Blogprov: Winner: [Kaelia]

[ARCHIVE: One of the first times I explored a female point of view. Definitely not the last, though]

I've never understood precisely how non-dairy creamer fit into this world. More than half of all Americans over the age of eighteen, that's 107 million people, drink coffee daily on the average of three and a half cups per person. And while there isn't anything inherently wrong with it, caffeine can have addictive qualities when consumed in large quantities when consumed for long, continuous durations.

Every morning that I woke up in my mother's household, there was the smell of coffee. It was there while I stood outside the bathroom waiting for my brother to get done. It was there while I feverously blow-dried my hair. It was there while my sister and I fought over who would drive to school that day. Coffee was the smell of home. Of comfort. Of Mother.

Mom couldn't survive the day without coffee. Four daughters and two sons sapped her energy before she could take a break. She had one of those stainless-steel-and-rubber numbers with the no-spill cap in her hand at ever hour of the day. We used to joke that the cup was actually a battery and if you took it out of her hand, Mom would deactivate like a robot.

The funny thing is that as much as she needed it, she never shared her passion, even when we reached high school. She would deny us, explaining that "...you drink too much coffee and your teeth will turn brown. Then we'll see if Bobby will want to go out with you then." This in turn would make Paige mad at me, misinterpreting Mom looking at me while she spoke as an admission on my part that I had in some way conspired to steal her crush from her. How horrible a sister I was!

Mom knew this would cause trouble but continued to do this for years, substituting whatever boy Paige was swooned for and I could care less about. Finally, I got fed up and confronted her about it. "Mom, why do you keep doing this You know that I don't care about Jack," (Jack being my sister's Flavor of the Month,) "Why do you keep making up stories that I'm trying to do Paige harm?

Mom set her coffee down on the table, keeping both her hands wrapped around it for warmth. "Ginny, do you remember what I say about non-dairy creamer?"

Rolling my I eyes, I replied. "You tell us that coffee is too good to settle for less then the real thing." I was trying to avoid inter-sibling warfare and she was testing me on her supposed virtues of coffee.

"That's right. There is never a reason to settle for less than the real thing. You remember that," she nodded mysteriously, and then took a sip. And it was then that I realized what she was doing. The squabbles, the constant defending on my part, the piece-by-piece deconstruction of every fault and flaw of every boy was not for my benefit. I didn't need to tell myself why these boys weren't right, my sister did. Because deep down, she knew that her standards were also higher then these substitutes.

So, ladies, raise your lattes and join me in this toast to the bride-to-be. Paige, it's been a long wait, but your coffee is finally ready.

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Blogprov: [Dublyner]

[ARCHIVE: This blogprov ended up being very affected by my then-current emotional state. I like how I managed to write my way out of being the abuser. It adds a pitiable dimension I wouldn't have accepted had I been responsible for the act.]

Dorey was always fairly indifferent. But standing over her battered frame and tear-stained, lifeless eyes, I remembered why I used to love her. We had met through mutual friends. She had a certain pluck about her. Not too perky, not too sarcastic, perfectly complemented by her Chucks. We became fast friends, half facilitated by her relationship with Robert, my roommate. We shared a lot of common interests: indie rock, graphic design, British humor. This was good, because Rob didn’t have the same hobbies for the most part. Sure, they were lovey-dovey, gagtacularly so. But when it came down to doing stuff together, there was always a bit of a tension, and having a third party around helped to ease that.

It was very apparent that she liked to party, while he did not. He liked to stay home and rent movies. She liked big, loud rock concerts. There was middle ground, but often it was the case of one humoring the other. They really were from two different ends of the spectrum. And in the middle was me.

I was the mediator. The best friend. The counselor. I heard the best and worst about both of them. And despite my counseling to the contrary, I was always the one that knew the most. There was no communication of the inner frustrations, the hidden insecurities. They were just left on me, simultaneously vital and volatile fragments, like keys to the kingdom. So when they split up, it was me that had to pick up the pieces.

For the most part, Rob was okay. He moped for a bit, but after a week he was fine. So fine that he actually started talking shit about her. This made it interesting when listening to her sob on about how much she cared about him. And foolish me, I did my best to comfort her, to be a good friend. It was me who got her to start going out again, to start having a good time without him. And because both of us enjoyed these little experiences, they were more fun. So it was that rather then Dor and Rob, it was Dor and Ian. Which is where it all went wrong.

I saw that I could make her happy, and I wanted to do so. But when I got worked up to tell her so, she threw herself at another man. Another man who did not like dancing, had little love for cats, and could care less if music ceased to exist in the world. Another man that was neither like myself nor herself. Once again, I was robbed of my chance. So I hid away from her probing words, from her party invitations, and especially from her phone calls. To my credit, she didn't pursue strongly. It was less than a month later when we stopped talking altogether. Like the rest of her life, like Rob before me (whom she had long since stopped talking to), I became a memory, whereabouts unknown.

I saw her once more before the last time. By then I was living in New York with a couple friends. We passed on the sidewalk, me clutching a messenger bag full of articles to turn in, her with a cell phone to her ear. Our eyes locked for seconds at a time, unbroken by changed paths or bystanders walking in between. But when we passed, no words were spoken, no expressions were exchanged, no indication that the other existed.

The last time I saw her was in an alley. It was past last call, and I stumbled out to try to find a taxi. As I made my way to a busier intersection, I saw a familiar pair of Chucks next to a pile of trash. Moving several bags, I saw her there. Her throat and arms was bruised, her eyes watery and bloodshot. She was once again an unnoticed, sad girl, tossed aside by an uncaring man. And in that moment, every love-sick feeling I had for her welled up and sank my heart into my stomach, deep where it would lay until I was eighty.

Shedding no tears, I put the garbage bags back on top of the body. I ended up walking all twenty blocks home that night.

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Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow (2004)

[ARCHIVE: This review actually got published, the editor even thought it was great.]

Written for the September 30th, 2004 edition of the JHU Newsletter.

In the far flung year of 1939, the people of Gotham City live happy and healthy lives, working by day, enjoying the company of their families by night. But unbeknownst to them, their fair city is threatened by menacing mechanical monstrosities. Unstoppable, invincible, unreasonable, the armies of Dr. Totenkopf crisscross the globe, stealing materials with sinister surgical precision and then vanishing. But fear not! Up in the sky is the champion of the common man, ace flyer Sky Captain and his air pirates! Along with ace reporter Polly Perkins, his scientific sidekick Dex Dearborn and Capt. Franky Cook, the fate of the world rests on their shoulders. Go, Sky Captain, fight for everlasting freedom!

A throwback to the old radio and movie serials of yesteryear, Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow hits you like a breath of old, recycled air: stale to some people, full of intrigue and wonder for others. First-time director Kerry Conran started the film in his own one-man studio with a single computer to his name. His goal: to make a film that, aside from the actors and incidental props, was entirely computer-generated. Along the line, Paramount Pictures decided to finance his dream, turning an independent film into a blockbuster production.

And what a production it is. Like a mad scientist, Conran lifts set pieces and sequences from the best stories of decades past, stitching and massaging the numerous sources into one cohesive whole that is simultaneously familiar yet fresh. Nostalgic but polished, Sky Captain handles like an old Max Fleischer Superman cartoon, right down to the reporter love-interest. The futuristic technologies of the robots are bright and streamlined, the complicated and unimportant inner workings hidden behind broad sheets of flawless steel. Every shot is color treated and softened until it resembles a faded, grainy film print. Retaliation against the robots is shown with bold, iconic silhouettes of machine gun fire. Even the antagonist Dr. Totenkopf is played by former screen legend Sir Laurence Olivier (who's been dead for more than a decade!).

But the source of the film's charm its most apparent fault are one and the same: its reliance on the classic stories, both real and fictional. The Empire State Building could be mistaken for the real one in New York, until a zeppelin (the Heindenburg III) docks near the spire. Polly's narration of the advancement of the robots on Gotham City is an easy homage to War of the Worlds. Even the monstrous lizard-like silhouette in the photograph of a Japanese skyline hints at a continuous world shared by these narratives. The movie positively soaks in the juices of its predecessors.

While this self-awareness works from a visual and audible sense, it causes the narrative to falter a bit. From the proper perspective, one might forgive the fairly straightforward the plot: good guy fights bad guy, love interest falls for protagonist, the hero saves his buddy and then gets saved by buddy, scheming evildoers chew the scenery over the obligatory menacing chord. From a general view, the lack of twists and unforeseeable dramatic moments can be disappointing. By the end of the movie, the audience is so antsy for a surprise that they would wholeheartedly endorse a supporting character, any of them, in stabbing our hero in the back.

Thankfully, the crisp dialogue and favorable acting go a long way towards making the movie enjoyable. On her own, Gwyneth Paltrow (as Polly Perkins) is somewhat flat. It is all too apparent that she's delivering her lines on an empty stage in front of a blue screen. Something in her chemistry with her Talented Mr. Ripley co-star Jude Law (Joe "Sky Captain" Sullivan) brings her delivery above standard. Law does his own character justice, equal parts competent, loyal, tested and dashing. The conversations between former sweethearts Perkins and Sullivan ripple with palpable tension.

Likewise, Giovanni Ribisi (Boiler Room, Saving Pvt. Ryan) delivers a solid performance as Dex Dearborn, so much so that it feels like the character is constantly being held back and never given a proper moment to shine. But surprisingly it is Angelina Jolie (Tomb Raider; Girl, Interrupted) who steals the scene. Potentially a cliche character, Franky Cook is instead a strong female lead, formidable for her talents and, while attractive, never a cheesecake "bad girl." One wonders what might have been had Jolie been given more scenes to work with.

The anachronisms of Sky Captain are its most distinguishing features. A movie so intent on mimicking movie serials that scenes and pacing wraps neatly into fifteen minute segments. For many, it's a great romp in the history of (fictional) scientific adventuring. For more, it's just a pretty-looking popcorn movie. There are far worse movies to spend money on and few as potentially eye-opening. The future of the film depends on those with an appreciative eye on the past.

3.5 (out of 5)
This movie is Rated PG

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