next year's book is almost full, it may be too late for THAT resolution, but I am going to give it the old college try.
I resolve to stop when I am tired. So I will give myself an easy out here, and leave more resolutions open for the next entry, thus killing two resolutions with one stone :) (note to self: shortcuts/crossovers/easyway out are ok)
So, until my next entry, of more resolutions,
In harmony
IrishRed
I was reading back over my last year's posts...and I was a little...how would Ralphie say it? Bembarrassed about some of them. The old me would delete them so that no one further than already has could read them and roll their eyes...the new me is going to be a kinder, gentler me who allows me to make the same mistakes as I forgive in others. It's time to start treating me good. To this end I resolve to allow myself to forgive myself things that are bembarrassing, shaming, oopsies, and just plain bad judgement calls, depending, of course, on the fact that I did handle whatever situation I smegged up with the best tools available to me at the time and that I didn't just have a mondo brain fart that rendered me temporarily stupid.
I am going to set myself smaller, more reachable resolutions this year, so that I may fulfill them and not just scream in frustration that I just can't do it , of course I can.
I resolve to work on my novel (a pathetic attempt at a dark vampire book I have been writing, and re-writing, and scrapping, and re-starting, and throwing out for about a decade now), I will set aside at least one day a month with which to bembarrass myself with this undertaking, and I will forgive myself, and beg forgiveness of my absent muse, for the badness of it.) At least it will satisfy the beast inside me which demands writing.
I resolve to lose 15 pounds by June. That may sound simple. And if it does, than you do not know of the other beast inside me which demands chocolate. A LOT of chocolate. Daily. Or I change....and not change nice....not change for the good....Hulk hungry.
I resolve to be thankful for the things I have, and not cry over the things I don't. If I want one of those things bad enough, I will not complain about not having it, but rather endeavor to find a means to the end. What do I have that I am thankful for? Things that other people do not? (not necessarily in this order): I have a home; I have a family (albeit a rapidly diminishing one); I have a successful business; I have my health; I have friends (note to self: reconnect with friends); I have food to eat (and chocolate...); I have talent; I have intelligence; I have a spell checker; I have a good sense of humour; I have a car; I have a horse (see next resolution); I have two wonderfully silly dogs; I have two great cats; I have a wonderful mother; I have enough money to save for two modest one week vacations a year; I have warm clothes; I have an Internet connection; I have an endless supply of tea; I have a Tim Horton's within walking distance; I do not have any life altering allergies.
That's enough for now, I don't want to become too thankful!
I resolve to spend time every month with the first love of my life, SX Geminis Adonis. My wonderful Arabian gelding. Donny. I bought Donny at the tender age of 19 (my tender age, not his. He was but a wild, naughty yearling when I bought him). I have had him for 19 years. Almost to the day. And I have not seen him for the last year of that. It makes me sick with longing. I miss him, every freakin day I miss him. THIS is one of the things that I am so very much not thankful to my business for. It has run me too many years, it has run me into the ground so that I spend my weekends crashed on the couch not doing the things I love, like riding my horse...nice segue into the next resolution if I do say so myself....
I resolve to start running my business, not letting it run me. I resolve to book my days so that I can enjoy the time that I am not at work, and not spend the time nursing my aching body to prepare it, just in time, to start again on Monday...of course, since next year's book is almost full, it may be too late for THAT resolution, but I am going to give it the old college try.
I resolve to stop when I am tired. So I will give myself an easy out here, and leave more resolutions open for the next entry, thus killing two resolutions with one stone :) (note to self: shortcuts/crossovers/easyway out are ok)
So, until my next entry, of more resolutions,
In harmony
IrishRed
Friday, June 12, 2009
The....what, sixth? Only? Really? I suck....ok then....The Sixth. Death. Ghosts. Eyes.
I can feel it, it's coming, the urge to write again. Perhaps it's not coming tonight, but soon....
So far it has been a rather lousy year. My father died on March 21 of this year, it was not unexpected, but it was gruesome. He had been in hospital for about 6 weeks, his mind and body getting weaker and weaker. For the final two weeks he was non-verbal. This was a man who's mind would work so quickly, so sharply, for all of the years I can remember, that, as my grandmother once said "try to catch John in a corner....."....he used to say, after he'd interrupted you for the umpteenth time "I have a mind like a steel trap, you know".......
You could NEVER win an argument with him....never. He could prove his point with fewer words than anyone I know (not that he ever used few words, mind you), he could out think most people before they'd even set their minds to the task at hand. He was chauvinistic, sexist, infuriating, misogynistic...all those things, yes, but he WAS brilliant, no one could question that...and to see him reduced to a shell, a..a..a...non-verbal thing....(that thing in there, that's not The Goose, no way....) was horrible.
He caused a lot of emotional trauma to both my sister and I....body image issues, self worth issues, self doubt issues, self worth issues.....but the last important words I spoke to him, half an hour before he died, while he involuntarily and sporadically squeezed my hand, were; "whatever you think you have done wrong....we forgive you...and we love you." Whether he heard me or not, whether he understood or not.....I don't know, I doubt it, but I sincerely hope that he did hear it, on some level, on some plain, in some lifetime or some existence...because I DO forgive him, and I do love him. It will take time to grow up, to realize that the things he instilled in me are not true
But holding a grudge against him as he died....I was incapable of that.
I can get into the more unpleasant aspects of that night, but I'd really rather not...not now, I'm not ready for that. The important thing is that I hope he knows that those words I spoke were true. He did the best he could with the tools he had. His own father....well, my dad did not even attend his funeral, need I say more about that relationship?
We had him cremated, as per his wishes, one day soon I will be able to write a spot on how wonderful the people at the funeral home were....and we had written on his urn:
John F. Lowery
Mind like a steel trap
One day soon I will be able to write about how I feel about this, about the things which have been happening in the house since he died, about how we are recovering, about how sometimes, when I think of him, I still can't fully accept that he is no longer here. That he won't be walking through the door bellowing at the dogs, that I will never hear his voice again, that I will never see the eyes which I inherited looking at me again; in humour, disgust, apathy or fondness ever again.
Hopefully tomorrow, hopefully soon.
In steel trap harmony
IrishRed
So far it has been a rather lousy year. My father died on March 21 of this year, it was not unexpected, but it was gruesome. He had been in hospital for about 6 weeks, his mind and body getting weaker and weaker. For the final two weeks he was non-verbal. This was a man who's mind would work so quickly, so sharply, for all of the years I can remember, that, as my grandmother once said "try to catch John in a corner....."....he used to say, after he'd interrupted you for the umpteenth time "I have a mind like a steel trap, you know".......
You could NEVER win an argument with him....never. He could prove his point with fewer words than anyone I know (not that he ever used few words, mind you), he could out think most people before they'd even set their minds to the task at hand. He was chauvinistic, sexist, infuriating, misogynistic...all those things, yes, but he WAS brilliant, no one could question that...and to see him reduced to a shell, a..a..a...non-verbal thing....(that thing in there, that's not The Goose, no way....) was horrible.
He caused a lot of emotional trauma to both my sister and I....body image issues, self worth issues, self doubt issues, self worth issues.....but the last important words I spoke to him, half an hour before he died, while he involuntarily and sporadically squeezed my hand, were; "whatever you think you have done wrong....we forgive you...and we love you." Whether he heard me or not, whether he understood or not.....I don't know, I doubt it, but I sincerely hope that he did hear it, on some level, on some plain, in some lifetime or some existence...because I DO forgive him, and I do love him. It will take time to grow up, to realize that the things he instilled in me are not true
But holding a grudge against him as he died....I was incapable of that.
I can get into the more unpleasant aspects of that night, but I'd really rather not...not now, I'm not ready for that. The important thing is that I hope he knows that those words I spoke were true. He did the best he could with the tools he had. His own father....well, my dad did not even attend his funeral, need I say more about that relationship?
We had him cremated, as per his wishes, one day soon I will be able to write a spot on how wonderful the people at the funeral home were....and we had written on his urn:
John F. Lowery
Mind like a steel trap
One day soon I will be able to write about how I feel about this, about the things which have been happening in the house since he died, about how we are recovering, about how sometimes, when I think of him, I still can't fully accept that he is no longer here. That he won't be walking through the door bellowing at the dogs, that I will never hear his voice again, that I will never see the eyes which I inherited looking at me again; in humour, disgust, apathy or fondness ever again.
Hopefully tomorrow, hopefully soon.
In steel trap harmony
IrishRed
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
The Fifth.....Christmas
So, Christmas and New Year is over for another 12 months. This year was good, it was a little different. We don't have a lot of blood family in this country, there are my parents, my mother's sister and her husband and daughter. My sister is in the States with her husband and the rest of the family is mainly in England with a few in Italy. However, with the extended family we number 13. Not really a positively portentous number for a Christmas table, but until the man of my dreams appears, 13 we shall remain.
We swap hosts each year, one year we host it, the next my Aunt or cousin host it. It's a wonderfully chaotic day of meeting at the hosts' house for a HUGE good ol' fashioned English breakfast, complete with eggs, bacon, sausages, potato pancakes, lamb chops, baked beans, stuffed tomatoes...you get the idea....we eat, we wait for the 'grown up's' to drink their tea and chin wag, we clean up, we FORCE the 'grown up's' to get off their duff's and move to the living room where we finally get to open our presents. A glorious 2 hours of "this one's not mine, it's Susan's" and "what did you get?" and "who needs a present to open?" follows.
Then we all go home, get dressed for dinner and meet up again, usually at the Old Mill, for Christmas dinner.
This year, with my dad's health not being great, my work schedule, and my sister not arriving until late on Christmas Eve, we changed things, the breakfast is too much work now, so we met for Christmas brunch at The Doctor's House, then came back to our house to open prezzies, snacked on cold cuts, quiche, veggies, chips and dip etc. for the remainder of the day.
It ran smoothly. It was nice. Chaotic, of course, but nice.
My dogs LOVED having my cousin's two kids, and her husband's two kids, to rough house with for the day, funny, they were not raised with kids, and yet they both adore them.
New Year's Eve Eve was spent at the emergency room with my father, he was having 'flutters' in his chest, since he has heart problems we went right to the hospital. Spent the night in a waiting room full of puking, barfing, germ ridden people and their offspring.
I have a thing about vomit.
I can not ABIDE vomit.
The very idea of it fills me with dread and panic.
This was not a good place for me to be.
Dad was ok, we got home around 4am....by that point I had been up for 22 hours. Worked 12 of them. I was tired. I was supposed to go to my sisters for New Year's, but by the time I got up I had a raging head ache and was still worried about my dad, so postponed the NYE celebrations until New Years day.
Spent the next 4 days with my sister and brother-in-law watching movies, eating great food, playing Prince of Persia on PS3. It was a good time.
Is that good enough for another blog post?
Too boring? Too wordy without enough being said? Nothing of interest for anyone?
Well, no one reads this anyway, so I guess it's good enough for me :-)
And, hey, at least I did one, right?
'till next time, in harmony
Irish Red
We swap hosts each year, one year we host it, the next my Aunt or cousin host it. It's a wonderfully chaotic day of meeting at the hosts' house for a HUGE good ol' fashioned English breakfast, complete with eggs, bacon, sausages, potato pancakes, lamb chops, baked beans, stuffed tomatoes...you get the idea....we eat, we wait for the 'grown up's' to drink their tea and chin wag, we clean up, we FORCE the 'grown up's' to get off their duff's and move to the living room where we finally get to open our presents. A glorious 2 hours of "this one's not mine, it's Susan's" and "what did you get?" and "who needs a present to open?" follows.
Then we all go home, get dressed for dinner and meet up again, usually at the Old Mill, for Christmas dinner.
This year, with my dad's health not being great, my work schedule, and my sister not arriving until late on Christmas Eve, we changed things, the breakfast is too much work now, so we met for Christmas brunch at The Doctor's House, then came back to our house to open prezzies, snacked on cold cuts, quiche, veggies, chips and dip etc. for the remainder of the day.
It ran smoothly. It was nice. Chaotic, of course, but nice.
My dogs LOVED having my cousin's two kids, and her husband's two kids, to rough house with for the day, funny, they were not raised with kids, and yet they both adore them.
New Year's Eve Eve was spent at the emergency room with my father, he was having 'flutters' in his chest, since he has heart problems we went right to the hospital. Spent the night in a waiting room full of puking, barfing, germ ridden people and their offspring.
I have a thing about vomit.
I can not ABIDE vomit.
The very idea of it fills me with dread and panic.
This was not a good place for me to be.
Dad was ok, we got home around 4am....by that point I had been up for 22 hours. Worked 12 of them. I was tired. I was supposed to go to my sisters for New Year's, but by the time I got up I had a raging head ache and was still worried about my dad, so postponed the NYE celebrations until New Years day.
Spent the next 4 days with my sister and brother-in-law watching movies, eating great food, playing Prince of Persia on PS3. It was a good time.
Is that good enough for another blog post?
Too boring? Too wordy without enough being said? Nothing of interest for anyone?
Well, no one reads this anyway, so I guess it's good enough for me :-)
And, hey, at least I did one, right?
'till next time, in harmony
Irish Red
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