ETA at 11:45 at night:
Ok. I got my picture of the day (see above) of the outside of where the Celtic [hard c] Women were singing. It’s a very, very boring picture. Cameras weren’t allowed inside. Mom was nervous about me even trying to bring in Clarrisse. “What if they confiscate her?” So…I was stuck with this very dull picture. Maybe tomorrow I’ll talk about the concert. One thing: they sang both Danny Boy and Ave Maria, so you know the music was pretty. Finally–a pretty song stuck in my head!!
Back to the post, as it was written at 3:00 today:
What to do about the picture of the day and the blog? What to do?
Today, I’ll be going with Mom to see the Celtic Woman concert in Hershey, PA. I’ll be leaving the house at 4:00 (and still haven’t showered/dressed yet), and probably won’t get home until after 11:00.
In order to make my date stamp correct on my blog, I’ll have to post something before 4:00, but I won’t have my picture yet. So….I’ll ramble on about nothing, post the blog by 4:00, come home and post a picture of the concert, or dinner, or something, after the fact.
Here’s the ramble:
First the aches and pains. This morning I wrestled Boy9 to the floor and he decided to try the cool move he’s seen on TV. That move where you’re in a fight and you smash your own head into your opponents head? Yeah. That move. Turns out that it hurts…both parties. As he rubbed his head he mused, with an analytical murmur, “Huh. I didn’t think it would hurt. It never seems to hurt the person doing the hitting on TV…” We both had headaches for the next half hour.
Second, I tried to cover the window so that the light wouldn’t glare on Juan. I attempted to do this while stretching on my toes and not standing on the couch, like normal, and I think I pulled a muscle in my upper back. It really must be nice to be tall. I get an extra 3 inches when I wear my Super Hero boots. Maybe I should wear them all the time.
Speaking of short and tall, Scott sounded a little sad that I didn’t include his posed apron shots the other day, so here they are (since I don’t have another picture of the day to post yet. )
If I had the time, I could write a whole post about how men like having goofy pictures taken of themselves, but women won’t even let you take nice pictures of them when they’re all dressed up and looking good. “No, no. I look so bad today, don’t take my picture.” Remember Vince insisting that I post the pictures of him lying on the floor and drinking from the carton? I think I’m going to let people take whatever pictures they want, and let the chips fall where they may. Go ahead—snap away! It sounds very freeing to be like that.
After the head-butt and pulled muscle, I had a lovely, refreshing cry today. Boy6 read a book about the Titanic, and we’re getting close to 1912 in Boy9’s history, so I decided to show them the scenes from the movie Titanic where the ship goes down. They were curious how it looked as it sunk. We fast forwarded through all the silliness about Jack being imprisoned and whatnot.
But even though we fast forwarded, I’d forgotten how sad the movie is. So, we’re watching, and I start sniffling, and Boy9 wants to know if Jack and Rose die in the end. I tried to tell him, and ended up having to hold up a finger and squeak out, “Wait,” while I tried to compose myself. “He died in the water, and Rose lived a, wait,…” finger up….”long time, until she died, too, and, wait….” finger up…. “she went to heaven and Jack met her on the staircase, and wait…” finger up…gasping sob, squeak, “and they finally got to be together.” Boy9 said, “We don’t have to keep watching it, if it upsets you.” “No, no! It’s for your (sniff)…education.”
I had been holding it together somewhat until that scene where the Irish mother is tucking her little curly red-haired children in bed because they can’t get out of the lower decks, and they’re all going to drown together. We fast forwarded through it, but the idea was just so sad that we didn’t need to watch it for me to crumple and sniffle.
The mother is the same actress that plays John Connor’s foster mother in T2. So, in between feeling sad about her and her little dead children, I can’t stop thinking of her with her liquid metal finger piercing the milk carton…and John Connor’s foster father’s brain….
I liked T2 best of all the Terminator movies. Terminator was good as it established the story. But the special effects couldn’t keep up and Sarah Connor was whiny and annoying and wimpy.
T2 was pure awesomeness through and through, and I always get a little teary-eyed at the ending when the Terminator had to kill himself. Well, he can’t self-terminate, so Sarah has to lower him into the liquid steel. She was whiny and annoying and wimpy in Terminator, but she was a little too tough in T2, which was annoying in its own way.
Terminator 3 wasn’t any good because the John Connor actor wasn’t as cool as the kid in T2. But I was kinda glad that the machines took over in the end. We all wanted it to happen. You know we did. It was inevitable. Let everything crash and burn and then worry about picking up the pieces later.
Which is what they tried to do, a bit, in Salvation, but it wasn’t a movie. It was just an episode. If you’re going to make a movie, it needs to be more complete in itself. And again, John Connor wasn’t tough enough. I still see Christian Bale as the skinny guy from Little Women that Jo refused to marry. (That’s a sad scene, too. Jo should have married him.) I still can’t see him as Batman either. I especially hate how his voice sounds in the Batman movies. But I generally don’t like the Batman movies anyway.
Ok, ok. This is a boring blog today, but it’ll have to do. Hopefully tonight I’ll come home with a pretty song stuck in my head instead of the annoying songs that are usually there.