OK, can we talk?!
Daniel Craig...go ahead, drink him in....
I admit, when it was first announced he'd be playing Bond, James Bond, I couldn't picture the blond on Bond. But, a few seconds into the film....ahhhh
This chiseled, impish, Peck's bad boy is perfect for the part. Why would James - suave, yes, fit, of course, intelligent, indubitably - be anything but arrogant and egotistical and proud of it?
Craig carries all of that off and more. His blue eyes flash to perfect synchronization in the script at every breath. Wait, I need to catch mine right now.
This is the first Bond film I will own. Not only does it have a plot filled with emotion as well as action, but, it has...Daniel Craig.
I remember him from "Road to Perdition," my favorite Tom Hanks' film, but that's about it. I see Craig is slated to play Lucifer in an upcoming film. Fitting. Just keep him as 007.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Friday, February 23, 2007
Our Greatest Fear
I read it in my local paper, but David Letterman has been talking about it for days now in his opening monologue.
I can't get it out of my head.
Vincenzo Ricardo, 70, was dead for a year, his body was partially mummified when found, in front of a droning television set.
A year, dead. No one noticed? No one? Come on - not even the cable guy?
Okay, so he lived alone. But he had some contact with the outside world, right? Even if it was just his tax person?
No one noticed his absence. His disappearance went unchecked. His constant television noise was laughed off by neighbors.
What kind of community is Hampton Bays, New York? Doesn't the absence of one person get noticed? Is is so unlike our towns? Apparently not.
And that's where the fear comes in. When we're trying to sleep at night, when we ask ourselves those big questions - why am I here? what does it matter? - we don't really want the answer, we dread the answer, Vincenzo got.
Rest in peace.
I can't get it out of my head.
Vincenzo Ricardo, 70, was dead for a year, his body was partially mummified when found, in front of a droning television set.
A year, dead. No one noticed? No one? Come on - not even the cable guy?
Okay, so he lived alone. But he had some contact with the outside world, right? Even if it was just his tax person?
No one noticed his absence. His disappearance went unchecked. His constant television noise was laughed off by neighbors.
What kind of community is Hampton Bays, New York? Doesn't the absence of one person get noticed? Is is so unlike our towns? Apparently not.
And that's where the fear comes in. When we're trying to sleep at night, when we ask ourselves those big questions - why am I here? what does it matter? - we don't really want the answer, we dread the answer, Vincenzo got.
Rest in peace.
Friday, February 16, 2007
V-Day, Peace, possibilities
Another long week. What is it? The weather (cold), the time of year (dark), the semester (mid)? Oh, well - it's Friday, and most of my colleagues are gone. I'm just about out the door, off to a work meeting, believe it or not, and a weekend of papers to grade. Ahh, the glories of professing.
We did our bi-annual V-Day program here - a special, benefit performance of Eve Ensler's "The Vagina Monologues," to raise money for a local shelter that fights violence against girls and women (Eve's purpose in life) - Peace, basically.
But, little did I know that the performance would enrage a person - not because of the sex, sex parts, vulgar language, etc., but because of the political implications of a few words, words that innocently and ignorantly fell from the lips of student performers, who had no idea that names of places can elicit anger, sadness, rage, homesickness...
After some thoughtful discussions with the person offended, and an engaging communications class this morning, I pulled up a world map, and really looked (sort of like Bob in the "Vagina Monologues" piece, if you know what I mean). What I saw were many names and places I have not one iota of knowledge about, even though the names were familiar and the places identifiable. I had no idea what was really going on in someone else's backyard, and dammit, I should know. I am supposedly an educated person. I know much of the world keeps an eye on North America. Why don't I see other places, spaces, borders, boundaries, hardships, cries for justice? Isn't Ensler's piece as much about love and peace as it is women and respect? Aren't someone's daily fears of bombings, rapes, mutilations my fears, too?
No. Not in peaceful middle America. And, understandably so, not every day, or hour, of my life. But, I am seriously considering broadening my daily responsibility to peace and care to a more global awareness, a broader view. My backyard is endless. I needed someone to remind me, something to jar me out of complacency.
We did our bi-annual V-Day program here - a special, benefit performance of Eve Ensler's "The Vagina Monologues," to raise money for a local shelter that fights violence against girls and women (Eve's purpose in life) - Peace, basically.
But, little did I know that the performance would enrage a person - not because of the sex, sex parts, vulgar language, etc., but because of the political implications of a few words, words that innocently and ignorantly fell from the lips of student performers, who had no idea that names of places can elicit anger, sadness, rage, homesickness...
After some thoughtful discussions with the person offended, and an engaging communications class this morning, I pulled up a world map, and really looked (sort of like Bob in the "Vagina Monologues" piece, if you know what I mean). What I saw were many names and places I have not one iota of knowledge about, even though the names were familiar and the places identifiable. I had no idea what was really going on in someone else's backyard, and dammit, I should know. I am supposedly an educated person. I know much of the world keeps an eye on North America. Why don't I see other places, spaces, borders, boundaries, hardships, cries for justice? Isn't Ensler's piece as much about love and peace as it is women and respect? Aren't someone's daily fears of bombings, rapes, mutilations my fears, too?
No. Not in peaceful middle America. And, understandably so, not every day, or hour, of my life. But, I am seriously considering broadening my daily responsibility to peace and care to a more global awareness, a broader view. My backyard is endless. I needed someone to remind me, something to jar me out of complacency.
Friday, February 9, 2007
Attitude mixed with a bit of yoga
It's been an exhausting week at the small college I call home. So much drama, sickness, sadness, for staff and students alike. I think it's the mid-winter blaahhs...at least I hope so.
Attitude is everything. I think I've said this 50 times this week, to students despairing over job applications, boyfriends, coursework, home life, health issues. Who knew my college psychology courses would come in so handy? It's not so much the situation, but how you perceive it. Throughout the week, my "Doctor is in" sign has been flying high.
Some of my colleagues intimate I care too much. They are right. I need to learn to let them fend for themselves - they are adults, right? But, when I look into their bloodshot, puppy dog eyes, see their dirty jeans, give them that extra dime or quarter they need for a cold Dew, I realize I was there once, and someone helped me.
It's karma, my yoga instructor reminds me. Yes, yoga. Me, in yoga. Me, who can barely sit cross-legged. It has been fun, though, and I absolutely adore the meditation period...wow...nine-minute nirvana.
Back to the hoards. They need a break, but Spring Break is three long weeks off. Oh, well, they'll cope. They do have youth on their side, after all. I don't, just some yoga moves. Namaste.
Attitude is everything. I think I've said this 50 times this week, to students despairing over job applications, boyfriends, coursework, home life, health issues. Who knew my college psychology courses would come in so handy? It's not so much the situation, but how you perceive it. Throughout the week, my "Doctor is in" sign has been flying high.
Some of my colleagues intimate I care too much. They are right. I need to learn to let them fend for themselves - they are adults, right? But, when I look into their bloodshot, puppy dog eyes, see their dirty jeans, give them that extra dime or quarter they need for a cold Dew, I realize I was there once, and someone helped me.
It's karma, my yoga instructor reminds me. Yes, yoga. Me, in yoga. Me, who can barely sit cross-legged. It has been fun, though, and I absolutely adore the meditation period...wow...nine-minute nirvana.
Back to the hoards. They need a break, but Spring Break is three long weeks off. Oh, well, they'll cope. They do have youth on their side, after all. I don't, just some yoga moves. Namaste.
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