Happily Ever After

Once upoon a time there was a girl who went through life thinking that she was complete in her own self. On one seemingly humdrum day she came upon something so beautiful – something so flawlessly wonderful – that her niave misconceptions were quickly forgotten.

To be completely honest, I am rather suprised that I didn’t see this coming. ModCloth has challenged all of my stylistic ideals since the day I first came upon the miraculous link to thrifty and unique fashion finds. First there was the Unicorn Princess Heel, followed by the Pewter and Black spinoffs. But really, nothing quite says ‘fairytale’ like The Unicorn Princess Heel in Gold. I am besotted. Does anyone else hear the chorous? The bells? The harp?

I know, right.

The Unicorn Princess Heel in Gold by Jeffrey Campbell

Golly.

Not to say that this is the end of all shoes – and it isn’t like I am about to give up my love afair with oxfords and Mary Janes – but as far as peculiar, pretty, out-shinning party heels go… Yeah.

Endearing Sentiments

I am in favor of saving humanity from the impending devastation that industrialism and overconsumption have been catalyst to at an unprecedented rate. It’d be nice to have a recognizable ecosystem in the future. Indeed, I quite liked playing with fire for an hour most, to be completely honest. I find Earth Hour to be an wonderful social experiment. I am pleased to have observe an increase of 30% in participation of my immediate neighbourhood. Last year, about 10% of my street participated. Hopefully next year even more people will take part. Granted it is possible that people weren’t at home &etc but I distinctly noted less garage lights and/or porch lights lit. So there, take that cynicism. Hmm.

I like trees, they are home to the only leafs I like.

Birthday.

It is 10 March for another fifteen minutes.

Happy birthday, darling.

You know, surely by now you must know, I love you. Dearly.

Unsure limp is love.

Comme vous voulez.

I love blue eyes. I love thieves. I love liars. I love stories that manage to say things without telling anything. I love it when a character is so appealing in every way that, despite his legal and moral deviance, one cannot but want him to win.

I find Jef Costello to be all that is clever and menacing.

Too much.

I admire fanciful minds.

I quite like the fact of fiction. There is nothing more human than creating situations. I  wish I were better at inventing ridiculous lies. What can be more fun than fooling people. Convincing people. Convincing oneself.

I want a type writer.

Type writers are wonderful.

Harold Meadows is my forever hero. Indeed, the spectacles worn by dear Harold are more than enough to make me swoon, let alone the fact that he writes and his mildly peculiar eating habits… And his endearing fumbling and stuttering at the fluttery eyed Mary is all too much for my little heart to handle; he really did break it rather thoroughly. For the love of cracker jacks. The cad. Good show.

I want those sexy glasses.

I truly believe that they have a magical quality about them. They add intensity to his self righteous quest, I think.

I have never seen a chase sequence quite so impressive. Ever.

Oh, how I adore the precursors of the nerdfighter. Can there be anything more thoroughly wonderful and endearing?

There is always time for a cheeky mixer

I really should be sleeping like a log, but here I find myself doing quite the opposite. I am rather unequivocally drawn to cheeky groups of silly men. Particularly when I should probably be studying for a certain midterm. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. So it goes, I suppose.  A Hard Days Night has really made me love The Beatles. I mean, I always sort of liked them, but more often than not found myself looking critically at the hype and hubbub and proceed to wander off and listen to Pulp or something. I’ve long since known that it is of the utmost importance to look past said hype and hubbub to see if there is anything of genuine interest in the mix of all the screaming fangirls, and, in this case in particular, boy is there. I love George Harrison. Its that brow, his teeth and his eloquence. I cannot but find myself rather thoroughly endeared to eloquent speakers. And that Ringo is quite the character. It’s his nose, it lends him such an air of a distinguished gentleman, it really is no wonder he gets the most fanmail. Oh, how four nutters up to boyish tomfoolery can thoroughly entertain me for a little over an hour. Help! is sad in that way. It doesn’t have that quality of genuinely spontaneous humor. It’s so constricted and contrived. Not that I’ve a right to harp on Help! I think I love Help! actually, but for a completely different, possibly condescending, reason. At any rate, it was Grandfather McCartney that made the film wonderful. The “king mixer” had them all going at each other in such a masterful way. Cheers to him.

Of course I did mention that tonight was the night of boyish tomfoolery. Graucho, Harpo and Chico are quite the mixers, if I do say so. I think that if I were to watch A Night at the Opera five times in one night I could easily find something wonderful to obsess and *squee* over every time. That Ricardo Baroni, as played by Allan Jones, is exactly the type of man that a woman can swoon over – repeatedly. Take that Alec Baldwin. Oh that Otis – he is my kind of lovely if there ever was one… I think that he is so perfect in delivery and timing. Although I’ll admit that I find myself rolling my eyes every few minutes, I can’t but find myself irresistibly drawn in by the humor and the story. The story really works in a wonderful and honest way. They are mixers, they are cheeky, but they’ve a glorious amount of heart. I know, sappy, shut up. I love it.

I love that I am endlessly fascinated and pleased with the versatility and sheer amount of gags, jokes, insults, and human moments that come to pass in films that last a reasonable amount of time. I wish that there were more filmakers around that could make such moments of utter perfection, but then, it’s not every day that one encounters characters such as The Marx Brothers or The Beatles.

So it goes.

I have a thing for war. Not the actual fact of it or anything nutters like that, I simply have a soft spot for stories about people in horrible inexplicable situations. And really, what is more inexplicable and horrible than war? Indeed, what is more human?

There is something inherently endearing about Billy Pilgrim. He is such a simple person – the most fascinating type of person there is really. The eloquence and ease of The Children’s Crusade is as worrisome and wonderful as I could have ever hoped for it to be from that epic first line. I  invariably love the lost feeling I experience with those maddening temporal transitions – the movement and pace let me breath while reading. Death. I like it. I like how he dismisses it. It frightens me in a delightful way. I can’t help but compare it with The Wars and I love that it more than holds its own; as much as I try my mind won’t let go of that dratted idea of Canadian and American perspectives. It is WWI that facsinates me. I am eternally greatfully that I hadn’t heard many a review from others before I myself got a chance to read it – as has occurred too many times with so many other books, films, songs &ct. I like being unspoilt. Particularly by opinions. Is that horrible?

I think not.

I find myself quite taken in by those Tralfamadore folk – I believe this stems from my obsession with time and my abhorrence of clocks.

dream of  altar

road tar flame

male rat of rad

oft’ lame  radar

ol’ fart are mad

I am only slightly more than half way through and have high hopes for another Vonnegut… and soon. Funny how Slaughterhouse Five is my first Vonnegut and I am planning to proceed with Israel Potter – my first Melville.

Quip quip.