solitary_summer | Entries tagged with theatre

# Okay. After a panicky weekend I've calmed down somewhat & think I can face the interview on Wednesday with a measure of equanimity. I think.

Other than that the weekend was generally uninspired. I'd vaguely planned to go out with the camera on Sunday, but that was before Saturday's family get-together, which left me tired, stressed and not exactly in a mood for early morning photography walks. Slept late, which at least took care of Saturday's headache, and spent the whole day not doing a lot of anything, and a bit of something, and in the evening went to see Karl Schönherr's Der Weibsteufel with my mother; a bit too message-heavy maybe, a bit slow in the beginning, and a bit depressing (although OTOH for a Kusej production downright cheery) with a fantastic Birgit Minichmayr and something of a moral quandary at the end because you definitely caught yourself cheering for her as she manipulated her lover into killing her husband as revenge for how they'd used her.

# Really liked this week's Merlin. To be honest, so far I've mostly been watching with one eye while doing other internet-y things with the other, but this episode was actually quite good besides being slashy and adorable as usual. Good balance of fun and seriousness with just a touch of epic finally creeping in. Liked Morgana a lot and Anthony Head was brilliant (and clearly enjoying himself), effortlessly creepy with all those Luthor-esque power-games Uther is playing with Arthur. He at least had something of a point before, insisting that Arthur will have to learn to deal with people dying for him and can't risk his life for everyone, but this offhand do-as-I-say-or-I'll-have-them-executed cruelty was on a different scale. The tragic thing is that this seems to come so easy to him, with no regret at all, and he'd probably have Morgana put to death with as little regret if he knew about her dreams...

And I'm already getting too serious again. Sometimes I remind myself of the fasten/zip talk that Garibaldi and Sinclair have on their way to Babylon 4, where Garibaldi complains that he can't ever have a simple conversation with Sinclair that isn't about Life and Death... Is it completely impossible for my brain to be happy with a bit of mindless squee? Apparently so.

# It's saying a lot about Torchwood's visual and emotional strength (then again, maybe it's just saying something about my stupidity...*cough*) that with all the rewatching and meta writing it didn't occur me until yesterday when I was fiddling with my forever unfinished TW fic, however did Lisa manage the brain transplant? Never mind pesky medical details, at one point there she'd have been juggling two brains, with none in her head. Either head. Or was she enough cyberman that she didn't actually need a human brain to function? ::clutches at straws:: Hu. Or creepy. I don't care, though. Still my favourite S1 episode.

# I'll miss David Tennant, I think he is/was a brilliant Doctor, but this is one of the instances where I'm more exited about the story. It's funny, because last season especially there were quite a few episodes I didn't much care for at all, but I've been so caught up in the mythology of it, I don't even mind, I just want the story to go on...

Current Mood: good
Current Music: Mercan Dede - Hininga | Powered by Last.fm

I borrowed the Don Giovanni dvd from my father's Salzburg Mozart opera box set & thought I'd watch maybe one act today and the other tomorrow, and then sat glued to the computer for three hours straight with a brief toothbrush break between acts 1 & 2.

I can't really remember what my initial reaction had been, maybe a bit different because I barely knew the opera then, but, holy shit. Martin Kušej is such a brilliant director and it's once again amazing to see what he can do with his material; I'd just wish his messages weren't always so depressing, because this says some really ugly things about the relationship between men and women. It's a bit different in the second act where he has less leeway with the supernatural element, but in the first act he doesn't even have to change anything -- merely strip away the male view that tends to romanticise/downplay the consequences of Don Giovanni's behaviour. Act 1 is Don Giovanni seen from the female perspective, and it's not pretty. To state the obvious, this isn't about love, the point is that love is something Don Giovanni incapable of, but there's nothing even remotely light or playful to distract from the ugliness; it's brutal and predatory. Women are meat. Leporello's aria about Don Giovanni's conquests is chilling especially with the rope-skipping girl in the white dress at Sua passion predominante/È la giovin principiante. Zerlina, who's willing to let herself be beaten up to pacify Masetto (who casually slaps her across the face before that), is (at least that's pretty strongly implied) raped at the end of act 1 and spends act 2 bruised and bloody. La povera ragazza/È pazza, amici miei;/Lasciatemi con lei,/Forse si calmerà. is not a line (or four lines) from an 220 years old opera, it's a man dismissing a woman's grievance by saying she's over-emotional, overreacting, etc., and it's scary how easily that can be brought into the present.

And it's not just Don Giovanni, none of the men are immune to this. Masetto does seem to reconsider his behaviour a bit after he himself gets beaten up in act 2, while Don Ottavio, who is the one genuinely nice guy in act 1 picks up a bit of Don Giovanni's attitude along with his sword when he vows to avenge the murder of Donna Anna's father and has Zerlina, Elvira and Masetto all flinching away from the sudden violence. When Donna Anna refuses to marry him he storms across the stage (how dare she, a woman, refuse him), stops very, very short of making the argument violent only at her 'Crudele?' and spends most of her aria almost literally sitting on his hands to avoid doing that, maybe horrified at himself. His willingness to wait for a year like she demands shows at least that he's a bit more aware and able to respect her wishes.

It's opera, it's Salzburger Festspiele, meaning that it's so elitist that it's pointless to think it'll change anything, but I should think that would have made at least some men in the audience uncomfortable.

This is a Don Giovanni it's almost impossible to sympathise with even in the end; it's not that he refuses to repent, he literally can't. He's incapable of seeing an alternative, or feeling regret. Io mi voglio divertir, that's all it comes down to, and Kušej brutally emphasises the cruelty, as well as the emptiness and meaninglessness of that.

That sleep-attack-after-coming-home-and-fixing-myself-something-to-eat-and reading-maybe-ten-pages thing? Is apparently becoming a habit. Then got up, blearily, and watched DW The Voyage Of The Damned, which was maybe not perfect, but better IMO than the reviews on amazon suggested, with some lovely touching moments.

Went to see The Lion in Winter (play, not movie version) yesterday with some people from work because M.'s in Berlin and I got her ticket. I hesitate to compare it to the movie version because I haven't seen that in probably ten years or more, so maybe wouldn't like it as much now as I remember liking it, but it has left a strong impression and this version seemed a bit... bland in comparison; lifeless. They tried to superficially modernise it a bit by transferring it into a contemporary world of finance, making it all about shares, holdings and CEOs, which IMO just didn't have such an impact and sounded a bit forced at times. I'm perfectly aware that these days there's probably more power in finance/economy than in actual politics, but it somehow failed to convey the brutal power struggle and dysfunctional family politics adequately. ~~Frankly, I've seen that done with more conviction on Smallville.~~ If one was already ~~spoiled for~~ familiar with the plot, this version simply added nothing new or exciting, but generally lacked passion and failed to touch, and the applause was appropriately polite, even and very brief.

Also got & read John Barrowman's autobiography this week, which was better than I thought it'd be. Oops, sorry. Did I just type that? But while I fangirl as much as the next fangirl, I've stopped buying celebrity biographies a while ago and honestly didn't have too high expectations about the autobiography of someone only just turned 40, dictated into an iPod in between a very busy work schedule. But it has a very personal voice and they (I've no idea if it was John, Carole, or both of them) found an interesting structure, jumping back and forth a bit, going on tangents, etc., so it was never boring; chatty, full of anecdotes (some of which one has heard in interviews over the years, but a lot that were new at least to me, too) and often quite funny, although maybe I should say at this point that JB's sense of humour doesn't really converge with mine, which is very typically Viennese: dark, macabre and morbid. And while it's not the most profound thing ever written, it's not shallow: sincerely emotional, and serious and passionate when dealing with subjects that demand seriousness and passion. And John's energy and enthusiasm are infective even in print.

Oh, and look at the preface: To be honest, here's what I really hope - that by arranging the book in this way, you'll feel as if you and I are lounging in our pyjamas on the couch in my Cardiff living room, sharing a bottle of champagne or a pot of tea, with music on in the background, having a blether and laugh about my life so far.

*g* How's that for seducing your readers?

On a personal note, what really struck me reading this is that of all the authors, artists, musicians, etc. that ~~I've fangirled~~ have made more than a passing impression on my life, JB is by a long, long, - long: *cough* ex-NIN-fan *cough* - way the most positive, most balanced and apparently genuinely happiest person.

( cut for getting a bit personal )

[Hu. Back from the doctor, blurry vision & scarily wide pupils from eye-drops, but everything's fine & I'm getting new contacts, which is probably A Good Thing, since I can't even remember how old exactly the ones I'm wearing now are.]

Anyway. Holiday, the more factual and less depressing part.

Saw M. Kusej's production of König Ottokar's Glück und Ende [ pictures] in Salzburg with sister & sister's boyfriend, and found it ever so slightly disappointing. Perhaps I had too high expectations from his his Hamlet a few years ago, but while he still creates stunningly beautiful pictures/scenes, the interpretation was a little... lacking, IMO, too predictable, too cold, erstarrt in schönen Bildern. Perhaps it is my mood that has changed and what I liked about the Downward Spiral-esque Hamlet then, irritates me here? Maybe I'm seeing the wrong plays, and admittedly I don't see all that many, but I'm getting tired of these oh-so-beautifully staged, but fundamentally cold, detached productions, as if evoking sympathy, allowing some identification with a character is something slightly dirty, especially if this character isn't in some ways a victim. In this case you had the choice between Ottokar, who was portrayed as an unpleasant tyrant from the moment he enters the stage, and Rudolf, a power-hungry, self-righteous opportunist, constantly spouting pious phrases about his sacred mission, which he himself may or may not believe in. There was nothing new, nothing even remotely interesting, nothing really touching. Power corrupts, or, more precisely is inherently evil. Obligatory Bush reference, that is, insertion of what from what I heard was part of one of his speeches. Yawn. All the male characters (with the exception of Seyfried) were unpleasant to a greater or lesser degree, and the women long-suffering pawns and victims (Berta and Margarete), unless they chose to play a part in the male game of power, in which case they become as unpleasant as the men, if not more so (Kunigunde).

It is exactly the interpretation that offers itself when you read the play in todays political climate; it doesn't explain anything, and isn't challenging, because everyone can comfortably sit back and nod in agreement that politicians/leaders are and have always been bad, and the best you can do is chose the lesser of two evils. A little nudity (check) and sex (check) aren't provocative or particularly interesting; there would have been much more potential for provocation and/or interest if the director had allowed you to get a little more into the protagonists' heads, let you see what moves them, what makes people follow them, in a way that doesn't allow the safety of intellectual detachment.

If I remember correctly, Artistoteles somewhere in the Poetik says something along the lines that for a tragedy to work successfully the audience has to be able to sympathise with a character's fate, and that this works best if you show a basically good man (or at least not a thoroughly evil one) brought down by fate / the gods / his own hybris... and reading the play beforehand, I think in some ways at least it does work according to these principles of Greek tragedy. A man at the hight of his success, subsequently brought down by his own pride, because he doesn't know where to stop and believes himself above the rules.

The play isn't cheap black-and-white painting or blind patriotism, and there are a timeless and still very much valid moral and warning in Ottokar's last monologue (Und hab ich auch das Schlimme nicht gewollt, / Wer war ich, Wurm? daß ich mich unterwand, / Den Herrn der Welten frevelnd nachzuspielen, / Durchs Böse suchend einen Weg zum Guten!, going on to emphasis the worth and value of every single human life so easily and thoughtlessly wasted), a passage I personally consider both touching and important, because it puts everything, and not only Ottokar's life and fate, in a totally different perspective, but because one was never able to sympathise with him, his downfall and ultimate remorse were not particularly touching, either, and it went rather unnoticed.

In conclusion, pretty, but a little else.

Tobias Moretti didn't impress me all that much, either, though it's hard to tell whether this is due to him and his acting, or the general style of the production. Still... I can't help thinking there must have been more suitable actors.

Current Mood: hm...

It's hot. Summer seems to finally have arrived, with a vengeance...

*Fans self*

Don't think I'll stir out today... make iced coffee, greek salad & be lazy, read, watch tv...

Tired, too. Slept until 11 after coming home late from the summer open air theatre thing yesterday.

Hamlet, here... ; semi-good. Severely cut (Fortinbras? who?), to make it fit into two and a half hours, for the comfort & convenience of the Viennese part of the audience presumably, giving the play an extremely rushed feeling, strictly focusing on plot & action, rather than character development & such - which, with a play like Hamlet, obviously can be something of a disadvantage. Too loud, what with the level of shouting & screaming; I don't think microphones were really necessary in such a small auditorium.

A very young Hamlet, who never seemed much more than a disgruntled teenager, by turns ranting, raving and sulking, quite believable in the action driven scenes, but never really conveying the character's introspective side, his dilemma, or development throughout the play (IMO the in the graveyard scene there ought to be a moment where the realisation of his own mortality truly strikes home, you can't play the whole scene for laughs); resorting to shouting much too often, to the point where Hamlet's advice to the actors was bordering on the ironic. A very harsh, grumpy Gertrude, who constantly gave the impression she'd much rather be anywhere else, quite happy to drink the poison cup in the end. Claudius wasn't bad, and truly touching in the prayer-scene; he at least was believable in his motivations and his love for his wife. Ophelia not bad either, cutting of strands of her hair with a razor and handing them out for flowers. Polonius something of a wannabe Iago-esque evil master mind with decidedly psychotic traits, the actor apparently hell-bent on making the most of every scene, if his character wasn't to survive until the end.

It had a couple of good, even touching moments, though, and the production and everyone in it would vastly have profited from, say, another half hour.

.:.:.:.

I've been thinking recently... I cannot be altogether sure if this isn't just another case of sour grapes, but every life is also the sum of negative choices, the roads not taken. There always will be plenty of things one can't have and won't have - or won't be - for a variety of reasons, and it seems more productive to focus on who and what one is, instead of constantly regretting the absence of other things, which seems more and more like a waste of time and energy.

After all, it is up to me what value I attach to various aspects of my life.

(Banal? Maybe...)

.:.:.:.

A propos the latest local church sex scandal... On the one hand given official the stance of the catholic church on homosexuality, especially repeatedly & loudly voiced as it was by bishop Krenn, a certain amount of schadenfreude, the impulse to mock and call them on their own hypocrisy is understandable, on the other hand the gleeful tone prevalent in many of the commentaries makes me feel uncomfortable. Possession of child-porn obviously is illegal & a punishable offence, but relationships between consenting adults, while a problem for the church and its doctrine of celibacy, is really no concern of mine, and especially self-proclaimed liberal media should take greater care to distinguish here...

This said, what I despise most about the politics of the catholic church is not even so much its double standards of not practicing what it preaches, but the apparent willingness to quietly tolerate a lot of things, but ~~god~~ forbid someone has courage enough to talk about it, thereby encouraging secrecy, lies, and presumably all kinds of personal conflicts. I'm aware this attitude is prevalent not only within the church, but I would expect a religious institution not to actively encourage dishonesty and spinelessness in its members.

.:.:.:.

Gotta love the HP fandom. Someone points out the racism in the Potter-verse and the lack of consideration many fans give to it, in explicit, if not entirely diplomatic terms, and promptly gets bitched at for being racist herself & 'gratuitously using 'racial slurs'' - to get her point across, one might add.

After which everyone can feel self-righteous & go back to complacently writing poor!misunderstood!Draco fluff.

Right.

Current Mood: hot
Current Music: kate bush, hounds of love

Oedipus in Kolonos

Quite an interesting experience.

The first half hour was... mühsam, to say the least. Laboured and, like, on valium. There's no other expression to describe it. The constant urge to yell get on with it. A self-pitying, very annoying Oepidus, who it was impossible to feel sympathy for, mannered acting style, oh-so-artsy, pretty decorations, Handke's at least sometimes rather self-indulgent new translation... It picked up a little after a while, as the plot gathers momentum, so that at least you weren't bored into a coma any longer.

Then, during the intermission you got time to think about what you were actually seeing (as opposed to what you'd expected to see) and once you realised this and adjusted your perception accordingly, the second part made quite a lot of sense. This wasn't the conventional interpretation where you were supposed to feel pity for greatness brought down by cruel gods, an innocent man suffering, but bearing his fate with dignity; or at least that wasn't all there was to it.

This Oedipus was a very old man, bordering on senility; self-pitying and spiteful, someone utterly destroyed by what he had to endure. Suffering had twisted his soul, his personality, made him indifferent to anything beyond his personal needs. Almost sycophantic in his gratitude to those who help him, like Theseus, hard and unforgiving towards everyone who'd harmed him, even his own son. Self-centred and not only physically blind, unable to see beyond his own pain. Not a pleasant character by any means; but a touch of realism to classical tragedy.

And with that realisation the second part not only made sense, but was even quite compelling. When Oedipus cursed Polyneikes, totally dispassionate except for glimpses at deep running resentment, you saw a man who'd been so involved in his own suffering for so long that it's impossible for him to feel sympathy for anyone else or to even try and put himself in their position. Hatred for wrongs done to him so deeply ingrained that even the notion of forgiveness is strange and meaningless to him. He doesn't reject it - it never even occurs to him to consider it. A chilling moment, not in the least because in his desire for revenge on his son he's inadvertently set the fate for his beloved daughters, too.

The only thing that still interests him is his own death, and then at last, facing this final mystery, he regains some of his dignity and purpose. The messenger/chorus describing Oedipus's (off-stage) death was a very good, moving moment.

Generally it was well acted, even if I do have some problems with that particular acting style - but I guess it made sense in the context of this emotionally distanced, intellectual production.

Current Mood: tired

Too tired, too lazy. And incapable of finding two brain-cells active enough to string together an at least half-coherent sentence between them...

Sunday evening:

Been to the open air theatre in Perchtoldsdorf with M* and AL*, 'Was Ihr wollt' ('Twelfth Night'), well produced, light and very funny indeed. Struck a good balance, too, comedy with slapstick elements, but also enough serious moments not to become too lightweight. Characters toying with gender and behavioural stereotypes, but none of them so two dimensional as to become a caricature or lose their humanity (though Olivia did come rather close). The romance part of the story not very deeply developed, but presented with enough self-irony that one didn't exactly need an explanation for people falling in love as fast and with as little motivation as they did.

On a sidenote, when did it become almost canonical to stage Antonio and Sebastian as lovers? I've seen quite a few productions and it was at least strongly implied in everyone. Not that I mind, but it gives an additional air of sadness to the end, when he's left out like that, because he's a very decent character and Sebastian's Oh there you are, I missed you (except when, you know, I got married. er) is rather cruel on that assumption. It was kept light enough here and not very important in the tumultuous end (Orsino finally not giving a damn whether Viola is a boy or girl, then mistaking Sebastian for her and kissing him...) but still a bit sad, because between Viola swooning over a man before she's ever seen him, Orsino for the most part being a self-indulgent, bad stereotype of the rejected lover and a quite hysterical Olivia veering wildly between rejection and he obsession, he played his part very straight forward with much genuine feeling. (And while it's kind of cute someone finally takes pity on Sir Andrew, even by default, it's also, er, Sir Andrew)

Nor did it turn quite as dark (as I've seen it done before) with the humiliation of Malvolio (though I'm always amazed what people will still laugh at). But the duel sequence right after was hilarious and lightened the mood again, Maria and Sir Toby trying to get the extremly reluctant Viola (who doesn't even know on which end to hold the sword) and Sir Andrew to fight; and especially once Antonio stepped in and offered to fight in Viola's place. Being dressed quite the gay stereotype, Sir Toby makes the mistake of not taking him serious and challenging him himself, as a result of which he gets beaten with equal skill and flourish and chased around the stage. A good kind of laughter...

I browsed through the play after, and maybe they did in fact take away much of the poetry and depth of emotion, but it was well thought through as it was and good entertainment, we laughed a lot.

Chulpan Khamatova a young, girlish, confused, very much out of her depth Viola, with the cutest Russian accent, occasionally switching over to Russian entirely.

Gregor Bloèb a maniacally scheming, almost Iago-esque Sir Toby, dressed in a kilt. (he.)

Karl Markovics a good Malvolio, a real person with faults and ambitions, rather than a stereotype, though maybe not quite obnoxious enough to invite the cruel joke played upon him.

Gerti Drassl a rather shrill Olivia, but with some touching moments.

[ETA 13.3.2008: four pictures removed, links defunct; a few others from the production here]

pics

:: sigh :: Yesterday i was too tired and then too drunk to type a coherent entry, this morning (well, noon...) too hung-over (Really, i have no tolerance for alcohol whatsoever anymore. Not that i ever had much of one, but this is getting somewhat embarrassing.) And now it's already very difficult to recreate the mood...

Went to see 'Gilgamesh', thanks @ the parents, who in a momentary lapse of memory forgot they'd already seen it and bought tickets.

Beautifully staged, some very impressive images, good blend between modern and ancient elements (or so i presume, because i don't remember ever having finished reading the ancient text), a story that can still be meaningful today, because it touches upon some fundamental human experiences and questions. Not exactly uplifting, not exactly comforting, but very human with a sort of conciliatory, balanced ending. Great acting all around.

There's this tendency in modern literature and art to look increasingly critically at ancient mythology and its heroes, which may or may not be justified, though as i grow older i find myself leaning more and more towards this more critical approach (as opposed to the 19 yr old me, just having started to study archaeology and in love with Homer's heroes and Alexander the Great... :: cough ::), at least where it's supposed to reflect on life today.

What i loved about this production is that despite taking a critical stance it maintained a balance and never crossed the line to what with a less than scientific term could be described as character bashing. (Something that happens to Achilles in most modern retellings of the Iliad and never fails to annoy me, even while i'm aware that this is a character ambivalent even in antiquity, and certainly even more so today.)
This Gilgamesh isn't a hero one easily takes to. He's arrogant, and not in an endearing or charismatic way either, selfish, obsessed with his fame and his fear of not leaving a mark in history, building cities, killing monsters, stereotypically male in his abuse of women he can dominate and his rejection of Ishtar, who he can't (no woman shall rule me, in a nutshell) as in everything else he does. Especially during the first part he's a rather unpleasant human being it's almost impossible to sympathise with, not even in his doomed relationship with Enkidu or his grief after Enkidu's death.

Yet in the end one can see oneself in this flawed man who struggles with his life, his supposed fate, loss and meaning, torn between a belief in manipulative gods and the nihilism inherent in rejecting them, rebelling against acceptance to the last.

Enkidu might stand for the emergence of a basic human self awareness out of a thoughtless, purely instinct-driven animal state, all the primal things that constitute humanity - contact, companionship, society and all the trappings of civilisation. In christian biblical terms the fall of man, but in a positive and less moralising way, even though faced with the certainty of his death Enkidu idealises his animal existence and curses those who forced him into human consciousness. Gilgamesh's path takes him a little further, he's the materialistic man who has control over the physical aspects of his life, suddenly forced to face the spiritual sphere, questions about life and death, doubts and self-reflection. A kind of mirror image Hamlet in spite of himself, with no philosophic predisposition.

It could easily drift of into despair and nihilism, but somehow doesn't. Faced with those primal questions about the meaning of life and death we can only ever answer for ourselves, what the play ultimately may strive for is some kind of balance, acceptance. Necessarily of death, but also of life. Not to miss it while chasing for its meaning. Or maybe more to the point, the chase is also the meaning. The rebellion against gods, against beliefs, the struggle to come to terms with our lives, ourselves, even the failure, all this is a necessary and worthwhile part of being human. This, if anything is the greatness of life, even if ultimately in the face of death it may be in vain, because there is nothing else than life itself.

There was a point in the beginning where i was wishing they'd toned down the humour and sarcasm a bit in favour of the tragedy, but it maybe was a necessary balance, rather like in a Shakespearean tragedy...

Gilgamesh up to the end cannot see beyond his doubts, his despair, but this need not necessarily exclude the possibility of it making sense, and we're maybe being offered a possibility that he doesn't see... (and i can't really believe this is *me*, writing this, but somehow this is the impression that i left the theatre with.)

I loved the way the gods were staged, always a very real presence, either sitting on a raised catwalk at the back of the stage (presumably inspired by a similar practice in ancient greek theatre), or giant black and white faces projected on a screen across the stage. Very *convincing* (for a lack of a better word, not that i ever gave much of a thought to what Sumerian gods would look or behave like... ) as supernatural beings, even with their meddling, their indifference and vengefulness.
Mammitum, the mother of the gods, a tiny old woman with some kind of veil-like head dress, smoking a cigar, describing how she created Man from clay. Absolutely lovely. Shamash, the sun god, a quiet presence, protective of Gilgamesh, sad, because he cannot change the tragedy played out in front of him; picture Stefan from Placebo, only not quite that slender, in one of those long skirt things that presumably should recall the ancient Sumerian costume.

***

All in all, this put me in a very mellow, balanced mood i still try to cling to...

I even apologised to my father for generally being an asshole where he's concerned, something i can't seem to be able to change even while most of the times i'm rather ashamed of my behaviour (And haven't we come round full circle now? Two of a very fucked up kind. I'd laugh if it weren't so very pathetic. Remind me not to have kids, ever.), so i guess that makes an apology somewhat redundant... But there just are a lot of issues i don't exactly blame him for, but can't forget (forgive?) either, that'd make a psychologist very happy...

***

in other news, i rather emphatically stated i disliked the movie, right? snarked. bitched. i now have the poster. er, posters. in the kitchen. what can i say, they're just too pretty.

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life without a plot

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