Jan 25, 2011

When I was reading Frankenstein...

"We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;
How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver,
Streaking the darkness radiantly! -yet soon
Night closes round, and they are lost for ever:


Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings
Give various response to each varying blast,
To whose frail frame no second motion brings
One mood or modulation like the last.


We rest. -A dream has power to poison sleep;
We rise. -One wandering thought pollutes the day;
We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;
Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away:


It is the same! -For, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free:
Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but Mutablilty."


by P.B. Shelley, Husband's Mary Shelley


Jan 8, 2011

Little Miss Sunshine


The Hoover family treks from Albuquerque to the Little Miss Sunshine pageant in Redondo Beach, California, to fulfill the deepest wish of 7-year-old Olive, an ordinary little girl with big dreams. Along the way the family must deal with crushed dreams, heartbreaks, and a broken-down VW bus, leading up to the surreal Little Miss Sunshine competition itself. On their travels through this bizarre landscape, the Hoovers learn to trust and support each other along the path of life, no matter what the challenge.


"Grandpa: Again with the fucking chicken.
Richard: Dad.
Grandpa: It's always with the goddamn fucking chicken"

Dec 17, 2010

Dec 13, 2010

Ode to Morgan Freeman














"Morgan Freeman, Oh Freeman,
 Morgan Freeman, jet, Oh Morgan Freeman" 

Nov 11, 2010

Sinopsis




"This is a story about a man named Harold Crick. And his wristwatch. Harold Crick was a man of infinite numbers endless calculations and remarkably few words. And his wristwatch said even less.


Every weekday, for 12 years. Harold would brush each of his 32 teeth 76 times. Thirty-eight times back and forth. Thirty-eight times up and down. Every weekday, for 12 years Harold would tie his tie in a single Windsor knot instead of the double thereby saving up to 43 seconds. His wristwatch thought the single Windsor made his neck look fat but said nothing.



 Every weekday, for 12 years Harold would run at a rate of nearly 57 steps per block for six blocks barely catching the 8:17h Kronecker bus. His wristwatch would delight in the feeling of the crisp wind rushing over its face. And every weekday, for 12 years Harold would review 7134 tax files as a senior agent for the Internal Revenue Service. Only taking a 45. 7-minute lunch break and a 4.3-minute coffee break timed precisely by his wristwatch.

 Beyond that, Harold lived a life of solitude. He would walk home alone. He would eat alone. And at precisely 23:13h every night Harold would go to bed alone placing his wristwatch to rest on the nightstand beside him."





 After ten years of work, novelist Karen Eiffel is about to complete his latest and potentially better book. The last challenge that remains is to think how to kill her main character, Harold Crick. Little does she know that Harold Crick is inexplicably alive is real life, and suddenly aware of her words. Fiction and reality collide when the bewildered and resistant Harold hears what you have in mind and realizes he must find a way to change the ending.