begins one minute past twelve a.m. september first / concludes midnight november thirtieth. you may NOT use a movie you have already seen, even in part (excluding trailers), for this challenge. all films MUST be new to you. each title chosen for the challenge may be used ONLY ONCE, i.e. a movie used for the starring robert downey, jr. category may not be used for the about pride category. all selections MUST have a page on the internet movie database and MUST have (had) a theatrical release. made for television movies are not allowed.

to be eligible for prizes, you must be a member of the fall film challenge facebook group. there are nine photo albums on the group's page. those galleries, arranged by decade, contain a collective eleven hundred film stills, many of which represent selections from previous challenges. once a challenger has seen a film, he or she leaves a comment on the photo saying when it was viewed and for what category so i can track progress.

with regard to scoring, i've altered the deal this year. as in the past, each film is valued at ten points. however, new this year, if you choose a film selected AND viewed by another for a previous challenge -- see kathryn's comment in the above photo -- you'll get an additional two points. for every change you make to your list, you lose three points, so choose wisely. 

the first five people to complete the challenge prior to november thirtieth will each receive a redbox gift card valued at ten dollars. if you complete the original list, you will be eligible to compete in the bonus round, the details of which will be revealed october fifteenth. the person to accumulate the most points will receive an amazon gift card valued at fifty dollars. 

once you've joined the group and selected your films for the categories, post your list to the group's page or email it to criticalcrass at me dot com so i may add your selections to a master list and, if necessary, upload the correlating stills to the galleries. posting of the list is another requirement for prize eligibility.

the categories:

one. starring anthony hopkins.

two. listed on nathan bransford's best hundred movies challenge.

three. about charity: an organization, an individual, a cause, an act... interpret this as you will.

four. starring robert downey, jr.

five. about envy: a character, a plot device... use your imagination.

six. about faith. 

seven. about greed.

eight. about hope.

nine. starring jeremy irons.

ten. about justice.

eleven. starring kevin bacon.

twelve. about lust.

thirteen. starring ian mckellen.

fourteen. set in a castle.

fifteen. about fortitude.

sixteen. about pride.

seventeen. starring alan rickman.

eighteen. released last year and reviewed on slothsandmovies.com. 

nineteen. about temperance.

twenty. about prudence.

twenty-one. starring val kilmer.

twenty-two. about wrath.

twenty-three. set in an exotic locale.

twenty-four. about gluttony.

twenty-five. set in space.

in the past i've given yall helpful links. you're on your own this time. get to it.

motion picture monday

one. less than zero.
released: 1987.
starring: robert downey, jr., andrew mccarthy, james spader.
what makes it awesome: rdj's performance is haunting.

two. heart and souls.
released: 1993.
starring: rdj, tom sizemore, kyra sedgwick.
what makes it awesome: it's kind of silly. and every now and then you need a silly, and sweet, movie in your life.

three. only you.
released: 1994.
starring: rdj, marisa tomei, bonnie hunt.
what makes it awesome: also silly and sweet. and he's especially adorable here.

four. iron man.
released: 2008.
starring: rdj, jeff bridges, terrence howard.
what makes it awesome: rdj. no one could do tony stark better than this dude.

five. sherlock holmes.
released: 2009.
starring: rdj, jude law, rachel mcadams.
what makes it awesome: rdj as sherlock and law as watson.

six. the avengers.
released: 2012.
starring: rdj, chris hemsworth, jeremy renner.
what makes it awesome: the a handful of hot men with mad, mad skills.

seven. the judge.
released: 2014.
starring: rdj, robert duvall, billy bob thornton.
what makes it awesome: the story. and rdj, of course.

the difference a decade makes

let's ignore the giant bag at my hip, yeah, and focus on the smallness of my waist and the prettiness of my hair (that's after flying overnight, yall. it looks pretty good for no sleep on a cramped plane) and the thinness of my arms.

let's consider that i thought i was fat then.

let's pray that i can find the stamina and self-love to reclaim some semblance of that because my gut is bigger than my boobs, now, and my hair... GAH.

caraval

why i wanted to read it: because the cover appealed to me, the letters at the beginning intrigued me, and the story sounded like it might be cool. and for erin's book challenge, it meets the published in 'seventeen category. but mostly it's because i dig the title.

what i liked: scarlett's feelings came in colors even brighter than usual. the urgent red of burning coals. the eager green of new grass buds. the frenzied yellow of a flapping bird's feathers (page 12).

"lovely seeing you, scarlett." julian smiled, as cool and seductive as a slice of shade in the hot season.

scarlett knew the polite response would be something along the lines of "good to see you, too." but all she could think about were his hands, still coiled around tella's periwinkle skirts, playing with the tassels on her bustle, as if she were a parcel he couldn't wait to unwrap.

julian had only been on the isle of trisda about a month. when he'd swaggered off his ship, tall and handsome, with golden-brown skin, he'd drawn almost every woman's eye. even scarlett's head had turned briefly, but she'd known better than to look any longer (page 13).

"i think you've forgotten how to live, and your sister is trying to remind you," julian went on. "but if all you want is safety, i'll take you back" (page 49).

inside the house, violin music, richer than the darkest chocolate, started playing. it seeped outside and whispered to scarlett as julian's smile turned seductive, all shameless curves and immoral promises. an invitation to places that proper young ladies didn't think about, let alone visit. scarlett didn't want to imagine what sorts of things this smile had convinced other girls to do (page 87).

scarlett broke off as a man in cheap velveteen pants and a brown bowler hat kicked a piece of stained glass. something glittery and red sparkled beneath it.

"no! you can't take those." scarlett lunged toward the man, but the moment he saw her interest, his own ignited into something stronger. he snatched the precious earrings from the floor and bolted to the door. 

she ran after him, but he was quick and her arms were burdened. she was only halfway down the hall when he made it to the rickety stairs.

"here, let me hold those." the pregnant girl was beside her in the hall. "i'll be right here when you get back," she promised. 

scarlett didn't want to let go of what she'd gathered, but she really couldn't lose those earrings. dropping her things in the girl's open arms, scarlett clutched the bottom of her snowy skirt and tried to catch up with the man... outside, the world was nightfall and daybreak all at once... the man had disappeared.

it shouldn't have mattered. they were only earrings. but they weren't only earrings. they were scarlets.

scarlet stones for scarlett, her mother had said. a final present before she had left... they were a piece of her mother, and a reminder that governor dragna had once been a different man (pages 126-127).

what sucked: sometimes the writing's really cheesy. it aims for sweet and strives to be chock full of imagery and to further the sense of wonder the story has, but sometimes it's more syrupy and saccharine than sweet.

having said that: i dig the story. it's fantastical and clever and complex... made me think a little bit of the theatrics and exploits of logan and his friends in gilmore girls. i like scarlett and julian a lot. so much so that i'll read this again. the ending's pretty badass, though maybe there's some predictability to it. it's four hundred pages, and usually i cringe when authors take that long to tell a story, but i didn't mind it here. i'd like more of this, please.

splintered

why i wanted to read it: because one of the categories for erin's book challenge is a novel with an animal on the cover. this one's got bugs and butterflies on it. also at a writer's conference last year, i met a woman who, if memory serves, had something to do with the cover design and liked her.

it's important to note that the book is a spin of alice's adventures in wonderland, and i've never liked that story. so i was not as eager to read this as i have been for other selections.

what i liked: he jerks his gaze back to the dashboard. "if you hadn't been ignoring my calls, i could've already taken a look at your engine. you shouldn't drive this until it's fixed."

"gizmo's fine. just a little hoarse. maybe he needs to gargle some salt water."

"this isn't a joke. what are you going to do if you get stalled out in the middle of nowhere?"

i twirl a strand of hair around my finger. "hmm. show some cleavage to a passing trucker?"

jeb's jaw clenches. "that's not funny."

i giggle. "oh, come on. i'm kidding. all it would really take is a little leg."

his lips curve slightly, but the smile is gone in a blink. "this from the girl who's never even had a first kiss."

he's always teased that i'm a mix between skate glam and american sweetheart. looks like i've just been downgraded to prude. 

i groan. it won't do any good to deny it. "fine. i would call someone on my cell and wait safely in my car with all the doors locked and mace in hand until help arrived. there, do i get a cookie?" (pages 24-25).

"how adorable," i mock. "taelor gave you lip jewelry... and it's sparkly."

he nudges the piercing with his tongue. "she's trying to be diplomatic."

anger rises in a white-hot surge as i remember london and all the things taelor said to me. "of course she is. because she's eight kinds of wonderful, and that's just her legs."

jeb furrows his brow. "what's that supposed to mean?"

"taelor has all the diplomacy of a black widow spider. garnet's her birthstone. you're wearing her birthday on your lip. talk about spinning you up in her web." ... i turn around, but he follows me into the entryway. rounding on him before he can cross into the living room, i fold my arms over my bustier, trying to subdue the urge to punch him. "you can't come in without an invitation."

he leans a shoulder against alison's framed photo of a wheat field at harvest. "that so?" his boot heel nudges the door behind him, shutting out the storm and the scent of rain. "last i checked, i wasn't a vampire," he says, his voice low. 

my fists clench tighter, and i step backward onto the line of carpet that borders the edge of the living room. "you sure have a lot in common with one."

"because i suck?"  (pages 77-79).

perched on my hands and knees at the hole's edge, i have a moment of doubt. i weigh a lot more than a piece of plastic and some batteries. maybe i should push in a few heavy rocks, just to be sure.

"al!"

the shout from behind me makes me scramble. dirt gives way beneath my hands. screaming, i clutch at empty air and tumble in. 

inside, the hole widens. more like a feather on a breeze than a skydiver, i float, my position shifting from vertical to horizontal. my stomach quivers, trying to adjust to weightlessness.

overhead, someone dives in after me.

in seconds, he latches onto my wrist and tugs to align our bodies.

it's impossible...

"jeb?"

his arms lock us together, his gaze intent on the slowly passing scenery. "sweet mother of--"

"stuff and nonsense," i interrupt with a quote from the original wonderland book. "how are you here?"

"where is here?" he asks, mesmerized by our surroundings... after a few minutes, jeb eases us an arm's length apart and stars at me -- into me.

"how?" i whisper, still unable to grasp that he's here.

he pales, shaking his head. "i... i slipped on the porch in the rain. that has to be it. yeah, that's why i'm wet. i'm dreaming this now. but..." he presses our foreheads together and i make a mental note of every other place our bodies touch. his hands glide up my rib cage before stopping on either side of my face. "you feel real," he whispers, his hot breath mingling with mine. every point of contact between us heats to white flame. "and you're so pretty."

okay, that's proof he's delusional and in shock. first off, he's never said anything like that to me. second, my makeup has to look like soggy newspapers by now (pages 93-94).

"find your courage. look down. your show is about to begin."

i shake my head, eyes clamped tightly. "we're too high... it makes my stomach kick."

he laughs and inhales a puff off the hookah then blows the smoke over me, saturating me in the comforting scent. "that's how you know you're alive, alyssa. the kicks" (page 174).

what sucked: shit like this: jeb cradles me tighter, which makes it hard not to notice how close we are: my hands locked around his neck, his chest rubbing against my ribs... those biceps pressed to my shoulder blade and knee (page 13). so when a guy's carrying a gal, using phrases like this to describe the closeness and the chemistry has the opposite effect. i cringe. like seriously? his chest rubbing my ribs? those biceps pressed to my shoulder blade and knee? that's supposed to make me swoon? GAH.

and the ending -- not the climax but the crap that comes after -- is lame. really, really lame. utterly redonkulus.

having said that: it's clever and engaging, even when the writing's shit. and i liked its story MUCH more than i liked alice's adventures in wonderland. i like alyssa and jeb and morpheus. i don't like them or the story well enough to read any of the others.

belle

why i wanted to read it: because for this round of erin's book challenge, we were supposed to select a book based on or inspired a disney flick. i'd seen this one before. i picked it because it was two hundred four pages, i liked the rose on the cover, and i thought i would like this version of beauty and the beast. 

what i liked: "everything is beautiful in its own way, ma belle, even if you have to look hard to find it" (page 35).

"i think it's because my name is wrong. it doesn't match my face. i shouldn't be called belle because i'm not beautiful... that's why monsieur legrand couldn't see me. he looked for a face to go with theirs, a beautiful face. only i don't have one. you can ask maman if you don't believe me. she knows it's true. i saw it in her eyes."

my father looked as though i'd taken the piece of wood i'd been carving and knocked him over the head with it.

"why, belle," he murmured. "belle."

"but that's just the problem, don't you understand?" i cried out. "i'm not beautiful. my name is nothing but a lie... couldn't i be annabelle?" i asked. "i think, maybe...maybe if people weren't expecting to see a beauty in the first place, it might be easier when it turns out i'm not." 

my father was silent for several moments more, just long enough that i had to resist squirming within the circle of his arms.

"annabelle is a fine name," he said at last. "it was my mother's name and i chose it for you myself. but i'm not so sure that changing what you're called will accomplish what you want it to, my little one... anyone with the right eyes and heart to match will see your beauty, belle. if not at first, then for the long run... i think you have a gift, belle... i would like it if you could believe that true beauty springs from the same place" (page 41-45).

unhappy memories are persistent. they're specific, and it's the details that refuse to leave us alone. though a happy memory may stay with you just as long as one that makes you miserable, what you remember softens over time. what you recall is simply that you were happy, not necessarily the individual moments that brought about your joy.

but the memory of something painful does just the opposite. it retains its original shape, all bony fingers and pointy elbows. every time it returns, you get a quick poke in the eye or jab in the stomach... i'd like to say what happened that first afternoon with grand-pere alphonse, the pity i had heard in my mother's voice even as she held me in her arms, came to make no difference in our relationship. but that would be a lie... for every time my mother spoke my name, every time she looked at me, i felt her pity all over again... 

the more distance i put between my sisters and me, the less painful the comparisons between us seemed to be. eventually what people remembered most about me was that they didn't really remember me at all.

celeste and april could always be found at the center of gatherings. their faces were easy to call to mind. but the youngest delaurier girl, the one named belle, her image was much harder to summon, in spite of all her name might promise.

finally, i just stayed home.

i expected maman to protest, but she did not. if i'd needed any more proof that my mother thought i was not as beautiful as her older daughters, she provided it then...

but even the best of compromises unravels sooner or later, and so it proved with mine. for i'd failed to consider the very thing that growing up means: passage of time... 

the de la montaignes' garden party was an annual event, a highlight of the summer.

"i didn't have to go last year," i protested. "how come i have to go now?"

 "because you're almost sixteen... almost old enough to be married... your sisters are certainly old enough to be."

so that's it, i thought. she was hoping for a match between celeste and paul de la montaigne...

"paul de la montaigne is the most suitable young man in our circle. everybody knows it. and celeste is certainly one of the loveliest young women..."

her voice trailed off, as there was little more to be said on the subject. she bit into her toast.

"so what do you want me along for?" i asked, when i was certain my mother's mouth was full. "contrast?" (pages 47-51).

"the silence of that house spoke with the same voice that the windstorm had, with one fierce and endless cry against being alone" (page 117).

the beast took three more steps. two more, and he would be close enough to touch.

"so you are real," he murmured, almost as if speaking to himself. "i have not imagined you. you are real. you have come. i see a dark gray dress on my horse's back, strong hands on the reins, and your hair..."

he paused, and i had the sense he was studying me intently. "your hair curls and it is brown. but your face..." his voice faltered and broke off. "your face eludes me," he continued after a moment. "your features slip in and out of focus, like a star at the end of a telescope."

"i am not a star," i said, a sudden ache in my throat. "i'm just a girl named annabelle."

"annabelle," he echoed, and i seemed to feel the strange power of his voice in every part of me. as if it were seeking the way to make me visible. "but i thought that you'd said... belle?"

"belle is my nickname," i answered. "it's what i've always been called. i think that may be your problem -- with my face, i mean. it makes you think you're supposed to look for beauty."

"and i can't find what isn't there?" the beast said. "is that your point?" (page 145).

"i'm here. i've come back. where are you?" i shouted. and it seemed my heart would break that i had never asked him for his name. i, who had been so very concerned about my own (page 196).

what sucked: the first thirty pages. the last ten. and the last were significantly shittier, aka unbearably cheesy, than the first.

having said that: save for what's mentioned here, i didn't love it. save for those forty sucky pages, i didn't loathe it. but because one-fifth of it is shit, i can't recommend it. it's not the worst book i've ever read. it's an interesting version of the tale. but it could've been told. SO. MUCH. BETTER.

my mount rushmore

so my friend at the view from the third floor has been doing an ongoing contest since the beginning of the year. i'm pretty sure i'm losing, but that's okay. for round seven, we were asked to create our own mount rushmores, tributes to those americans who have not served as presidents whom we feel are worthy of the recognition. i was quick to google stupid shit like best americans and had a look at lists like this one because i thought for sure the four i would pick should be ones of whom others could approve... otherwise how could they be the best? but then i cleared that crazy notion and realized i wanted to make a list of the four people who have best influenced my life, the ones who have saved me, who have been like a patronus when too many dementors have circled much too closely. i'm sure i've mentioned them before, but i can't mention them enough. i can't. they are my rocks.

one. pauline elliott. sixth grade language arts teacher at what was then o.a. reaves intermediate. she was not the most well-liked teacher by the students mostly because of her size, sense of style and simplicity. my peers made fun of her. but then my peers made fun of everything, everyone because that's what sixth-graders do. i remember underestimating her, making assumptions that she would be like every other teacher i'd had for the past few years. she was a light, which is what teachers should be; i'd not seen one shine upon me in quite some time. i've mentioned her in this post and this one. the other day, i thought i've failed her because i've not used my talents anywhere near as well as i should. it's not a sentiment that sits well with me. i hope i can do better by her, and others listed here, and soon.

two. carol newsom. counselor at york junior high school. i was in high school, i think, when i met her. her husband worked in the administration building with my father. my parents, terrified for my well-being (they were right to be so... and it shames me greatly to say that), had already sent me to a couple of counselors without success because i didn't want to talk. i played games, literally and figuratively. my psyche had been plagued, by this point, for six years. there was far too much to discuss, and the words were as ugly to me as i thought i was, as the majority of the world thought me to be. the high school i attended was across the street. i remember that i would walk over after school and meet with her. i'm sure i played games with her, too. i'm sure i didn't say much that was worth saying. i'm sure i would've been much better off now had i cared more for the compassion she'd shown me then. i loved her for her kind nature and the warmth she bestowed upon me. not many were gracious enough then to show me such consideration. i knew that she loved me. i clung to that knowledge.

three. brother nicholas. born clarence prinster. monk at abbey of our lady of the holy trinity in huntsville, utah. i've not known a man to have more faith and devotion, more goodness in his soul than this one. he is my maternal grandmother's brother, the last alive of eight siblings. he's been more a grandfather figure to me than a great uncle. he has always thought the world of me. i'm grateful that the last time we were at the monastery -- a year ago -- i had a moment to sit with him and look out over the fields and beyond to the mountains. i wish i could remember what he said, but i know that it was good, that it had something to do with my history and how i've endured. not many can beat me at scrabble, but he could and soundly.

four. amanda holloway. more commonly called minn. neighbor and friend. she was always so happy to see me, and knowing that made me feel good. she was patient with me when others couldn't be, willing to listen when i needed to vent, quick to share her faith and friendship. she had a smile that seemed bigger than her face. i miss it. i miss her.

if one only remembers to turn on the light

the princess bride

why i wanted to read it: because my sister-in-law, niece and nephew had not seen the movie. we watched it while in colorado. when i'd mentioned to my nephew that it was based on a book and asked if he wanted to read it, he said yes, so i bought it. curious to know how it differed from the film, i read it. the boy's interest in the story, of course, has vacillated since having purchased it. i suggested on a number of occasions that we could read some of it, and he balked every time. my niece said today that she wanted to read it. they're eight. i'm sure they'll change their minds again. whatever.

what i liked: "if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches" (page 63). (yes, it's corny as shit, but i'm a romantic. i liked the analogy. shut it.)

or worse, what if he got to america and worked his jobs and built their farm and made their bed and sent for her and when she got there he would look at her and say,"i'm sending you back, the moping has destroyed your eyes, the self-pity has taken your skin; you're a slobby-looking creature, i'm marrying an indian girl who lives in a teepee nearby and is always in the peak of condition" (page 65).

the woman who emerged was a trifle thinner, a great deal wiser, an ocean sadder. this one understood the nature of pain, and beneath the glory of her features, there was character and a sure knowledge of suffering (page 69).

he was fevered always now, but he forced his frail shell on, because this had to be the finest since excalibur. domingo was battling a legend, and it was destroying him (page 130).

consider: a little over three years ago, you were a milkmaid and i was a farm boy. now you are almost a queen and i rule uncontested on the water. surely, such individuals were never intended to die in a fire swamp (pages 212-213).

"i've heard before of creatures like this, the heartless ones, and as they grow bigger they get more and more beautiful and behind them is nothing but broken bodies and shattered souls" (page 241).

"he sails the seven seas with the dread pirate roberts."

"why would he do a thing like that?"

"because he is a sailor for the dread pirate roberts."

"a sailor? a common sailor? a common ordinary seaman bests the great inigo montoya with the sword? in-con-ceiv-a-ble. he must be the dread pirate roberts. otherwise it makes no sense" (page 275).

"there is a god; i know that. and there is love; i know that too; so westley will save me."

"you're a silly girl, now go to your room."

"yes, i am a silly girl and, yes again, i will go to my room, and you are a coward with a heart filled with nothing but fear."

the prince had to laugh. "the greatest hunter in the world and you say i am a coward?"

"i do... i say you are a coward and you are; i think you hunt only to reassure yourself that you are not what you are: the weakest thing to ever walk the earth. he will come for me and then we will be gone, and you will be helpless for all your hunting, because westley and i are joined by the bond of love and you cannot track that, not with a thousand bloodhounds, and you cannot break it, not with a thousand swords" (page 280).

"your ears you keep, so that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish -- every babe that weeps in fear at your approach, every woman that cries 'dear god, what is that thing?' will reverberate forever with your perfect ears. that is what 'to the pain' means. it means that i leave you in freakish misery until you can stand it no more; so there you have it, pig, there you know, you miserable vomitous mass, and i say this now, live or die, it's up to you: drop your sword" (pages 351-352).

i LOVED reading about inigo and fezzik's histories. i loved that it delved into the nightmares buttercup has about what would happen were she to marry humperdinck. there're a couple of other small differences, but essentially (because goldman also wrote the screenplay), the film follows the text.

what sucked: there are TWO introductions to the novel, both by the author. WHY??? why must you waste my time and the world's paper? just get to the good stuff! thirty-nine pages of bullshit, and THEN the story begins. because it's a story within a story, and i don't give a rat's ass about the exterior. i only want to read the GOOD STUFF, goddammit. and then there's some thirty more pages of bullshit before you get to a sort of epilogue (i HATE epilogues because usually they're stupid and CHEESY). i'll probably read it. eventually. but for the sake of this post, i'm sticking a fork in the thing.

having said all that: i enjoyed reading this. it's fast and engaging... once you find the true beginning.

the romantics

why i wanted to read it: a friend recommended it.

what i liked: it's a love story told from cupid's perspective. neat idea.

what sucked: but i have an issue with cupid's so-called inability to intervene in some instances and the lengths to which he goes in others. and the ending's too unbelievable.

having said that: i liked the characters, there's some good subplots in it and it reads fast. but i didn't mark a single page. overall, it's mediocre at best.

the duff

why i wanted to read it: because i liked the movie well enough.

what i liked: "spanish, huh?" he said, glancing down at the scattered papers as he grabbed them. "can you say anything interesting?"

"el tono de tu voz hace que quiera estrangularme." i stood up and waited for him to hand over my papers.

"that sounds sexy," he said, getting to his feet and handing me the stack of spanish work he'd swept together. "what's it mean?"

"the sound of your voice makes me want to strangle myself."

"kinky" (pages 17-18).

"what you are is an intelligent, sassy, sarcastic, cynical, neurotic, loyal, compassionate girl" (page 175).

"i haven't been avoiding you."

"don't lie," wesley said. "you've been doing everything you can to stay away from me. you won't even look at me in class, and you practically sprint down the hallway if you see me coming. even when you hated me, you didn't act like that. you might threaten to stab me, but you never --"

"i still hate you," i snarled up at him. "you're infuriating. you act like i owe you an apology. i'm sorry i made you worry, wesley, but i just can't be around you anymore. you helped me escape from my problems for a while, and i appreciate that, but i have to face reality. i can't keep running away."

"but that is exactly what you're doing right now," wesley hissed. "you're running away."

"excuse me?"

"don't pretend, bianca," he said. "you're smarter than that, and so am i. i finally figured out what you meant when you left. you said you were like hester. i get it now. the first time you came to my house, when we wrote that paper, you said hester was trying to escape. but everything caught up with hester in the end, didn't it? well, something finally caught up with you, but you're just running away again..."

"i didn't mean anything to you," i told him.

"then why am i here... why the hell am i here, bianca?" (pages 229-231).

i discovered wuthering heights doesn't have a happy ending. because of stupid, spoiled, selfish cathy (yeah, i have no room to talk, but still), everyone winds up miserable. her choice ruins the lives of the people she cares most about. because she picked propriety over passion. head over heart. linton over heathcliff (page 252).

what sucked: i don't think i can say anything sucked.

having said that: it's pretty typical teen fiction and differs quite a bit from the movie, but i actually liked the book more. having seen the film first, i was hearing mae whitman and robbie amell voice the characters. it's heavy on wish fulfillment, just like the movie, but then, most love stories are, so... i liked it. it's cheesy but cute and reads fast.

little beach street bakery

why i wanted to read it: because i liked the title.

what i liked: "this is how it is," came the voice from beside her. mrs. manse didn't sound her usual snappy, angry self. she sounded resigned, sad, serious. "this is how it is. we stand and we wait. we women. this is what we do."

polly looked at her.

"does it help?"

mrs. manse shrugged. "it doesn't bring them back."

polly nodded. "but you think it might?"

mrs. manse was silent for a long time. the lighthouse beam swung around again. finally she spoke. 

"i don't know what else to do," she said.

polly bit her lip. 

"i always thought," said mrs. manse quietly, "that if i don't come one night, that will be the night he comes home... with the very last of his strength, only just enough to climb the harbor wall... and if i'm not here to help him, he won't make it."

polly understood that completely.

mrs. manse turned suddenly, her large body stoic and unmoving in the wind. 

"please," she said, in more urgent tones. "please go home. don't get like me."

"but i need to wait for them," said polly.

mrs. manse shook her head. "not like this", she said with desperation in her voice. "please. not like this. don't do this to yourself."

polly pulled the blanket more tightly around her.

"i can't think of anything else."

"but wishing doesn't do it," said mrs. manse crossly. "don't you see? wishing doesn't do it." she looked polly straight in the face. "please," she said, imploring her now. "please go home... don't. don't be like me... go. while you still can."

"i can't leave you out here."

"you have to," said mrs. manse (pages 288-289).

"i have invited all his sexy rich friends. there must be someone who won't move to another continent if you kiss them" (page 385).

what sucked: the names kerensa and huckle. seriously. what the fuck is up with this broad and her inability to name characters well? also, why in god's name must she take four hundred twenty-one pages to tell a story? and why does she have to have such weak subplots? and why must the majority of her pages be so badly written? GAH.

having said that: she has neat ideas for stories but the execution is so totally lame. i felt the complete opposite about this one than i did the bookshop tale. that one, the majority of it bored the hell out of me but the ending was pretty good. this one didn't bore me as much (but please understand i was still bored), and the ending was ridiculous shit.

skinny bitch

why i wanted to read it: because once upon a time i worked at a bookstore and all the girls were buying this book, and years later when i'd crossed over the one-fifty mark, i was thinking to myself: fat pig, you should read that book.

what i liked: of course it's easier to socialize after you've had a few drinks. but being a fat pig will hinder you, sober or drunk. and habitual drinking equals fat-pig syndrome. beer is for frat boys... it makes you fat, bloated, and farty. why do you think when kids go away to college they gain the "freshmen fifteen"? beer, duh. alcohol isn't any better. it raises the level of hydrochloric acid in your stomach, wreaking havoc on the digestive process. if you suffer from poor digestion, then food will not process through your body properly. hence, bloated fat-pig syndrome. to make matters worse, some alcohol (and non-organic wines) still contain urethane, a cancer-causing chemical. to boot, both beer and alcohol jack up your blood-sugar levels, which is bad for you bod. and don't kid yourself; when you have a hangover, you're bound to eat shit all day long (page 12).

aspartame (an ingredient commonly found in diet sodas and other sugar-free foods) has been blamed for a slew of scary maladies, like arthritis, birth defects, fibromyalgia, alzheimer's, lupus, multiple sclerosis, and diabetes. when methyl alcohol, a component of aspartame, enters your body, it turns into formaldehyde. formaldehyde is toxic and carcinogenic (cancer-causing). laboratory scientists use formaldehyde as a disinfectant or preservative. they don't fucking drink it. perhaps you have a lumpy ass because you are preserving your fat cells with diet soda... when aspartame is paired with carbs, it causes your brain to slow down its production of serotonin. a heathy level of serotonin is needed to be happy and well-balanced. so drinking soda can make you fat, sick and unhappy (page 14).

think about how widely accepted it has become that people need coffee to wake up. you should not need anything to wake up. if you can't wake up without it, it's because you're either addicted to caffeine, sleep-deprived, or a generally unhealthy slob... caffeine can cause headaches, digestive problems, irritation of the stomach and bladder, peptic ulcers, diarrhea, constipation, fatigue, anxiety, and depression. it affects every organ system, from the nervous system to the skin. caffeine raises stress hormone levels, inhibits important enzyme systems that are responsible for cleaning the body, and sensitizes nerve reception sites... coffee, whether regular or decaf, is highly acidic. acidic foods cause your body to produce fat cells, in order to keep the acid away from your organs... it also makes your breath smell like ass. furthermore, coffee beans, like other crops, are grown with chemical pesticides... so every single morning you're starting your day with poison. add sugar or other artificial sweeteners, top it off with milk or cream, and you'll be fat forever (pages 15-16).

the food you put into your body works its way into your organs and blood stream and is actually part of who you are. so every time you put crap in your body, you are crap (page 65).

think of how you feel when you are angry, afraid, and grief-stricken... these emotions -- fear, grief and rage -- produce chemical changes in our bodies. they do the same to animals. their blood pressure rises. adrenaline courses through their bodies. you are eating high blood pressure, stress, and adrenaline... you cannot be thin and beautiful with a glowing complexion when you eat fear, grief, and rage (page 76).

what sucked: i read this so many years ago, but i can't remember anything i didn't like, unless you count the authors urging that the reader go vegan.

having said that: sure i could stand to overhaul my diet, but i don't know that i could be as strict as they suggest. i could appreciate the way they wrote the book though, because they seemed informed, confident of their opinions and crass. and i do like the snark.

fourteen things celebrated in may

number one.

one. may third. two different-colored shoes day. wear shoes that don't match for the entirety of your day.

number two.

two. may fourth. star wars day. may the fourth be with you. wear a star wars shirt if you've got one. share four of your favorite lines from the films.

i'd just as soon kiss a wookie (leia, empire strikes back).

i can arrange that. you could use a good kiss (han, empire strikes back).

laugh it up, fuzzball (han, empire strikes back).

we would be honored if you would join us (vader, empire strikes back).

three. may fifth. national cartoonists day. share a favored comic.

number four.

four. also may fifth. totally chipotle day. treat yourself to a burrito. (and yeah, it's cinco de mayo, too. i know. so if you wanna have a margarita with that, go right ahead.)

five. may tenth. clean up your room day. seriously. CLEAN IT. get rid of all the shit. donate the things you don't need, if you can, and trash the rest. that place should be a haven not a dump (like mine usually is).

so yeah. this didn't happen.

six. may twelfth. national spouse military appreciation day. send notes to those who have husbands and wives serving in our military, whether those serving are active or not, home or abroad. thank them for what they do, too. 

i sent one. better than nothing, i suppose. 

seven. also may twelfth. national limerick day. write one. YES, that's what i said. haikus are a hell of lot easier, now, right? you're wishing you'd done that one last month. limerick. write it, and then share one you love.

so i paired this one with...

twelve. also may twenty-fourth. brothers day. if you've got one, do something nice for the idiot.

... and wrote him a poem:

this here's a limerick for my brother, joe

mom tells me be nice; if only that could be so

sometimes it is such an impossible task

he can be a ginormous pain in my ass

but oh, how i do love that silly boy, though

i can't say it's a favorite, but here's one i like well enough. damned if i can say who wrote it:

the limerick packs laughs anatomical

into space that is quite economical

but the good ones i've seen

so seldom are clean

and the clean ones so seldom are comical

number eight.

eight. may fifteenth. national chocolate chip cookie day. bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies from scratch...

nine. may twenty-first. national waitstaff day. ...and take the cookies to the servers at your favorite restaurant. since these things don't have to be done on their specific day, can i recommend this be done on mother's day? that is the WORST day of the year for them. if you wanna be extra awesome, give them handwritten notes to let them know how awesome and how loved they are.

i did take them cookies, but on the last day of the month.

i'd gone by deaux's on mother's day after having brunch with mine to leave them love.

number ten.

ten. may twenty-third. national lucky penny day. get a roll of pennies. throughout your day, leave one here and there and everywhere, face up for others to find. give them some good luck.

i didn't do this the way i'd planned. i ended up cramming half these things on the last day of the month again, and so this one backfired on me. i thought i'd leave a penny on random tables and all the vacant barstools at pappadeaux's for guests to take... my mom's always saying find a penny, pick it up, and all day long you'll have good luck, so i thought i'd give the guests some luck. only the guests weren't so happy to find the pennies, i guess, and questioned the hostesses and bartenders, and one of the hostesses went around the restaurant collecting them. i overheard her complaining to one of the bartenders, asking who'd left the pennies on the table. i'd confessed that i'd done so, took the pennies from her, rounded up the rest, and gave them to one of the servers. it would've worked out better had i done it the way i'd intended. i would've felt better had i done it that way. lately, i'd been feeling like nothing i do is right, so this incident quickly sunk my spirits. i'd thought of leaving them on the fountain at the neighboring pappasito's, but then i suppose people would've been questioning the hostesses there, so... bad idea.

eleven. may twenty-fourth. national scavenger hunt day. i tried to get my niece and nephew to play along with me. they weren't too keen on the idea.

thirteen. may twenty-fifth. red nose day. get you one. i saw a passel of'm at walgreen's. wear that thing all day line and with much pride.

i'd meant to do this one on the actual day but forgot, so i did it the next day.

fourteen. also may twenty-fifth. national wine day. get a group of friends together. share a bottle.

this didn't happen, either. on the last day, after the penny debacle, i bought myself a glass. it should've helped me relax. it didn't.