It's over and they're gone! *wails and sobs*

Merlin has ended, and I cried during that episode more than I have during probably all the movies I ever cried at. I don't cry too much, but I cried during and after, and---

I've tried to think of what to say, how to sum up my emotions and I just can't. There's just too much and all of it is spoiler-y for you people, and--well, I guess I'm just going to have to figure it out eventually. But for now, I just want to put this out there.

Thank you, our dear actors, for bringing to life these fantastic characters. Your writers may have written them into predictable plots that made us crazy, but it was always you that brought us back, eagerly waiting for more. You first pulled the legends down to earth, made them grow around our hearts, and then you brought up the legends to greater heights than before because it was real.

Your smiles were real. The characters became real and we loved them. We still love them, and even though it is fiction and we know this, we mourn their passing because they were as friends.

Thank you for bringing us on this journey with you and letting us live with you.



A/N: I'm going to have to figure out why this has made me so sad and angry and emotional. It's fiction. Why did I cry? Why do people cry during a movie/tv episode?

But at the same time I push those thoughts aside, because I know that what I'm feeling is real. Yes, it's fiction, but--perhaps the thing is that it's not fictional. As I said, the characters were real and we loved them and they're gone.

Merlin has ended.

Just not in our hearts.

(hopefully more to come soon)

The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey

I saw it!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yesterday!!! I saw it in IMAX 3D and with friends and it was awesome!!!!!

Anyway. I'm still sort of skating high on that. (We got posters. Four of them. Just for walking in the theater. They were Free. I am happy.)

Martin Freeman is a brilliant Bilbo. He just has that unflappable, somewhat dry humor though that's not quite right either, a sort of personality that says "I'd rather be sitting in my house smoking, but since I'm here I may as well make the most of it." and he does. He's the Everyman hero, a guy who just wants to get back home, and in so doing ends up becoming the bravest one of them all. It sort of reminds me of the soldiers in the Revolutionary and Second World wars. They were fighting for their home, and they won because there are some things you do not do, one of which is take a normal man's home. If he's a normal hobbit, the likelihood of you not surviving increases. If said hobbit is in the company of 12 loveable dwarves and 1 moody but still heroic dwarf (Thorin) and 1 wizard, well...your death likelihood increases dramatically.

there are quite a few battles in this movie. Some of them take place in flashbacks, but they are still very--uh...action-y.

Oh! Gollum! Gollum is spectacularly insane, talking (as in arguing) with himself. The dialogue between him and Bilbo is brilliant.

The part(s) where Bilbo finds the Ring are different than the flashbacks in the Lord of the Rings, of course, but I felt the way they did it was equally good.

Oh and Radagast! Oh, dear Sylvester McCoy, he is the brilliantly eccentric wizard who loves his animals and completely stole every scene he was in.

Even if Kili was doing his best to be all dark and handsome. :)

Bofur was amazing as well.

I'm a bit confused on whether they were trying to make Galadriel and Gandalf a couple, or just portray their friendship and loyalty. Because there's no way to do that without fangirls and shippers pouncing on it. (By the way, I realized yesterday that Galadriel is Elrond's mother-in-law.)

The scenery was amazing, more of New Zealand than we've seen, all of it lovely and fantastic.

The 3D experience is kind of odd for me. I'm not sure if it's because I wear glasses, so any other kind of lens makes my eyes hurt a little, or if everyone's like that. I'd heard that Peter Jackson (the director) was really excited about the 48 fps they were shooting in, that it made everything more clear and less blurry and better etc, but I found that sometimes, like when the camera was panning in a slow movement, it almost seemed more blurry than normal. Not sure what that was about. But the scenery did seem real. I'd heard it was so real it seemed fake, like instead of seeing a blurry castle you see a crystal clear set, but I was just impressed by everything. I think next year I'll see the regular version, though. I just don't really like 3D.

And I was a tad bit unhappy that I didn't get to hear Smaug's voice...yeah, fangirl admission there...but you will never believe what trailer they showed. Star Trek: Into Darkness. It has Benedict Cumberbatch in it. Ah, his voice! That deep voice was in a trailer and I heard it.

I'm so supremely happy with the whole entire experience yesterday that I'm not even counting yet.
Sort of.
There's 363 days until the Hobbit.
:)

Only 150 hours....

...until the Hobbit. 7 days. One week. Etc etc CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!!

I've faithfully scratched off each day on my countdown calendar, adding numbers in the corners. The bottom right is for how many days. The bottom left is how many weeks (used to be months, but we're into less-than-month-counting now) the top left is how many hours, and the top right is how many days until the DW Christmas special. (18)

There. Are. Only. 7. Days. Until. I. See. It.

7 days, you understand. 150 hours, currently. (in about 15 minutes it will be 149 hours) I've been waiting longer than a year, and it's only 150 hours away. Less than 150 hours, actually.

I am ecstatic. I am excited and I keep bouncing like that hopping hen in Between the Lions and I can't keep from humming and it's only a week away!

And...
Well...
See, I got to wondering (read: Dad made me think of) how much time and energy I'm spending on this movie. Not to mention money. And thoughts. And desktop backgrounds. Anyway, it's a lot of time.

But I got to wondering about how ridiculously jumpy and excited I'd be if I didn't know when it would come out. I know that I'll see An Unexpected Journey at midnight, Pacific Time, December 14th, 2012, in a certain city. But what if I didn't? What if they had never released the release date? I've known the day it was coming out for longer than a year! If, when I had first heard about it, they just said, "Yeah, it's going to be coming out soon," and that was all they ever said, what would I be doing then?

*dons black sunglasses and a walkie talkie and agent voice* Canvass all area theaters, run hacking programs on Mr. Jackson's computer, track cast and crew, stake out the theater most likely to show it first. May need to turn to those who can drive and ask for their assistance.

Or would I? would I just shrug and say, "Well, I'll keep tabs on the movie theater, I suppose." Would I be even more indifferent? "It's probably going to take them 5 years to come out with the movie, I've got other things I can be doing."

and that got me to wondering how the apostle Paul stood it. He "eagerly awaited" his Lord's coming, and he didn't know when He was coming. He did not have a countdown calendar, he was not counting the hours, but he was still as excited and ready at the end of his life for Jesus to come as when he had first learned of it.

And us? We tend to shrug it off. "Eh, He's been gone for thousands of years. He's not coming back any time soon. I'll--*swallows*--focus on this fictional movie and give it all of my time and energy." If we did know the exact hour Jesus was coming, what would we do? How would we prepare, if at all? (If I know when The Hobbit is coming out, how am I going to act?) If we don't know when He is coming, then what do we do? (and this is where the illustration goes a bit wobbly. Truth be told, if I didn't know when it was coming out, I'd probably forget about it.) Perhaps a better question is what should we do?

As the oft-repeated saying goes, "If you knew you were going to die tomorrow, what would you do today?" Perhaps a better saying is, "For all you know, you will die in the next second. How are you going to spend the rest of what little time you have?"

I'm still excited about the Hobbit, don't get me wrong--EEk! 149 hours!--but I'm going to try and spend at least an equal time thinking about my Creator. How about you? (and if you aren't spending it thinking about God, what are you spending it on? Family? Friends? Angry Birds? What really matters?)

I Foray Into Book Reviews

The Italian Secretary wasn't written by Arthur Conan Doyle, but it is very similar to all the ones that he did write. The language, the characters, are all much the same as the other stories.

This book's title refers to the 16th century murder of David Rizzio, the titular Italian secretary to Her Majesty Mary, Queen of Scots. It's as much a historical novel as it can be, set in Scotland in Holyrood House, amidst the proud reign of Queen Victoria. The story of Rizzio's murder is retold by Holmes himself, and his vivid language captures the imagination, turning the reader from a passive observer to a horrified witness who detests the acts of Rizzio's murderers.

Holmes is, differently than in the BBC series, a black and white advocate of good. He renounces murder, seeks justice, and doesn't just go about solving life-and-death puzzles for the fun of it. (not to bash the new series, but I think in even Doyle's stories Holmes always was concerned for justice, and though he did lapse into an appreciation of the villain's methods, he had no patience for miscreants who snuffed out lives, often far before they should have been. In this he is much like Agatha Christie's Poiroit. But I digress.) His and Watson's firm morals are always a welcome read.

Contrasted with the "good guys", of course, is the "bad guys". They are truly bad, greedy, selfish, murderous, crafty, cunning, and all the other things a proper Holmes villain should be. One of them (off-screen) has seduced one of the maids of the house, though nothing graphic is said, the only word used is "despoiled", and the young woman very much regrets her choices.

Mycroft also features in this story, with the murder of two of the men renovating the house being, apparently, a major cause for concern among the man who occupies a "minor position in the British government" (quote from the BBC series there). Their murders bear a remarkable similarity to Rizzio's murder, though I don't want to give away too much. The book takes a ghostly turn, with Holyrood House seeming to be haunted by the ghost of "the Italian gentleman", as the Scottish locals call him. Even Holmes gives credence to the power of ghosts, a fact Watson finds very unsettling. (It is a Holmes story, though--spoiler*)

There are, of course, murders, a few battle or fight scenes, one man is missing an eye and has a glass replacement that falls out--Watson is grossed out, if I may use the term--, the body of the most recent victim is described by Watson the surgeon, but it is, like everything else, not too graphic and very much in keeping with Doyle's manner. The psychology of the thing, the villain's plot, was always more important.

With all these elements, combined with a well-paced plot, (and a rather large and Victorian vocabulary), The Italian Secretary is a book I'd give perhaps a PG-13 rating, but heartily recommend to anyone else. It is a very fine addition to the already marvelous collection of Holmes stories, and a book I've already re-read.




*spoiler--though not quite a big one:


The ghost isn't real, though there's the conspirator who was never found who bore a remarkable similarity to the description of Rizzio. At the end, Watson follows a girl (also remarkably similar to someone who was murdered years ago) into an also presumably haunted house, only to find her gone, seemingly vanished. He weakly says that she must have ran into the other house, but the reader is left to think that she hadn't. Holmes then explains his statement, that he gave credence to the power of ghosts. He had meant that if people believe something, even if it isn't true, it gives it power, because this belief forces a person to act in a certain way. Even if you deny it's veracity, the very act of denying it proves its existence, because you must have something to deny. It's a rather true statement, actually.

I'm back....

So. I notice with a sudden flash of observational skills that the most recent post I blogged was on the final day of the month of August. It is with an equally sudden flash of brilliance that I realize this was--okay, so the flash of brilliance will have to wait, since I'm trying to do the math here. It is taking me a few seconds... (so it was September, then October, then November, and today's the first--)

Oh! Happy First Day of December! (yes, I know this is going up 9:30 Mountain time so it probably won't reach you in time. Consider yourself wished a Happy Belated First Day of December. So Happy Second Day of December.)

(so that was...) My last blog post was 3 months ago. Feel free to applaud my mathematical genius. I do not mind.

Ah. I still type in Nano-speak. (no contractions. Use adjectives. Etc.) For those of you who don't know, NaNo is short for National Novel Writing Month, which is the month of November, wherein people decide they have been lazy for far too long, kidding themselves with delusions of writer status, and in a leap of chocolate-fueled faith they attack their poor keyboard and pound out a 50,000 word novel in 30 days.

I also participated in the joyous madness of this year's NaNo. (I'm not counting last year's since I cheated and the ending was absolutely sudden and horrible) And I won! I wrote a 50,000 word novel in 30 days! Actually, I wrote a 54,427 word novel in 24 days.

So I now find myself able to ease back into the world of the living. Or, in my case, I rewarded myself with catching up on all the TV episodes I missed during those 24 days. And today I remembered that I have a blog. (okay, if I'm honest I remembered a while ago, but I was too lazy to--I'm not sure what, actually. Apparently I'm also too lazy to formulate a reason for my laziness, or even explain what I was lazy about. I was just lazy.) I blame exhaustion caused by chocolate withdrawal. See, I rewarded myself every 1,000 words with candy, mostly Junior Mints, but that's 50 pieces of candy and my precious store of Cheap Because of the Holiday Wherein It is Given Away Chocolate. I am now out of the CBHWIGAC. I'm calling it cheepie chocolate. (because when I looked at the letters the first thing I thought of was Chewbacca but I'm not calling my dear word count rewards Chewbacca) Without my cheepie chocolate every so often I've had to resort to other methods.

Did you know that there are 2 cups of milk needed to make one box of pudding? And did you know that we receive fresh cow's milk, four gallons, every week? And that we have to come up with ways to use this milk? And that my mother thus encourages chocolate pudding consumption? You do now.

Anyway, this is getting a bit long. I suppose I'll talk a bit about my novel, this blasted keyboard that I still haven't gotten used to--or maybe it's just because I always seem to be writing when I can barely keep my eyes open and my fingers become rather sluggish--, my excitement for the upcoming Hobbit film--

13 DAYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! LESS THAN TWO WEEKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

--and a book I reread recently that I want to review because I want to review books on my blog. And a movie I recently watched that I want to review for the same reason. And I will probably complain about Merlin ending.

*sniffle*

And I'll probably make promises to myself that I'm going to write a humorous book next year that utilizes extensive use of the Traveling Shovel of Death. And broken and utterly smashed fourth walls. Until then, dear readers, farewell, and may the Force be with you.

(one day. One day I shall invent a new benediction. I shall be creative and not plagiarizing, even though I'm rather sure that one was public domain...)

Happy Last day of August!!!!

Hello! I've been lax in posting again, but at least I've been trying to notice things and figure out what to blog about.

Didn't really work: I'm going to blog about anything that comes to my mind.

You know, this is really frustrating, because I know I had something, but I forgot it and it's bugging me. Argh.

the season premiere of Doctor Who airs tomorrow.
Funny how you can write something and it sounds like you really couldn't care either way, but inwardly you're screaming in excitement and worry for your poor Doctor.

You know, I'm going to try imbedding a video. Or whatever it's called. *gasp* it worked! No spoilers, for you poor people still on season 3 *cough Hannah and Bekah cough*

 

But it's sad and worrisome: he looks like he's getting darker, and last time this happened--spoilers, but Time Lord Victorious, remember? I'm concerned that this means by the end of the season he might regenerate. Or die--fields of Trenzalore, the First Question, Fall of the Eleventh, and all that. And I don't want to say goodbye to Eleven. And somehow I gather that if we say goodbye to Eleven, we'll also say goodbye to River, which would be sad as well.

 

Anyway. I suppose that's it for now. Trivia: did you know that the Seventh Doctor wore a fez and held a mop first? M-hm, true story. Granted, it wasn't nearly as humorous as our dear Eleven, but he did do it first.

 

Geronimo!!!!!!!!!!!

In Which I Post Because I Can't Think of Anything Else to Do...

So, how do you guys like the new look? I'm liking this one, it's just perfect and all set up and all I had to do was click it and then apply to blog. (yes, this was one of the things I did while I was procrastinating (again) about posting) I love books. Speaking of which, have any of you read the Wormling series by Chris Fabry and Jerry B. Jenkins? They are VERY good, highly recommended.

Anyway. Camp.
*breathes in, breathes out*

Let's see. Some of you might not know about camp. Camp Elohim is situated in the mountains *cough like everything around here cough*, away from all distractions like the Internet and family (yes, dears...you are distractions. I love you anyway) and tv and xbox etc. It is a week-long Bible camp, and thrown in are shooting, rafting, swimming, hiking, crafts, games, GREAT FOOD, etc.

I first went when I was in 4th grade, and I've been going ever since. This was my 9th and final year(I started late) as a camper. Now, with Elohim the focus is on God the whole time. There is chapel and class in the morning, and chapel and campfire in the evening. and singing. I think it's mostly the singing that does it, and the great teaching, but by the end of the week you feel closer to God than ever. I guess the term is "camp high".

So this is my 9th year. for the past...6 of those, probably, I've experienced the camp high. we learn amazing things, and get all ready to go face the world and be the best Christian ever, and by the time school arrives we've forgotten most, if not all, of what we've learned. The last 3 years or so I finally noticed what happened, and each year I'd rededicate my life to Christ and next year I'd come back pretty much the same. For the last year or so God's really been getting on my heart about finding someone, an accountability partner, to do life with. Last year I told myself I'd find someone, but I didn't.

Not this year, I said to myself as I signed the application, not this year. This year, God, I will take whatever You teach me and use it.
You will not believe what we learned that week. Yep, it was all about Paul's life, and how he was never alone. How he always had someone with him, helping him. A Barnabas, an encourager. I had to smile, you know? Just a little extra proof that there's a God, and He has a sense of humor. (See platypus)

So that was cool, and that was just Monday. Then Tuesday our cabin (and two of the boys' cabins) went rafting. Rafting, usually, means gently floating down the Kootenai River and pretending to be scared of the small amount of "big" waves they have. This year, due to the torrential downpour of a winter/spring/early summer we've had, the Kootenai is full and the dam is spilling a lot of water over the top just to keep Lake Koocanusa from overflowing--no floods, though, which is surprising--, and that meant we couldn't float the Kootenai.

Instead, we floated Bull River. Well, we were paddling and splashing each other--lots of fun, even though it doesn't sound like it to a water chicken like myself and I still haven't figured out how to splash with the paddle unlike JACOB MACABEE and most of the boys--and the river was so low we had to drag it across sandbars sometimes. It was fun. And hot. Tuesday was the hottest day we had, and we rafted. Oh, perfection hallelujah. (Hannah rafted on Thursday, which was not the hottest day. Hee)

Wednesday [it was slightly cooler and] we hiked the Trail of Tears. It's about...two miles?...of sheer uphillness, known to strike the most expert hiker to his knees from oxygen loss and dehydration. (I'm not really exaggerating, just kind of) The "first" part is the uphill part, and--oh, info needed. I have low blood sugar, which means I need to eat every meal and I burn off meals very easily. I'm also not very active--for lunch we had little wrap things that, in hindsight, weren't nearly enough for me. I was out of breath after the first five minutes. My counselor and one of the girls in my cabin stayed just ahead of me; they're so very nice. I discovered something: your heart is a muscle, just like your arms and legs. If you want it to be strong, you should exercise it. Suffice it to say I have not exercised my heart (or legs) that often. I burned off all my lunch, too, and had to survive on berries and honey. [I'm not kidding, either. I had to stop and eat a honey stick that I'd brought with me, and that just barely got my strength up and Jacob Macabee came back to check on us--me--and when we started going again I found a couple Oregon grapes and thimbleberries and Jacob found a huckleberry for me, which was very nice since I hadn't actually eaten a wild huckleberry ever before. *braces for shock from fellow Montanians*]

But then I found that we were almost there. Spiritual lesson to be learned: just when it gets the hardest is just when something will come along and you'll find out you were almost done anyway, and you'll feel an immense sense of accomplishment for not giving up. Also, that you can't do anything on your own. Remember how I said God was really pointing out the need for accountability partners? Well, that time they were Lindsey, Becka, honey, Jacob, and berries. In that order. Anyway.

The waterfall.

Oh, yeah: Camp Elohim rite of passage: sitting under the waterfall. The girl doing it now was from my cabin...Rambo. Or Laurabeth. She did it for a grand total of six minutes, which was the record that week until the day afterwards, when someone did it for ten minutes. The biggest record ever is half an hour.

I sat under the little one to the right for about one second.

I hiked up above the main part, which I hadn't ever done before--it's beautiful up there, and it looks like an elfin forest, with all the trees covered in moss and all the straight cedar trees all around--since it was my last year as a camper and I wanted to. I applied the same reasoning to the waterfall, and I almost sat under it (the big one), but I decided not to, convincing myself it was because I couldn't figure out where to sit. Oh well.

So that was Wednesday. Thursday it was even cooler, in fact I think it rained, but ha-HA! We were shooting and doing crafts, both of which were under cover. I did very well in shooting those 22's--the best out of the girl campers, a 77 out of 80--and the craft was fun, a scrapbook thingie. I devoted a whole page to my prize-winning target.
I'm a bit self-centered, aren't I? Shame.

Thursday was also Family Night, in which the cabins introduce their family to their cabin and the cabin to the family and friends. And it is also the night in which the cabins perform skits for the attending family/friends/plus ones*. They were pretty good, with the usual mess-ups that only made it more perfect and voice overs from the plastic cone of awesomeness** and renditions of the Good Samaritan that had the priest owning a mad cow by the name of Angel Shirley Whompus. all good fun. I got to see my bestest friend*** and witness my four year old brother flirting with all the girls. I pity that kid's counselor already. And the camp director, Mr. Warren. And the other girls. I bet he'll have a blast at camp when it's his turn. Four years away, if I count correctly.

That Thursday quite a few people went home, what with sickness and work and other such stuff. It was kind of sad.

But that morning, we all were overjoyed--as in not--to hear what had become the camp theme song:

Way up in the sky, the big birdies fly,

and down in the nest, the little birds rest.

With a wing on the left, and a wing on the right,

the little birds sleep, all through the night.

The bright sun comes up, the dew goes away.

"Good morning! Good morning!" the little birds say.

{Optional ending:}

I jump out of bed, and open my window

and SMASH THAT BIRD'S HEAD!

Oh, that's just not the same unless you hear it. (see, "the dew goes away" is said in this macho voice, which makes the fact that the next line is said in a falsetto particularly funny.) Especially since the boys just loved that song to death. Literally. Coincedentally, I never heard or saw a bird that whole week.

Anyway. Friday. Friday is the sad day, it's when you know you'll have to go home the next day and you've only just now gotten to know your cabin mates and you wish camp lasted a whole 'nother week and Mr. Warren doesn't and you know a lot of you won't be coming back next year cause it's their last year as a camper and it's all very sad.

It's also the day in which we go to the lake. It was fun. Especially just floating around on these tubes we had. There were three little ones, and one big one. I think nine of us were on the three small tubes, and maybe ten or so were on the big one. The big one held those campers who liked to splash people, though. They were the Communists. We were the Allies. But we had a short truce at one point and when we were all grouped together it was a beautiful thing, almost our entire camp on black tubes of wonder. Well, looking back on it it was only half our camp. But hey. Beautiful thing of wonder and camaraderie.

We also got dragged around the lake by a boat. We were on this unsinkable floatable device, though, and Mrs. Cosgriff was under orders to not flip anybody. Except the last ride of the day, in which only the counselors went and she was allowed to try and flip them. But it was fun. I held one hand up in the air during the ride which was quite daredevil of me, if I do say so myself. (Yes, the other hand was holding on for dear life. Your point?)

That campfire, as per usual, was the best. The kids stood up and told what God had been doing in their lives that week. I stood up, too. Spoke about the accountability thing. It was amazing how many of us there were that had all experienced the camp high. Kind of like school, come to think of it. You labor through three years of Biology and Chemistry and Algebra and then they finally explain it the way they should have three years ago, because it finally makes sense. We all realized that our problem had been trying to go about the Christian life in the way it was not supposed to be gone about: alone. We also realized that technology was a beautiful thing and we could get ahold of each other very easily and it was a nice thing altogether.

And then Saturday, which is even sadder than Friday. You exchange addresses and get your shirt signed and hug each other and try not to cry and buy candy at the store and on the way home ease your sadness with chocolate. I love Rolos. Rolos remind me of Camp Elohim.

Anyway. that was a very long post too....Well, I think that's about it. Let me check for asterisks.

* Talking about you, Mitch.

** Seth (one of the guy counselors) is able to do cool things with his voice (like a cool Batman/Joker/evil guy/cool voice), and he was the voice of Jesus in the conversion of Saul. He had a great voice, this deep, drawn out voice like a masculine voice taped and then played back at half speed. It was great. He lost it towards the end (which was far longer than the boys in his cabin lasted and longer by far than the rest of the audience), but we all loved him anyway. Seth was the main perpetrator of the bird song. It's great, hearing the guys doing the falsetto.

*** I love you, Rachel! :)

so, I think that's it.