#consider.. gary with a motorcycle..

[flydinom]

pastel and hard rock bf's

[ll-until-the-very-end-ll]

hi! how old are you? have you been long in the fandom?

I'm in my early 30's and I consider myself a fandom veteran. Especially since I was here before there was even a fandom to begin with (circa before POA). You had to be a freak enough (in early childhood nonetheless) to have your mom introduce you to the HP world and then manage to choose his parents as your favorite character solely based on like two or three vague mentions. Also, "young Sirius Black" was mentioned in book one and I remember mentally connecting him to my cool uncle who was studying abroad at the time and had a fascination with fast cars and motorcycles and what not. I remember early edits on obscure websites of shots of Geraldine Somerville with Pictures of Lily by The Who playing in the background and me thinking it was the most groundbreaking thing I've ever seen. And then another obscure website came up with another obscure edit of James and Sirius represented in none other than Gary Oldman and Sean Penn in State of Grace (1990) which is why I still firmly believe that the Pre-Fandom basically manifested and casted Gary Oldman for the role of our beloved Sirius Black because I mean..c'mon..

Credit where credit is due,right? So yeah anyway, I've been here since the very beginning and I'll probably still be here until the very end!

[jamesbbruce]

Riding the Scottish Highlands

If you've ever wondered whether a motorcycle tour of Scotland is a good idea, I can happily report to BMW ON readers that it is. At least that was my experience this past September, based on a short three-day excursion that began just west of the capital Edinburgh (or “Edinboro” to locals).

Why Scotland? The venue will appeal to anyone who has real or imagined Scottish ancestry, who savors a good scotch whisky, especially the single malts; or who would enjoy a world-class riding experience on foreign roads seemingly designed for motorcycling in a friendly, English-speaking country (if you don't mind driving on the “wrong” side of the road). Because my riding partner and I met just about all these criteria, we joined a scheduled motorcycle tour of the Highland's Grampian Mountains.

Based on a query last year to Court Fisher, BMW ON's Global Touring editor, I learned of Highland Rider, a small motorcycle touring company in Scotland. Owned by Peter MacIntyre (who had just won a UK-wide John Wayne look-alike contest and left for Ireland at the end of our tour for a movie re-make), Highland Rider rents (what they call “hires”) motorcycles for organized tours of Scotland, or for individual use. You can also join a tour with your own bike if you really want to take it there, or buy one while in Europe. Highland Rider also rents riding apparel and helmets if you don't want to bring your own.

At the time of our tour, Highland Rider's rental inventory included three BMWs (two R1100RTs and an R1150GS), two XJ600N Yamahas and a 900 CC Triumph Tiger. Owner Peter MacIntyre rode an FJ1300 Yamaha sport-tourer that he said he liked, even though he rode a K1200LT last year. As this was late in the season, our group was uncharacteristically small with only three motorcycles: The RT that Penny and I rode, a new Honda VFR VTEC just acquired by Gary and Lana Keighley who rode up for the tour from Blackpool, England, and Peter's big Yamaha in the lead.

Located in Linlithgow, Highland Rider is only a 17-minute train ride from Edinburgh's Waverly Station. By prior arrangement, Peter met us at Linlithgow Station and transported us, with luggage enough for this trip (including helmets and full apparel) and for another 10 days in Europe, to the local West Port Hotel, where we stayed the Sunday evening before the tour and Wednesday evening on our return.

It was good to arrive early. Peter had to finalize insurance arrangements and give me a short qualifying road test on the “hired” RT. The two-lap test on his long but straight and paved driveway is easy enough but provides him ample opportunity to identify the unqualified rider or those whose skills may require a smaller motorcycle—so he keeps the two Yamaha 600s in the stable. But be warned: While his assessment is fair, Peter will not rent to riders whose skills he judges below par. Considering that he treats your deposit as non-refundable; under-skilled riders should carefully weigh the risks before sending money. Highland Rider will also hold an “excess” (deposit) in case of damage. For my RT rental, a credit card hold of 550 pounds ($775 US) was required and cheerfully returned at the tour's end in exchange for the damage-free bike.

The tour began Monday morning at a sensible 9:30 after a filling Scottish breakfast at the hotel. Peter picked us up there, and we could leave our unneeded luggage at the tour office, taking our three-day supplies in the Kathy's Bags liners we had pre-packed for the panniers, including the top case. The rented 2000 R1100RT was quite like my own ’99 RT, except that it was peppier, surged less, and had a much more comfortable factory BMW touring saddle—by far the best BMW seat in my experience. I sometimes lamented the lack of an AeroFlow windshield, Wrist Rest, and rear port for a second heated vest (more later) that I have on my bike. But the touring seat was so good that I soon forgot these other amenities I had become accustomed to at home. I quickly added a new BMW “comfort seat” to them as soon as I returned to the States, regretting that BMW offered no counterpart upgrade for the passenger.

This particular ride—the Grampian Mountains and Deeside Adventure—covered 475 miles over the three-day circuit. The tour offered breathtaking Highland vistas, many miles of twisty roads, vignettes of Scottish culture and history, and rain. Often lots of it and occasionally hard-driving. Beyond testing your wet-road skills, here is where you can road test your riding apparel, and mine got high marks. But after wringing out my cold and drenched leather gloves several times, I resolved to buy a good pair of waterproof gloves before my next rain-soaked outing (don't ride in Scotland without them). With nearly a day and a half of rain on our three-day September ride, warm, waterproof apparel was essential.

Departing from Linlithgow, our first day's ride weaved a circuitous 188-mile route that ended shortly before dark in Kirkmichael. Along the way, we stopped frequently—rarely in the saddle for more than an hour—and, despite intermittent rain, enjoyed lots of highlights getting there. Among them, the well-hidden Rumbling Bridge, the famed Gleneagles Golf Course (drive-by), and postcard-quality scenes of fiord-like lakes (“lochs”) and distant mountains, often striking even in marginal visibility. We rode westward from Crieff, along the north side of Loch Earn, then north to Killin along the sparkling Loch Tay, stopping at the nature park museum above the tree line near the top of Ben Lawers Mountain with tundra-like scenery all around. From Ben Lawers, we continued north to Loch Rannoch where we circled this gorgeous lake, stopping at its west end to see Rannoch Station where only a train ride will get you across the bog to Glen Coe. We next rode straight through Pitlochry, a town of such arresting charm and beauty that we resolved to return there on our next visit to Scotland.

The agreeable Log Cabin Hotel where we lodged near Kirkmichael, was warm and dry; the food was excellent and ample, and weary riders were ready to turn in early after a wee dram of highland scotch. Here, Peter's Scottish pride was again evident as he arrived for dinner in his kilt, Maclntyre tartan, of course. While he saved the kilt for evenings on this tour, he claims to have ridden occasionally in the kilt as well—to the amazement and no doubt amusement of all who witnessed the spectacle.

Although Day Two's ride was the shortest at 90 miles, it probably captured more of the essence of the Scottish highlands than the other days combined. First, we stopped in a forested area near Glenshee to see a large boulder well hidden from the road that served for centuries as the meeting place for Clan MacThomas as they prepared for battle with neighboring clans over cattle theft and other disputes. When Peter commented, “Aye, ’twas a bloody glen,” you knew he meant it literally. Not much later, we got a glimpse of Balmoral Castle, where the Royal Family often "holidays," and met some local Crathie residents at the town church who spoke with pride and discretion of their occasional interaction with the Queen and Prince Charles when royalty comes to town. We rode to Tomintoul, the highest village in Scotland, leaning in and out of sharp twisties on both sides of this scenic mountain stop, where a police embezzler from England had greatly improved the town for appreciative locals, even if accomplished with ill-gotten funds.

Dufftown, the center of Highland Speyside, and one of Scotland's five major regions that produce single malt scotch whisky, proved a real highlight for me. Here, we visited the large Glenfiddich (Gaelic for Valley of the Deer) Distillery, as seemingly skilled in conducting tours for single malt enthusiasts as marketing its best-selling products abroad. Dufftown is also home to other distilleries, including Balvenie, my favorite, but unfortunately, it is not open to the public. And at least one whisky shop can mail order local and rare malts, including many unavailable outside Scotland. After Dufftown, we rode to the nearby Abelour Hotel where we spent the night—but not before a convivial evening at the Mash Tun pub (named for an early step in the distilling process) whose proprietor spoke anxiously of his broken R1OORS now awaiting repairs.

Day Three, the longest ride at 197 miles, combined highland twisties with highway riding. But before returning to the lowlands, we rode to the top of Cairngorm Mountain, where we had to lean into the strong crosswinds for better bike control, and where a heated vest was a welcomed accessory—regretting that only one could be plugged in on this single-port bike (yes, the passenger's cord just reaches the front port). We lunched on excellent fish and chips at Aviemore, the local ski town, before turning south toward Linlithgow. Timely stops at a drive-through wildlife park (in a provided Land Rover—as the bikes failed this feasibility test), the Bridge at Brown Restaurant, and later, the beautiful Amintull Hotel allowed welcomed breaks on the final day of this scenic highland ride.

Would I do it again? In a heartbeat! The trip met or exceeded my expectations as a motorcyclist and tourist to Scotland. And the R11OORT was, for me, the ideal ride for a tour like this. It was sometimes a challenging ride—alumni from any Experienced Riders' Course will appreciate their added preparation. However, the trip may not be for everyone, so here are a few cautions.

Scotland's weather is problematic. Expect rain, chilly temperatures, and all-weather riding. Still, we enjoyed dry or sunny riding for slightly better than half our tour.

It's not cheap. Tour costs, including RT rental for the three-day ride and all meals with four nights of lodging for the two of us, totaled about 950 pounds ($1425 US). Of course, you still have to get there and back too.

This is not a four-star hotel ride. Food and lodging clearly surpass camping standards but fall well short of luxury. I had no complaints, but expectations for the finer creature comforts must be fulfilled on a tour elsewhere or perhaps with a different touring company such as Edelweiss. Highland Rider can be all business. Treat your trip deposits as non-refundable—even in extraordinary circumstances. If all goes well, you'll surely get your money's worth but don't expect much flexibility if anything goes wrong.

Here are the plusses: Tiny Scotland has a considerable charm, and if you've ever wanted to tour there, a motorcycle is a great way to do it. While Peter is not a trained tour guide, he intimately knows his homeland. He took us to unexpected places not found in tour books and on gorgeous roads uncharted on my maps. While he prefers wildlife and nature to castles and history, he will be responsive to your interests and, if given enough lead time, will even tailor a theme tour around your special preferences (e.g., historic castles, golf courses, salmon fishing, the distillery trail, etc.). As a bonus inducement to serious US touring riders, Peter will also offer a five percent discount, as he does for repeat customers, to any six-member group of BMW MOA members for any of his tours in 2003. E-mail is the easiest way to reach him at peter@highlandrider.com; telephone and fax at 44 0 1506 846 616; or see his website at www.highlandrider.com where tour information for 2003 is posted.

Whether you sign on for an organized tour (which I heartily recommend) or hire a Beemer for a trip of your design, the Scottish highlands offer a marvelously unique setting for a memory-maker ride.

[mcmusing]

Awww, see Logan? Kids aren't so bad ☺

The time has come again for me to rain on fandom fun. Although, considering how many times Fox has violated everybody, most should be numb at this point.

Like dofp, people see X2 as a worthwhile sequel. I mostly liked it at first and though it's way better than dofp, I'll take X-Men 2000 over it any day.

There are good elements in it. Kurt/Nightcrawler is really great and unlike his mother, he stays fully clothed. He has significant moments with his sister Rogue and their sleazy mutual mother. The relationships are never referenced specifically but get the frick out of here with that. Not one of Erik's multiple, well-known children show up until four movies later. With Raven, half these flicks might as well be called Tyler Perry's Mystique's Family Reunion. Shoot, they should've let Perry direct. At least he attempts human emotion and relationships.

Rogue's excitement over Logan coming home was so heartfelt. As was Logan's continued affection for her and initial gruffness with Bobby. Scott was too wonderful for this series. Logan jacked his motorcycle, but the first thing Scott asks him is if he found what he was looking for. Logan's conversation with Professor X and Prof being playful/fatherly toward him was sweet. Logan agrees to watch the kids- back before he decided he loathed children. Magneto teaming up with them provided some cherished moments of him taking the wind out of Logan's overrated sails. And Pyro joining Magneto actually made sense. To think, the old man didn't even have to prey on him sexually- no matter how much McKellen likely wanted that in his contract. My goodness, the male actors in these movies. They actually come in to work. It's a good thing most of Rogue's scenes are with them. Don't need those X-women bringing her down.

Blah, blah, blah let's get to the bad.

For some random loner they've known less than two weeks, Logan is made too important among the X-Men. Professor X treats him like a son, Jean is all girly blushing at the mere sight of him; the kids all have such reverence for him, and Stryker is stalking him for his alleged greatness. If not for Magneto dissing him and Hugh Jackman's fine acting, Logan would be a collosal gary stu.

Speaking of Magneto, wtf was wrong with him in this movie?! This was seriously his descension into one-dimensional villainy. WHY didn't Magneto immediately tell Charles about the threat on the school?! WHY was he so remorseful towards Rogue in the last movie but mocking his near homicide of her- an innocent mutant child- in this one?! WHY would he be stupid enough to try to commit global genocide against every homo sapien?! Forget the ethics. That would wipe out most of the population and cause immeasurable destruction and chaos across the.globe. WHY did he leave his 'best friend' and only prison visitor to die?! WHY is this genetic scientist who can mutate regular humans still trapped in McKellen's wrinkled, prehistoric empty sack of a body?!

WHY didn't Mystique anonymously contact Prof X about the raid?! WHY did she openly laugh at her daughter's trauma?! WHY is she running around naked in front of her son?! WHY is she trying to risk procreation with Logan when she can't be bothered with the kids she already has?! WHY does fandom pretend she's beautiful when she's really a hideous animalistic pet wench?!

WHY is Jean such a gullible, naive tramp?! WHY is she cheating on her kidnapped boyfriend with a lustful, unreliable hobo?! WHY did she leave the house with that haircut? WHY couldn't she just stay dead?! WHY does Fox do good female mutants dirty yet put the evil ones on a pedestal?!

I'll complain about Scott later.

Why is this thing even called X-Men United when most of it has them scattered from each other? To this day, X-Men 2000 is the only X-Men movie with the X-Men as a functional team!

And oh boy, we need to talk about *that* scene. You know which one i mean Yeah, buckle in for this bull, boys and girls 😠

After the mansion invasion, Bobby brought Rogue, Pyro, and Logan to his family's Boston house. The Drakes come home suddenly and Bobby 'comes out' about being a mutant..........

Ooooooookay... hey, gays, c'mere. Come, come. I get it. Singer got you- not to mention McKellen- reeled in with this transparent pride pandering. Now, look, I acknowledge that a number of you can relate to Bobby here. Being altogether exiled from family or them never accepting who you're going out with. I'm sure there have been violent and cruel reactions as well.

That being said, this scene is terrible!  Bobby's parents being troubled by his mutation I can buy. His mother ready to scream because he chilled her tea, no. Bobby's *little* brother being so utterly repulsed- seriously, even this kid emotes better than Jean and Storm- that he runs upstairs and calls 911 was unforgivably exaggerated and stupid! Then, the Drakes just completely abandon Bobby when he and his friends are being rounded up by law enforcement.

I know to people like Singer wholesome, two-parent suburban families are really a front for kkk headquarters. One of those bigoted assumptions that no one points out. But no way do I buy that Bobby's parents could have and love their firstborn for almost twenty years, only to throw him to the wolves because he can generate snow cones. For pete's sake, there are parents willing to alibi their known serial killer-rapists, drug dealing, school shooting, bomb building children! I can't even call it a cartoony reaction because the actual animated adaptations weren't nearly so spoon-feeding.

On the 90s show, did Christopher Summers treat Scott like this? No! When they met, Christopher already had a team made up of intergalactic weirdos, including a white cat lady who inspired one of my characters. Did Jean's parents react badly?  Before the stupid phoenix movie, she had the most stable family in every adaptation. Gambit's little bayou swamp family of thieves reacted to meeting the X-Men with such nonchalance that they had to be okay with mutation. Hank distanced himself from his family but only because he had such a physical mutation and didn't want to make trouble for them. Professor X couldn't tell about his mutation because during his era, he would have been institutionalized for hearing voices. Rogue's father threw her away, but that evil redneck was probably just mad he couldn't molest her. Even Jubilee's foster parents loved her. They just didn't know how to help her.

On X-Men Evolution, Evan's parents were too cool with his and Storm's mutations. So were Kurt's adopted parents. In fact, most of the students went home for the holidays. Ironically, the most negligent parents were flippin mutants, Mystique and Magneto.

I don't know what is with these movies and reducing the world to black and white caricatures. It's especially bothersome since the only really innocent mutants across the films are Rogue, Kitty, Jubilee, Kurt, and Scott. The rest go insane with power, join cults or other nefarious organizations, go on killing sprees, cause billions of dollars in property damage with their ridiculous inter-mutant tiffs. Oh wow, I just realized that these movies make mutation an allegory for urban gangs(Erik) vs. youth outreach programs (Charles).

Anyway, Rogue flies a plane to keep them from crashing, despite being a terrified young girl with no mary sue magic like her mother. Jean dies for stupid reasons but we still get a brief peace before the wet rag demon reemerges. Rogue is finally given a proper uniform and joins the team alongside her brother Kurt and Sc- SCOTT? W- b huh?! Kurt and Scott are right there when the Professor so properly but ominously tells the president to leave his babies alone. That wet rag drowning in water didn't prevent Scott from leading the X-Men. Kurt never left. What happened?!!!!!

.... Wait. Is x3 like the first Power Rangers movie- non-canon? So that means Jean really is dead and everything from last stand to logan is just a nightmarish alter-Earth.

Also meaning.....

-Scott got over the wet rag and dedicated himself to his students.

-Kurt stayed to get to know his sister.

-Logan and Scott developed a genuine friendship with no hootchie in the middle.

-Scott retained his place as Professor X's rightful heir.

-Charles and Erik really did meet as teenagers. They did have a long friendship at one point. Erik never paralyzed Charles!

-Rogue and Kurt eventually tracked Mystique down for child support

-Charles IS the hero!!!!!

I knew x2 was better than dofp 😄

[athenaseden]

we are always talking abt seeing mel w another woman so see barbs response but consider its not that shes w someone else, its that barb didnt know. this is gonna read more platonically them btw. also over a few episodes.

jacob and janine and zach saw mel out on a date w some girl. they are all shocked bc what she was going strong w gary !?! so they come in monday and are interrogating barb abt mel and gary. They somehow manage not to expose themselves but make barb massive suspicious. she checks in w mel and mels like oh yeah we didnt work. im sorry I meant to tell you that. barb is a little disappointed but decides to give it a break. we see janine and jacob investigating. get a few shots of mel smiling at her phone and her walking out on the phoneall giddy but she always has an excuse. and we as the audience have no proof this isnt a prank. one day mel is late. And the cameras and barb, greg, janine and jacob are all outside waiting for her. up coming a motorcycle w two women, one w flaming red hair under her helmet and it stops in front of the door. mel gets off and waves tells her gf bye and walks up the steps and everyone is just standing there. you have ava who is watching the motorcycle leave and eyeing mel in her leather jacket. janine and jacob proud to be right, greg walking in bc honestly why does he even like them again. And the barb who looks disappointed. Mel explains she had to take her mustang in so she needed a ride but there was construction on some short cut so they had to take the main road. Then they go abt their day bc mel says no to all questions that come from the knuckle heads. We see barb distance all day. then when everyone is leaving and cant find the two we are dragged back to their room where barb is upset "why didnt you tell me?" mels so confused "tell you what? ole girls in the shop? you were already here you couldn't have help." that sets barb off bc yes she could have. "that you have a girlfriend!?!" and melissa is so stunned bc what. barb knows she dates women. what is this. "what are you talking about? why does it matter?". please barbara is so done. "I am your best friend melissa ann schemmenti and in the past two months you have neglected to tell me that you broke off one relationship and started another! what happened? i used to know every detail. did i cross a line? was i too hard?!" and melissa finally gets it and realizes what this is. "barbara, i havent neglected to tell you about my new relationship. ive been planning to tell you this weekend. i am sorry about not telling you about gary, i just didnt want you to be disappointed. you wanted me to be with someone and i am! she just wasn't ready to have other people know about our relationship. and i like her barbara a lot. i didnt think I could contain myself if i told you because i do tell you everything." and then ya know. everything is better.

[disneyat34]

The Aristocats at 34

A review by Adam D. Jaspering

The second Disney Dark Age was defined by a series of decisions resulting in decreased film quality. Some decisions were timesavers, prioritizing efficiency above craft. Some were financial decisions, scaling back ambition, favoring simplicity. Some of it was a general sense of disillusionment. The glory days of the Disney empire were gone. Animation as a medium was in a rut. The prestige of working in cartoons was akin to working on an assembly line.

The Aristocats was never a children’s book, fairy tale, or published story. It was an original concept by writers Tom Rowe and Tom McGowan for Disney’s Wonderful World of Color. In 1961, they were instructed to develop stories featuring animal protagonists.

One of the stories involved a family of cats forced from their home by an evil butler and maid. The cats would hide around Paris, staying safe, exploring the locales, having adventures. This was the first draft of The Aristocats.

For years, the writers worked and re-worked the story as a two-part, live-action, made-for-TV movie. From every angle, The Aristocats was infeasible. The writers were trapped in an endless cycle of revision, rejection, revision, rejection. By 1966, they gave up. With so much time, money, and effort sunk, they recouped their losses by selling the treatise to Disney Animation Studios.

The animated medium worked to the writers’ advantage. The cats could now talk, react, move, emote, and think like more than simple house pets. It made completing the script much simpler. However, that was the only advantage earned.

The greatest indicator of the troubled writing process is how heavily the movie borrows ideas from previous Disney films. Disney had made films about pets in trouble before, and they were successes. To copy their success, The Aristocats copied a number of plot elements and themes.

Consider what is lifted from 101 Dalmatians. Someone nefarious kidnaps a bunch of beloved pets. The pets evade their captor, and are forced on an arduous trek back home. They find respite only through the hospitality of other animals along the way.

Consider what is lifted from Lady and the Tramp. A spoiled pet, accustomed to love and indoor life, is forced from home. They find a streetwise transient with a heart of gold who agrees to help. Over time, love blooms despite the pair coming from two different worlds.

The Aristocats is a shameless blend of 101 Dalmatians and Lady and the Tramp, simply substituting the dogs with cats. It offers nothing unique. What it lifts, it doesn’t improve on.

The xerographic animation is the worst its ever been. Xerography has always resulted in scratches, inconsistent line widths, and rough details. In The Aristocats, it’s laughably bad. Lines are sketchy, frayed, and wiry. In wide shots, character outlines are too thick. On close-ups, outlines are too thin. Errant reference lines are left in place, never cleaned before going to print. Detail lines are too bold and garish. The animators were either getting sloppy or lazy.

The female lead of the movie is Duchess, a white angora cat. She is voiced by Hollywood actress Eva Gabor. Gabor is best known for the sitcom Green Acres, where she played a socialite unwillingly relocated to a country setting. She admirably plays Duchess, a cat socialite unwillingly relocated to a country setting. 

Gabor lends an air of nobility and sophistication to the character. Unfortunately, she never fully hides her Hungarian accent. She slips between her natural voice and a French affectation, creating a definite European sound, but not of any particular area.

Duchess’s three kittens are Marie (white, voiced by Liz English), Berlioz (black, voiced by Dean Clark), and Toulouse (orange, voiced by Gary Dubin). All three are voiced by American children and speak in an American accent.

In most Disney movies, young characters are voiced  by actual children. The same is true for The Aristocats. Unfortunately, the three actors here are among the worst the studio has ever seen. The children lack a sense of timing and awareness in their recitations. Everything they say is forced and toneless. They’re not acting, just reciting the script. It’s made all the worse they don’t project, delivering their lines quietly and without passion into the microphone. Every line sounds as though they have sore throats and stuffy noses.

The male lead is O’Malley, an orange piebald shorthair voiced by Phil Harris. Phil Harris voiced Baloo in The Jungle Book, and was acclaimed for bringing the bon vivant bear to life. It’s no surprise, in a film that has already recycled so much, it recycles an entire character. Phil Harris gives O’Malley Baloo’s relaxed nature, cocky arrogance, love of music, and budding paternal instincts. The only difference between O'Malley and Baloo are their species.

The plot of the film centers around Madame Bonfamille, an elder Frenchwoman of notable wealth. An aging woman, she meets with a lawyer to draft a will. With no spouse and no living family, she bequeaths her estate and all monetary goods to her beloved cats.

This enrages her longtime, long-suffering butler, Edgar. So much so, he conspires to kill the cats, leaving him the sole beneficiary. The evil maid from the original story spec was written out completely.

There is so much to unpack in such a confounding setup. The first among them, Madame Bonfamille won’t relinquish her estate until she dies. She appears to be in her 70s, but is still fully ambulatory, healthy, and mentally sound. She won’t be passing on anytime soon.

So why would Edgar attempt to kill the cats immediately? If he killed the cats now, Madame Bonfamille would adopt new cats and start the cycle anew. Why wouldn’t he kill the cats when Madame Bonfamille is closer to death? If she’s enfeebled or incapacitated, she’d be unable to amend her will.

Let’s give Edgar the benefit of the doubt and assume he panicked. He was blinded by greed. He was offended his boss would discount his years of loyal service. He’s seen as lesser than a quartet of creatures who use a litter box. He didn’t consider the ramifications of preemptive catslaughter. The insult caught him off-guard.

If Edgar behaved rationally, bided his time, and planned a perfect murder, killing the cats would still be stupid. Without researching French estate law of the early 20th century, we can reasonably assume a person cannot name pets as beneficiaries. In which case, the will’s stipulations would be voided and Edgar would inherit the estate.

Assuming it’s unconventional but acceptable, the cats would need a caretaker. What would cats do with such money? Cats can’t shop, can’t pay bills, can’t pay taxes. Edgar would almost certainly be given power of attorney over the cats. He’d live in the manor, be granted a trust fund, and all in exchange for occasionally feeding a few cats. The cats would legally own the wealth, but Edgar would be in charge of where it’s spent. Edgar would get everything anyways, and his hands would be clean.

Even for a kid’s movie, the plot is overly simple and collapses under scrutiny. After so many rewrites and changing of hands, standards dropped noticeably. Nine different writers worked on this movie. The filmmakers had no expectations of the script beyond “complete” and “printed on paper.” The Aristocats is no masterstroke. But maybe it was never intended to be.

It’s never been officially stated, but in an era of financial instability, it’s easy to see the appeal of The Aristocats. A paper-thin plot is an acceptable concession to showcase a bunch of dancing and singing cats.

Disney had never made a cat movie. Disney had made dog movies, and subsequently sold dog toys and dog merchandise. But some people like cats more than dogs. There was an untapped market for cat toys and cat merchandise. All they needed was a cat movie. The plot was irrelevant.

The stakes of the movie are incredibly low. In 101 Dalmatians, the dogs are forced to walk from the outskirts of town back into London. It’s an arduous journey. The weather is harsh and unforgivable. The puppies are tired and hungry. The villain is actively on their trail, ready to attack at any minute.

In The Aristocats, the cats are forced to walk from the outskirts of town back into Paris. It’s a leisurely walk through the countryside. The weather is pleasant and sunny. Edgar doesn’t pursue the cats, assuming them already dead.

The cats were carted off somehow, and now must return home. Their journey isn’t one of survival, just inconvenience. It’s all the tension of a motorist running out of fuel and walking to the nearest gas station.

The plot is so razor thin, characters and vignettes are introduced that do nothing except pad the runtime. After O'Malley falls in a river, he’s saved by a pair geese. It’s an Avis Ex Machina.

Their contribution to the story fulfilled, the geese do not waddle off. The cats follow them into town. There, we meet the geese’s drunken uncle. The drunken uncle does nothing of significance or importance. He stumbles, confused, dizzy, inebriated in a misguided attempt at humor. It’s funny because he abuses intoxicants. Enjoy, kids!

When Edgar attempts to dispose of the cats, his efforts are interrupted by two hound dogs. These dogs chase his motorcycle, causing Edgar to crash. In order to escape without being mauled, Edgar leaves the sidecar and several personal effects behind. He’s forced to return the next day to retrieve the incriminating evidence.

Why these two dogs are so territorial is inexplicable. They don’t just chase Edgar’s motorcycle, they declare a vendetta against him. They chase him off, they chase him back, they even steal the motorcycle and attempt to run him down. If Edgar wasn’t literally trying to drown kittens, the dogs would easily be the villains of the movie.

The dogs have Georgia accents. There’s no reason why. They live in France, just the same as any other character. Should we assume the dogs immigrated from the American south just to work on a farm in a new country? Were they adopted by French farmers from breeders across the Atlantic?

Simply put, they’re hound dogs. Hound dogs are stereotypically southern. It would be silly to have them speak French. It’s also silly to have two characters with Georgian accents in the French countryside. There were no good solutions here.

There’s also a Chinese cat who supplants his L’s with R’s when he speaks. He has buck teeth and squinty eyes. He carries chopsticks around with him. The Aristocats copied so much from Lady and the Tramp, why wouldn’t it also copy its racist stereotypes?

Madame Bonfamille and Duchess are the only characters in the film to have French accents. The rest of the characters speak with American, British, and Appalachian accents. For a film set in France, an array of English dialects is distracting and confusing.

Maurice Chevalier sings the film’s title song. Disney secured a French icon, but shied away from the French language. French accents were either too distracting or too indecipherable. At the least, the replacement accents should be consistent.

The French setting was entwined with The Aristocats since its Disney’s Wonderful World of Color days. Producer Harry Tytle is credited with setting the film in Paris. The intention was, what 101 Dalmatians did for London, The Aristocats would do for Paris. Yet another idea borrowed from 101 Dalmatians.

While The Aristocats is set in France, there’s nothing specifically French about its setting. Except for the establishing shots, the movie could just as easily be set in Montreal or Stockholm. Most of the movie is set in a faceless countryside or indistinct buildings.

The other puzzling aspect of the setting is when exactly this movie takes place. The movie insists the year is 1910; the vehicles, furniture, clothing, mannerisms, etc support the assertation. But Scat Cat and his crew are cats out of time.

Scat Cat is a jazz musician (voiced by Scatman Crothers, hence the name). Scat Cat and his band are close friends of O'Malley, later becoming friends with Duchess and her kittens. The band play anachronistic, 60s-era swing jazz.

While jazz music did exist in the 1910s, it was closer to its Dixieland and ragtime forbearers. It certainly wasn’t present in France. Jazz didn’t reach French ears until WWI, introduced by American soldiers. All that’s beside the point; Scat Cat and his crew come straight out of the Kennedy era.

Anachronistic music has never been a problem in Disney films, but early 60s music in a 70s movie set in the 1910s is a disastrous choice. 70s music would be acceptable. 1910s music would be acceptable. Even 40s music, splitting the difference, would be an acceptable choice.

Music can’t be used in a movie just because somebody on staff likes the song. It needs to fit the film, of course, but it also needs to be either modern and contemporary, or a nostalgic throwback. It’s the exact reason the Sherman Brothers shirked from using a rock and roll song in The Jungle Book.

60s jazz is dated, irrelevant, and distracting. It doesn’t belong in the movie. It doesn’t fit the setting. It’s not old enough to be classic, and not new enough to be relevant. It makes Disney seem like their finger is off the pulse. But there were big jazzy numbers in The Jungle Book, and The Jungle Book was a success. So The Aristocats also got a big jazzy number, even if it makes zero sense.

The Aristocats is a mess from the bottom up. The paper thin plot is a discarded treatise no one else wanted to make. It’s puffed up with unnecessary scenes and characters that contribute nothing. What little is offered is blatantly recycled from other Disney pictures. The animation is among the worst ever proffered from Disney Animation Studios. The characters are bland and undefined, the setting is underutilized, and the ending is so conveniently contrived, you can tell precisely when the screenwriters threw their hands up in frustration.

It may be unfair to place the failure of The Aristocats on Disney Studios alone. The 1970s was a dark age for animation in general. The decline of the studio system in the 1960s had a ripple effect into the animation industry. Theatrical shorts from MGM, Warner Bros, Universal, Paramount, and Disney themselves ceased in the mid-60s. Animation was becoming outdated and irrelevant.

The end of the era would be tragic, but animation wasn’t a dead medium. Ironically, the rise of Saturday morning cartoons on television meant animation had a larger audience than ever. But without studio financing and prestige, cartoons were churned out cheaper, quicker, and with smaller returns. There was a market demand without standards or incentive. It was a no-win situation.

Still suffering from Walt’s death years ago, Disney Animation Studios was under financial strains and a creative dry spell. Disney animation was coasting on nostalgia, constantly in danger of being shut down. The board of directors only needed one excuse.

The filmmakers cut every corner and made every concession. In doing so, The Aristocats came in underbudget, and turned a profit. In financial terms, the movie was a success. And while the film has its share of fans and defenders, from a cinematic standpoint, in every other sense, it is a disaster. Disney Studios proved cats don’t always land on their feet.

Fantasia Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs Cinderella Alice in Wonderland Sleeping Beauty Pinocchio The Jungle Book The Sword in the Stone Bambi 101 Dalmatians The Three Caballeros Lady and the Tramp Peter Pan Dumbo Melody Time Saludos Amigos The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad The Aristocats Fun and Fancy Free Make Mine Music

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

The Fast and Furious: Stripe Drift || Jane and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Kaden’s apartment and then some fun travel PARTIES: @jane-the-zombie and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: FOLLOW THAT MIME! CONTENT WARNING: Reckless driving (motorcycle)

Kaden was running out of sick leave, but he couldn’t possibly go to the station or the shelter covered in black and white stripes. The field would be just as bad. But somehow work had to get done. He could do desk duty from home, right? Only, uh, well, he needed his files. Or anything. There was no way in hell he was calling Gary. He already felt like shit, the last thing he needed in his life was Gary. He sure as shit wasn’t calling Stryder and he had a feeling Sarge was going to have more questions than was worth his time. Which left Wu. He just had to figure out how to get the files without her seeing him. At all. Not even a little. He asked her to leave them at the door. So why was his phone ringing? “Hello? Wu? Are you bringing the files? You can just leave them at the doorstep. I’m very sick, super contagious. Really best if you just drop them off.” he said, adding in a few coughs for extra effect.

“I’m outside, Paw Patrol,” Jane replied, leaning against her bike, files tucked under her arm. Last thing she expected to do today was pick up desk duty for animal control. She pinched the bridge of her nose. Those coughs sounded as real as could be, and she didn’t really feel like walking all the way up to Kaden’s apartment building. “Come on Langley, come and get’em, I don’t really give a shit if you give me cooties or whatever?” If she didn’t know any better, Jane would have accused him of playing hooky. And if she didn’t know that Kavanagh would rather cheerfully throw herself out a second story window rather than miss work, she’d tease him about wanting to spend more time with his girlfriend by pretending to be sick.

“Outside?” Kaden said, his heart dropping to his stomach. He couldn’t have her see him like this. Leaving the apartment hadn’t gone well before, but at least he hadn’t run into anyone he knew. This, Wu? She’d never let him live it down. “Can’t you just stop being an asshole and drop them off? I’m not feeling w--” A chill ran down his spine. The one that meant a werewolf was nearby. Or maybe… “Hold on.” He grabbed his scarf, gloves, and jacket despite the heat, trying to cover up what he could, and peeked out of the door. There was a scuttle, a familiar inhuman movement. A small creature on all fours. The mime that had emerged from the cookies. It was at least ten inches tall now. And it was booking it. “Putain!” He reached inside to grab a knife, but when he looked back, the creature was gone. “Get back here!” he yelled, forgetting the phone was still in hand as he ran down the stairs to try and find the thing. He saw it stretch and morph, pulling itself through the underside of the door. Fast. Far too fast. He ran after it, watching it crawl past Wu and her motorcycle. “Not this time, connard! Not this fucking time!”

Jane was about to mock Kaden for being a big baby when something distracted him… And then he was yelling. “Langley? Langley!” She snapped into the phone, and started striding right to the front door, only for a cat to slip out, followed by Kaden. A striped Kaden. She hung up the phone. “Are you striped?!” Jane asked in amused disbelief, except then she got a good look at what she originally called a cat. “What is that! What is that! Argh!” This was the bad place. The thing stretched and skittered across the pavement way too quickly for it to ever be possible. “WHat the hell is that!” It seemed to grow just a bit bigger, it’s black and white body a stark contrast against the pavement. Jane was moving after it before she even realized what happened, and next thing she knew she was at her bike, chucking the helmet she didn’t wear at Kaden. “Hop on, let’s go.”

Oh fuck, Kaden almost forgot he was striped and covered in the stupid face paint. Almost. Either way, Wu sure reminded him. “Maybe. It’s not by choice, alright! We gotta follow that--” Before he could finish his sentence, he found himself catching a helmet. A helmet? For what? He looked down at it, then back up at her. And her motorcycle. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Wu. There’s no way I’m getting on that thing with y--” Out of the corner of his eye, Kaden saw the creature scurrying away, further and further, about to be just out of vision. A string of French curse words flew out of his mouth as he shoved the stupid fucking helmet on his head and climbed onto the stupid fucking bike behind Wu. “You better drive saAAAAAAAAFE,” he screamed as she took off speeding, his arms barely locked around her before she started.

“You said the same thing about the rollercoaster!” Jane laughed - yes, laughed. She wanted to figure out what that thing was, despite everything. She just barely waited for Kaden to grab onto her before she revved the bikes engine and was off like a shot. The damn thing only seemed to go faster and faster and faster. Jane was known for speeding - in fact, she frequently pushed the bike up to 90-100 miles per hour at night with no helmet on. She caught up easily, gaining on the stupid little mime thing. “What is that!” Jane didn’t know if he could hear her scream over the sound of the bike, the adrenaline and - oh crap, was he screaming too? - Jane wove around a large pickup truck, hardly paying attention as the driver laid on the horn. Come on, come on, come on! And then they took a sharp turn down another large stretch of road. “Will this thing ever stop running?!”

Kaden felt his stomach rolling and reeling as the motorcycle darted through traffic. Putain de fucking merde, was that a truck? That truck almost cut them off. He was going to die. This is how he died. Not by werewolf, mime, or even by banshee, but a fucking motorcycle driven by an almost zombie adrenaline junkie cop. “Slow down, what the fuck! THAT’S A CAR, THAT’S A-- STOP!” he shouted while she clearly ignored him and sped around with no cares in the world. Meanwhile, he was pretty sure he was one fucking swerve away from a heart attack. “And where the fuck is your helMEEETTT.” The sharp angle of the turn nearly sent him spilling off the edge and his arms wrapped around her tighter. He was likely using entirely too much hunter strength but right now he didn’t give a fuck if he bruised one of her ribs or two, he wanted to live. “I don’t fucking know but try not to kill us!”

“My helmet’s on your head!” Jane called back. But it wasn’t like she wore it anyway. She really only carried it around because Marley bought it for it and gave her a look every time she saw her not wearing the damn thing. The only reason she slowed down a little was because Kaden had a death grip on her torso. “Ow - ow - ow! Can you stop! Loosen up!” This wasn’t at all like when she rode with Marley. Except she didn’t have time to think about the pain in her ribs because the fucking mime thing burst off the road and into the field. And, automatically, Jane followed. She surged the bike off the road and down onto the dirt bellow, careening after the fucking thing like it was some really fast rabid dog. “Hold on tight! We’re off roading!”

“I loosen up when you slow the fuck down!” Kaden screamed in her ear. It surely didn’t hurt as much as any time Regan screamed ever, but he hoped it hurt a fucking little after the sheer amount of fucking panic he was experiencing. “We’re what?” Kaden asked as his eyes went wide. Was she really turning onto the dirt. Off the road? Off the-- They were going off of the road. Away from the road. “No,” was all he said at first. And then the ride got bumpier and it was clear she wasn’t turning around. “No, no, no. Wu, no. WU, NO!” All Kaden could do was scream more as they flew through the dirt and grass, his voice breaking up and bouncing with every jostle of the motorcycle. At this point, he was almost okay with letting the fucking thing live. It was fine. He could be a mime forever so long as he never had to do this again.

Dirt, grass, and small rocks kicked off behind them as she sped through the field abd after the mime fiend. Jane watched in some horror as the mime stopped, stood upright…. And then melted into what looked like a black sticky substance. “Uh-oh.” Jane was going too fast to stop, and next thing she knew, they were flying through the sauce on the bike. The bike slid, and for 10 solid seconds, Jane was certain they were going to crash. At least Kaden’s wearing the helmet. But Jane steadied them, swinging the bike around as dirt and mud sprayed back behind them before forcing the bike to jerk to a stop. Jane cut the engine just as she spotted the black, sticky sauce moving across the ground, before disappearing down into a nearby drain. Jane pressed her lips together in a thin line, before wincing. Her ribs? Bruised. But maybe she deserved it. Her thoughts sobered a little when Daniel’s voice echoed in her head -- you’re out of control, Wu. She looked behind her, a little guiltily. “How you doing, Paw Patrol?”

Kaden was pretty sure his screams reached a new decibel as the bike spun out of control. It was nearly impossible to remember that he had to be conscious not to break Wu’s ribs as he clung onto her. It slowed and he thought it might have stopped, but he couldn’t tell because his world was still spinning. Was he seeing this right? Did the mime monster turn to ooze? And, yaah, pretty sure it slithered away. “What the fuck?” he said at the sight of the sauce disappearing into the drain. Then he remembered. They were stopped. He let go of Wu, scrambled off the bike as quickly as possible and considered heaving right then and there. “What the fuck, Wu?!” she said back to her, shouting once again. “Were you trying to get us killed?! Do you normally do this?! Why?! WHY?! I know you’re going to bounce the fuck back but I’m not! And why aren’t you wearing a helmet, if your head gets damaged you won’t come back at all! If you end up as a fucking pancake on the side of the road, no amount of zombie anything is going to let you live!” Kaden screamed again and turned to let a new slew of curse words in multiple languages fly while he tried to get his pulse back down to a respectable fucking level.

Jane winced as Kaden started screaming at her, talking about pancakes and zombies and helmets as well as a multitude of colorful things in multiple languages that she only half-understood. Crap. “Hey, hey! You said follow the mime!” Jane said, hands raised in slight defense. Of course, he was right, but she wasn’t about to easily admit that. “I only own one helmet, I thought it would be better for you to wear it instead of me.” Jane prodded at her ribs, wincing again, before glancing back at him. “Sorry, though. I would have gone myself if I knew you weren’t going to like it. I do normally drive like that - hey.” Jane squinted, leaning forward. Something was off about his face - wait. Wait. “The stripes are gone. Off your face.” She leaned against the seat of her bike, pointing. “You’re clean.”

“I know what I said but I didn’t think you would drive like th-- Wait, what?” Kaden looked down and took the gloves off his hands. His hands. That were flesh colored. And not striped. No black, no white. Pink fleshy skin tone and blue veins. He squished it a bit to make sure. He pulled up his sleeves to check and still, no sign of stripes. “I’m clean? Putain, I’m clean! No more stripes. What about my face? Is my face okay, too?” He pulled out his phone and fumbled with the screen until he opened the front facing camera. There was his face. No paint. No dumb black triangles or silly eyebrows painted on. “The screaming worked, holy shit!” Regan was right! Again! Somehow! He ran over to Wu and picked her up into a hug. “No more stripes!” he said, beaming. And recalling pretty quickly that he bruised her ribs. And that she was his colleague. “Right, sorry. Just excited,” he said as he quickly put her down. “It didn’t go away for a few days, so yeah. Uh, ride back? Slower? Much, much slower.”

“Your face is fine too - oh.” Jane watched in amusement as he pulled out his phone to look at his face. “The screaming? What do you me - Whoa!” And Kaden has seized her, picking her up in a big hug that hurt her ribs. Laughing loudly, Jane shook her head. “Hey! Ow! Put me down!” But her words mixed with laughter as he seemed to sheepishly put her down. She snorted. “No kidding, huh? I guess what they say about Hunters having a killer grip is true.” She poked at her ribs again, feeling the pain shoot through them. Ouch. That was going to hurt for a bit. Well, she certainly had worse. Jane grinned at him when said she could drive back, bending to pick up the helmet off the ground and held it out to him. “Don't worry, I promise I'll only speed a little.”

[randomoranges]

monmongary week day 5: motorcycles

honestly this was a prompt i really wanted. i mean - there’s the fact that ed rides motorcycles and no one is taking advantage of this delicious morsel of information. this is a gem. so here we are.

also i said og that i didnt want any of the prompts to be related to current situation and yet this one takes place in current situation lamao.

Also the title comes from an old gif @allbeendonebefore made like - a number of years ago. 

also also sorry gary is out of this one. BUT HEY, IT’S THE ONLY PROMPT HE’S OUT OF. CONSIDERING MY TRACK RECORD THIS IS GOOD.

Vroom Vroom Tabarnak

 Étienne follows the sound of the faint music in search for his boyfriend, still half asleep, but slowly coming to.

 He had woken up to a quiet house and wondered briefly, where the other inhabitants of the household had gone off to. His first answer was a note left on the kitchen table, from Calvin, stating that he was off to run errands and pick up groceries. He has no idea when the message was left, but from the sounds of it, Calvin might still be out. The house is far too quiet, it’s odd, and it reminds him too much of before. There’s another note, from Edward, besides it, that says he’s in the garage (because, apparently, in this world, garages are a separate building from houses and Étienne will never ever understand that. Ever.) Therefore, Étienne heads off towards the garage after putting on a sweater.

 He knows better now.

It’s then that Étienne hears the music, muffled and coming from towards the garage, and he decides to follow it to see if it would lead to Edward.

 He’s not sure what he expects to find when he opens the door, but he’s surprised by it and takes a moment to observe the spectacle before him, for it is a spectacle and he’s quite pleased he’s stumbled upon it.

 The music amps up with the door open and Étienne recognises the popular rock song playing from the speakers or radio that must be hidden somewhere in the garage. The truck is outside so that Edward could have more space to work and in the middle, he sees Edward, tinkering away on what seems like a piece of scrap metal. Étienne can’t really tell what it is his boyfriend is doing, but he observes and watches silently, his mind entertained for the moment.

 Edward whistles along to the song, unaware that he has an audience and it takes Étienne a moment to realise that Edward looks completely and utterly content with the world. There’s a soft smile to his lips as he fishes a tool out of his toolbox, before he returns to the hunk of metal and keeps working at it. There’s at least three layers of grime on him, a stain of oil across his left cheek and a dirty rag that may have been once white hangs from his dark jeans.

 He looks – beautiful – gorgeous – at home, here in his garage tinkering away on this project of his and Étienne is content watching, soaking up Edward’s peaceful aura for a moment. It’s a different look to him – one Étienne hasn’t seen often, but it suits Edward – tremendously. He thinks he could get away with going unnoticed – that Edward will never need to know that he had walked in on him and his little side project, but then Mercury decides to show up as well, curious as ever, and maybe a little lonely herself, and she manages to squeeze past Étienne’s legs, before Étienne can properly stop her.

 Edward hears her approach – hears the dangling of the tags on her collar and he stops to wipe the grime from his hands before he bends down to pet her head. He crouches low to be more on level with her and she absolutely goes for it, putting her front legs up on his thigh in order to lick his face. Edward laughs and Étienne briefly wonders if he can bottle up the sound and let it nourish his soul on a cold winter day. He regrets not having his phone with him to snap a photo of this tender moment, but consoles himself that at least he witnessed it.

 It’s then that Edward looks his way – from where Mercury came and then he spots him. Étienne tries to look casual, as though he hadn’t been standing there like a fool for the better part of the past fifteen minutes, but – he knows Edward can see right through him, even if he acts nonchalant. He lets it slide and figures it’s best if he walks into the garage to at least retrieve his dog, if Edward doesn’t want to be bothered.

 “Glad to see you’re finally awake,” Edward says as a greeting and Étienne knows there’s no bite behind it – no tease or illusion to him oversleeping or being lazy. Edward is very careful not to wake him, tries to be quiet in the morning – Calvin as well, by extension, probably because Edward told him.

 “Hmm, yeah, what’s all this?” He asks as he drapes himself over Edward’s shoulders, mindful of the dirty rag and other stains. He’s in a borrowed sweater and he’s not sure the sweatpants are his either anymore.

 “This, my dear, is a 1967 Triumph Bonneville,” Edward says proudly, looking at the scrap of metal as though it is a first-born child. Étienne blinks, convinced he’s missed something and Edward laughs when he sees the confused look on his face, “Or, at least, it will be. I’ve been working on this old clunker for ages – on and off as I find parts and have time. With confinement and such I’ve had more time to tinker away at her and she’s finally starting to look like a bike!”

 Étienne isn’t sure it looks like much of anything, but Edward looks far too happy and pleased for him to burst his bubble. Instead, he nods and lets his mind wander to pleasant images of Edward riding motorcycles. It’s a good daydream, one he’s very familiar with.

 “You know,” Étienne starts, his voice a whisper in Edward’s ear and his mind still conjuring pleasant images of Edward in nice leather jackets and tight leather pants, “I do recall you offering me a ride once upon a time, many, many years ago...” It had been summer of 87, July 23rd, to be exact, but – Edward doesn’t need to know. Étienne isn’t even sure why it is he remembers the day, just that Edward had been in town for a visit, they’d been hanging out, and Edward had let slip that he’d bought an old bike and had been working on it and was looking forward to a ride.

 Étienne’s mind had stilled, stalled and booted back up as it tried its best to wrap itself around this delicious morsel of information. Even then, his mind had gone to leather jackets, tight pants, defined boots, and Edward with a motorcycle between his legs. Windswept hair, the attitude, the casual smile and easygoing saunter... he’d been a mess over the thought.

 Étienne had casually mentioned he’d love to have a ride. Edward had said he’d save him one.

 The problem had been that at the time, Edward seemed allergic to the idea of having Étienne over, afraid his friend would be bored out of his mind in his city, and so, Étienne had only rarely visited, and when he had, there’d never been time for that ride.

 It’s a tragedy, Étienne knows, and he figures it’s a good time as any to remedy that.

 “Did I now?” There’s a teasing edge to Edward’s question and Étienne can’t help but grin against his boyfriend’s shoulder. He takes in the smell of grass, gas, and Edward and finds they all mesh really well together.

 “You did; I’m still waiting for that ride, mister.”

 “Well, unfortunately, the Triumph still isn’t ready, but lucky for you, I have more than one bike. We can go after you actually eat something and once I shower.”

 Étienne makes a face at the thought of breakfast, but he supposes it’s a fair bargain. Edward’s been very adamant about him having a minimum of two square meals a day – almost sits with him to make sure he eats something. He knows it comes from a good place in his heart and he is trying. Therefore, he nods, calls Mercury back to him, before she gets her paws into something she shouldn’t and heads towards the kitchen, leaving Edward to finish off with what he was doing.

 Étienne has no qualms admitting (to himself) that he’s fantasised about Edward in leather many times over the years, since that day in 1987, but nothing prepares him for the actual sight of Edward in actual leather. The pants are nice and tight; hug every curve and every muscle of his legs just right, the jacket is a thing of wonders, with patches in various colours on it. It’s so very masculine and so very sexy – so very rebel bad boy. He loves the look – absolutely has a thing for this look and it also helps that Edward hasn’t bothered drying his hair, has merely passed a hand through it to comb it back. There’s something seductive and provocative about the way Edward looks – about the confidence that seems to roll off his shoulders and Étienne doesn’t even stop himself from staring. Leans against the wall and lets his eyes drink in the sight. Edward looks good this way. Étienne commits every detail of this look to memory. He gives an appreciative nod and Edward smirks, even goes as far as striking a pose for him.

 “Like what you see, Maisonneuve?”

 “Oh, absolutely, Murphy,” He replies, matching his tone, levelling with him. Étienne likes that they can do this now – that there’s no shame between them. That they can tease and taunt and even flaunt without fear. He likes this side of Edward. A lot. Edward would ask him to bend over for him right then and there, or to get on his knees and suck him off and he would. Without question. (He would on any other occasion as well, but this look is doing things to him. He has a thing, maybe. He knows he has a thing for Edward – that’s not a surprise to anyone at this point. But Edward? In leather? And actually seeing it for himself? It is a thing of beauty and he mourns the fact that it has taken this long for it to become a reality.)

 Edward shakes his head, amused, and then tosses a jacket to Étienne who somehow manages to catch it before it falls to the floor. “What’s this?” He asks as he looks at the jacket. It’s nice, a dark navy blue and it smells of well loved leather and of Edward.

 “It’s for you – it might be a little big on you, but you should wear it.”

 Edward gives him a look that might be a little self-indulgent and Étienne wonders for the space of a brief moment if Edward isn’t trying to live a fantasy himself. Étienne shucks on the jacket and it is a little big, but he likes the way it falls on his shoulders and if he’s to judge by it, Edward likes it as well.

 “All right, let’s go.”

 Edward leaves a note for Calvin, in case he gets back before them, and Étienne follows him out.

 “Have you ever ridden on a bike?” Edward asks him as Étienne takes a good look at the motorcycle. It’s a nice model, he supposes, looks – more recent, maybe – he couldn’t tell, and his mind blissfully blanks out for a moment when his boyfriend mounts it. He looks – extremely hot doing so and so very much at ease, that Étienne takes a moment to appreciate the sight. He has definitely missed out on this.

 It’s strange to say, but he has actually never been on a motorcycle before. Of all the people he’s been with, of all the rides he’s gotten, it has never been on such a device. He laughs to himself, amused, and when Edward asks him what’s so funny, Étienne tells him that he’s a motorcycle virgin, and isn’t it nice that Edward gets to pop that proverbial cherry of his.

 Edward’s cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink and Étienne loves it.

 “The rules are quite simple. Hang on tight, don’t let go – and don’t fucking try to do anything stupid.” Edward tells him as he hands him a helmet. Étienne nods and climbs behind Edward. Hanging on tightly will not be a problem and if he sits a little closer to Edward, if he presses himself nice and snug against him, Edward doesn’t say anything about it, and if anyone asks, Étienne will simply say that he would hate to fall off.

 They’re off with a roar soon after and Étienne squeezes Edward tightly, surprised by the sudden burst of speed and the wind blowing right through him. It’s an exhilarating feeling, an instant high, almost, and Étienne briefly wonders if there’s a connection to be made there. It takes him a moment to get a feel for the wind and the balance of his head against it, what with the helmet and such, but when it no longer feels like he’s fighting to look straight ahead, he takes in the blur of buildings and trees as they whizz by.

 He laughs, unable to stop himself, as a feeling of freedom he seldom ever feels courses through him. He wonders why it is he’s never tried this before, considering there is very little he hasn’t tried at least once, and makes himself a note to ask Edward for more rides, before he decides to head back home.

 He’s half convinced they must be speeding beyond measure and he’s quite surprised when he manages to get a look at the speedometer and sees that Edward is respecting the limit and that they’re cruising at a steady sixty. Yet, when Edward zooms away, manoeuvres the bike from one lane to the next, passes cars as if they’re standing still, it feels like they’re going faster than ever and Étienne would love for this feeling to last for a lifetime.

 “All good?” Edward asks him over the noise, when they get to a red light.

 “Absolutely!” He responds, wide grin taking over his face. Edward answers with a soft smile of his own, before he pushes his visor down and then they’re off again.

 There’s no real point to the ride and Edward goes through calm streets and busy streets, crosses over one bridge and Étienne experiences the sights of the city through a new angle. All the while, he holds on closely and never misses an opportunity to snuggle up to his boyfriend, when they need to stop at a streetlight.

 It feels like they’ve been on the road for hours, but Étienne is quite surprised when they make it back to Edward’s and he notices that it hasn’t been quite that long. He’s a little unstable when he un-mounts the bike and Edward is there to offer steady hands as he helps him off. Étienne welcomes the contact and settles for a proper hug after he’s ridden himself of the helmet.

 “So? Did you like it?”

 “I loved it,” He says with emphasis and Edward’s smile is part relieved, part pleased. Étienne thinks it’s a very good smile on him – goes well with the bad boy look Edward has going on and manages to tell him so. The lovely pink from earlier returns to Edward’s cheeks and he mumbles something or other as he puts the bike and the helmets away.

 When he’s done, Étienne follows him back inside and when he goes to remove his jacket, Edward tells him to leave it on a little longer.

 Étienne laughs and does as he’s told. He has not, is not and will never be one to say no to Edward and follows his boyfriend further into the house, to wherever it is Edward wants to go.

 FIN

[starklite]

A Trip down Memory Lane - Purchasing Antique Motorcycles

A Trip down Memory Lane - Purchasing Antique Motorcycles. We collect antique motorcycles for many reasons. For some it’s considered a trip down Memory Lane as we now have the financial resources to pursue our dreams from our teen years or purchasing...

A Trip down Memory Lane – Purchasing Antique Motorcycles

by Gary Stark

We collect antique motorcycles for many reasons. For some it’s considered a trip down Memory Lane as we now have the financial resources to pursue our dreams from our teen years or purchasing the bike we remember our father or grandfather used to have. Of course we tell our wives, “It’s really more of an investment…

[findasongblog]

Rock Im Park & Lollapalooza Paris - The Bands*

Review by Mig-El

*check back here tomorrow for a comparison of the two festivals (site, transport, etc.)

The festival season is practically over. This year, I visited two major festivals: Lollapalooza Paris and Rock Im Park. I attended both days of Lollapalooza but only one of the three days of Rock Im Park just to see my favourite bands. So here are, in my personal opinion of course, the best acts I got to see this summer. Rock Im Park has a lot of heavier rock bands and Lollapalooza pop and electronic artists, which are not featured in this post.

Snow Patrol (Rock Im Park)

Anyone that knows me would roll their eyes, but yes, I am starting with my favourite band. After 5 years, Snow Patrol is finally back on stages. This was probably the best sounding show I have attended so far. Still playing it safe with their most popular songs like Run, Chasing Cars and many more off Eyes Open but introducing some of their new songs like Don’t Give In and Empress which are sounding pretty good live. For now, their show is very simple, with only the artwork of their new album Wildness as their background. Frontman Gary Lightbody went off stage to give a hug to a fan who was requesting it on a sign. Apparently, the security staff liked them so much that they danced back and forth along the barrier in a conga line. I never saw something like that happening.

The Killers (Lollapalooza Paris)

My favourite act of the festival. They played on one of the two Main Stages which are basically next to each other and since the previous band on the other stage was still playing when they were supposed to start, The Killers came out and played Mr. Brightside in an amp vs amp battle that they could not lose. Everyone was astonished by that. I wonder how the other band and their crowd took it. With only two songs off their latest album, The Killers played a set with all their hits which pleased everybody. Brandon Flowers is super charismatic and he really takes care of his crowd. They invited a guy to come up and play drums during For Reasons Unknown. By the end, as originally planned, they finished with Mr. Brightside, the first half being a remix version. So we were very lucky to listen to it twice and in different versions.

 Muse (Rock Im Park)

I couldn’t miss the chance to see my other favourite band playing so close from home. And this was one of their very few European concerts of the year. Their recent shows don’t focus on any album in particular. They are shorter sets than usual with their two new songs (which I don’t like at all), their greatest hits and a couple rare songs like Take A Bow and Unsustainable. It feels less epic but more natural since they have no “choreography” to follow. One of the best live acts ever. The love for the band made it overall a better experience with everyone united for one and a half hour of jumping, screaming and singing. Sadly for old fans of Muse, the new direction of their music might change things a lot in coming years.

Kasabian (Lollapalooza Paris)

These brits played a crazy show at the Main Stage 1 before Depeche Mode that made it look like the place was on fire. That band knows how to lead a proper rock concert. I really recommend seeing them live. No big show, just pure rocking. Just be careful if you are not the mosh pit kind of person.

Kaleo (Rock Im Park & Lollapalooza Paris)

This band from Iceland is one of my favourite discoveries from last year and their sound live is as good as it can get. I saw their impeccable performance twice. Their lead singer has an unbelievably powerful voice (and a huge wardrobe apparently), all of them are great musicians and have a wonderful clean sound. These guys are the proof that rock & roll is not dead. They try to keep their set quite upbeat, which is a good idea and they totally pull it off. See them live if you can and listen to their album A/B. They have a song in Icelandic which is simply beautiful.

Nothing But Thieves (Lollapalooza Paris)

Another of my favourite bands of the past few years. Due to technical problems they came out very late so their show was shortened. I could notice them having some new gear, which might be the reason for their sound being better than on previous concerts. They are also playing more around with songs, which shows their growing confidence. They managed to gather a very big crowd considering they played the small stage. These kids will be big. Trust me.

Depeche Mode (Lollapalooza Paris)

I am not a big fan of Depeche Mode so I waited until I could see them at a festival. It’s cheaper, shorter and easier. They have just finished touring their album Spirit. Personally, I was expecting more of their concert. The 70s/80s vibe is impossible to miss. From Dave Gahan’s (lead singer) endless dance to the equalisation of the music, and the style of playing of the musicians. I hope that is because that is who they are and want to be, and not because that is what they think will please their audience, but I am not really into those older styles (no offense). My personal favourites Precious and A Pain That I’m Used To were both played in more electronic versions, which disappointed me very much. The classics Personal Jesus and I Just Can’t Get Enough were enjoyable, but the one that really stood out by far was Enjoy The Silence. Definitely the climax of the show. The festival set consisted only of high quality video clips and simple animations on the background screen. Nothing too big for the almost 40 year old band. If you like the old school Depeche Mode, you will certainly enjoy it but if you are more into the 2000s style of their Playing the Angel, you might be disappointed.

Gorillaz (Lollapalooza Paris)

Another act I wanted to get to see live once, as I have heard good things about their show and it’s a band that doesn’t tour too often. I don’t really like the last couple of records they have released, with more pop and electronic influence. The old songs were quite enjoyable though. It is very interesting to see all the different styles of music, the musicians and the virtual band. All revolving around Damon Albarn. It was a great surprise to see Noel Gallagher joining the band for the last song We Got The Power.

 Catfish And The Bottlemen (Lollapalooza Paris)

On an earlier slot at the Main Stage 2 the Bottlemen were fun as always. They haven’t released anything new in two years so they are still playing pretty much the same set as in past years, with an even longer version of Tyrant to finish with a jam that they seem to enjoy more than anyone. Another very good band with simple but quality rock British style.

Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds (Lollapalooza Paris)

First time seeing Noel live willingly. This time around I have enjoyed it since it’s been very slowly growing on me. His new album has some good songs. Particularly the opening track Fort Knox is very powerful, almost instrumental, with a girl doing some incredible vocals. Noel is serious as always but he and his band deliver a very good performance. Wonderwall is always nice to listen to from him.

Special mentions

I saw some good bands playing from the distance whilst waiting for my favourites on another stage: Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Bastille, Tom Walker and Stereophonics. Not a big fan of any of them but they all did sound good. I particularly enjoyed Stereophonics, I have known their music for a while but it definitely caught me by surprise how much better they sound live. The difference is big.

[hell-yeahfilm]

DEATH BY THE FINISH LINE

Abby has been pretty much coasting since coming to town. She doesn’t need to work because her aunt left her a stately old Victorian house to live in, and the income from renting the back cottage is enough to keep her mastiff mix, Zeke, in dog biscuits. She spends her days whipping up yummy baked goods that she shares with her handsome tenant, Tripp Blackston, and Police Chief Gage Logan, her buddy. But Mayor’s Assistant Connie Pohler has her eye on this lady of leisure, and before she knows what hit her, Abby finds herself chairing Snowberry Creek’s Founder’s Day Salmon Scoot. Her co-chair, scruffy biker Gil Pratt, turns out to be an unanticipated godsend. Seems like the organizational skills Gil learned in the military have some welcome applications to small-town fun runs. Just as Abby and Gil are congratulating themselves on a job well done, some young bystanders find a body in the ravine by the finish line. The late James DiSalvo was a local busybody who specialized in shutting down local properties he considered eyesores. One of the sorest in his eyes was the motorcycle repair shop owned by Gil and his brother, Gary. Soon Gary is in the hoosegow, and it looks like no amount of pie will convince Gage to let go of his chief suspect. Fortunately, Abby’s work-free lifestyle gives her plenty of time to do what she does best: investigate crimes the police have got wrong.

from Kirkus Reviews https://ift.tt/3qrJcUN

[bbreferencearchive]

Bio

Bobby Beausoleil was born on November 6, 1947, to a large working-class family living in Santa Barbara, California, and christened Robert Kenneth Beausoleil. His prodigious creative output over his lifetime has been largely overshadowed by his having been an associate of Charles Manson in the late 1960s. He was apparently involved in a drug transaction with members of the now long defunct Straight Satans motorcycle club, who were also associates of Manson, leading to his being sentenced to life imprisonment for the murder of Gary Hinman, who was also associated with Manson and his communal family. Young Bobby was a good-looking boy with a pronounced musical talent but his curiosity and rebelliousness got him into minor scrapes with the law. At the age of 14 he was sent to a camp for wayward boys for truancy and repeatedly running away from home. A few months after his release from the boys camp he again left home, at age 15, for the final time. He drifted down to the Los Angeles area where he played guitar in rock bands and became immersed in the early development of the counterculture movement. Beausoleil was interested in film at an early age, and has worked in film and related media in various capacities both on the acting side and behind the scenes production. His first film appearance was in the art film classic Mondo Hollywood, in which he appeared briefly, at age 16, in a scene depicting him as Cupid shooting an arrow from his bow. He made acting appearances in several films after that and has also composed musical scores for film and produced some short films of his own during his imprisonment. In late 1965, following a brief stint playing rhythm guitar in a rock band called The Grass Roots (subsequently to become known as Love) with singer and songwriter Arthur Lee and guitarist Johnny Echols, Beausoleil moved to San Francisco. In a short time, he found his way to a then quiet artist community in a district known as the Haight-Ashbury, where the band The Grateful Dead lived communally in a large house, and began forming his own psychedelic band. The music made by this band is documented on an album, "The Orkustra: Experiments in Electric Orchestra from the San Francisco Psychedelic Underground", which includes soundtracks made for underground experimental films. While living in San Francisco, during the time he was performing with The Orkustra, Beausoleil met and became creatively involved with underground filmmaker Kenneth Anger. In 1967, Anger was working on a new film project entitled Lucifer Rising, a "love vision" based on Anger's interpretation of the fallen angel mythology. The filmmaker asked Beausoleil to star in the film, who agreed on the condition that he would compose and record the film' s soundtrack. He put together a new band specifically for this project and named it The Magick Powerhouse of Oz. The collaboration fell apart in the fall of that year, but Anger would later use the film he had shot of Beausoleil in his film Invocation of My Demon Brother, which incorporates an electronic music composition by Mick Jagger as its soundtrack. Of minor note, Beausoleil portrayed the leader of an outlaw band of Indians in the 1968 production of The Ramrodder, a soft-porn cowboys and Indians' farce. In the mid-1970s Kenneth Anger, while living in England, resurrected the Lucifer Rising film project, with Led Zeppelin guitarist Jimmy Page designated to create the soundtrack for the film. However, Anger was dissatisfied with Page's performance. He then turned to Bobby Beausoleil and made arrangements with him to produce the film's soundtrack from prison. The Freedom Orchestra, Beausoleil's prison band, supported him in creating the recordings of the score and the master of the soundtrack was delivered to Anger in 1979. The film debuted in New York in 1980. The recordings made by Beausoleil for the Lucifer Rising film project, including the 1967 version, are fully documented in "The Lucifer Rising Suite", a boxed anthology album released in 2013. The soundtrack is widely considered to be influential, and portions of the soundtrack have been used in other films, including Gaspar Noe's erotic film Love, as well as two films by Chris Mourkarbel, Me @The Zoo and Gaga: Five Foot Two. After completing the film soundtrack Beausoleil continued his studies in film production, videography, sound design, and creating various types of media for film, including 3D animation. He has released eight albums, seven of them recorded while he has been in prison, the most recent being the 2-disk concept album Voodoo Shivaya, recorded between 2008 and 2015. He has also created a significant body of visual art, paintings and drawings. Beausoleil married in 1982, and his wife Barbara was instrumental in keeping him connected with the world at large until she died from a sudden illness in 2012. The website she established on her husband's behalf is now maintained and kept up to date by close friends and family. Nearly all of Beausoleil's creative works can be streamed and viewed at www.bobbybeausoleil.com. Beausoleil remains behind bars but may one day be granted parole, as he did not play a role in the horrific murders committed by Charles Watson and other members of Manson's family that occurred subsequent to his imprisonment for the Hinman murder. His behavior while incarcerated is said to be exemplary. 

[cto10121]

Romeo, Juliet, & Jim—Review Part 3

In which the red flags become crimson, Jim comes out as a blue-and-true homewrecker, and the book shows at least (1) braincell while Juliet loses all the braincells she’s ever had

She’d said they should bring along Jim. Romeo knew she’d said it to keep him from wondering about their relationship, but Juliet hadn’t put it that way, and he loved her all the more for it. She made even the hard things easy.

No, Romeo, this is not good!!! The red flags are crimson, repeat, they are crimson!!!

“Rosaline,” Romeo said, deleting the message and shaking his head. “I need to extricate myself from that situation.”

“You do,” Jim said. “But not right now.��

See, he was a friend. A guy after your girlfriend would have made sure she knew about your too-close-for-comfort moments with another woman. Romeo told himself he’d been his own worst enemy, thinking he had something to fear with Juliet and Jim being friends.

Fear it, Romeo!!!! Goddammit!!!! (But also, this is so generous compared to Juliet’s jealousy over the non-existent Romeo/Rosaline, I could cry)

Romeo checked his reflection. He wasn’t a rugged motorcycle guy. He was almost pretty, like a young Leo DiCaprio.

*studio audience groan* (Also, why do these authors insist on blond Romeos??? He consistently reads brunette or dark-haired to me in the Shakespeare.)

Maybe he just had a crush on them.

That would definitely make it worse, knowing these writers (one male, one female) and their writing so far. Jim just screams “Gary Stu OC” disturbing an otherwise solid modern R&J dynamic. On the other hand, if it makes them ditch the dick-measuring and awful gender stereotyping, then it’d definitely be a plus.

“You know, I think they might be dating,” Jim blurted out, wanting to prove his dad wrong.

You had ONE job, you idiot OC fuck—

He knew, though, that his motivation for revealing the Romeo and Juliet fact was Psychology 101: He wanted his father’s approval. And he wanted Juliet and hoped that blowing their cover would break them apart. But now he regretted the sub-conscious selfishness.

*sings to the tune of “Goldfinger”* Homewrecker / He’s the Stu fucking with this OTP / Just let them be!

Juliet did despair when she wasn’t with Romeo, couldn’t talk to him, couldn’t hear from him, couldn’t have him. But she’d never before thought that was something to blame Romeo for. It was their situation and the circumstances that caused it. Not Romeo himself.

But maybe she’d been lying to herself this whole time.

Everything is just Romeo’s fault, is it? Well, it certainly isn’t Tybalt’s.

Romeo waved at Juliet and Jim and strode toward them. The girls looked longingly at Romeo—probably because he was so clearly French and they’d probably decided one of them was going to hook up with a French guy tonight. But Romeo didn’t even notice them, he seemed so focused on getting to Juliet.

If there is at least (1) braincell in this novel, it’s Romeo’s constancy and fidelity to Juliet. Love, love, love to see it.

“At least they’re here and not at the Montagues’ thing.”

“The Montagues’ thing?” Juliet’s heart alternately fluttered and cringed at the name.

“Yeah, while you’re putting your brother underground, they’re having a party on a yacht,” Gabrielle said. “Can you say horrible?”

And of course that makes Juliet lose it and think Romeo doesn’t care about her brother dying and her in general and of course she doesn’t even consider texting him or writing to him. FML.

He should have been with her.

Her brother was dead.

The Capulets were at a funeral. And he was on a boat.

*Lonely Island voice* He’s on a boat! He’s on a boat! Her brother’s dead and he’s on a fucking boat!

She pressed her lips to his, hungry and wanting to obliterate him, obliterate everything.

And now Juliet finally cheats on Romeo with Jim. *screams into pillow*

People think Shakespeare said love is a many-splendored thing. But that was some other guy.

Paul Francis Webster. You’re welcome and fuck you too.

(And with that random song reference, that concludes this book! Yes, it literally ends on a cliffhanger—Juliet gets it on with Jim while Romeo is at her balcony, about to be discovered by Capulets in a clear set up for a sequel.)

Conclusion

Ho boy. Where to begin?

The good news is is that this wasn’t the (complete) trainwreck I was expecting from 1) that stupid bat-shit crazy premise and 2) a work by two writers. Oddly enough, the connection between the modern-day Romeo and Juliet was touching and canon-compliant with the Shakespeare. There was chemistry and love and history there. I dislike the change in the circumstances of their first meeting, but it is necessary, I suppose, to have a reason for the couple’s de-stabilization later on by an outsider. But then along came Jim and it just became an unreal shitshow. (An entertaining one, though—I was flipping pages in a kind of grudging amusement).

Both Romeo and Juliet became jealous and insecure out of literally nowhere, and they consistently refuse to communicate. Juliet is the worst affected, and she continually loses brain cells and jumps to unwarranted conclusions all. the. time. Not once does she even think to confront Romeo on Rosaline (compare this to Shakespeare!Juliet’s emotional info-dump of an overshare to Romeo at her balcony). Romeo fails to see the walking talking red flag of a Gary Stu that is Jim, but on the whole he is written more constant and loyal than Juliet, who starts lowkey swooning over Jim from the bike ride on. This despite the fact that it’s clear she doesn’t like him as much as she does Romeo. (?!!!) Jim is not the worst character ever, but he has little charisma and has no chemistry with Juliet. The writers could have easily made him a Friar Lawrence/Nurse confidant (or just the Paris counterpart instead of Pierre), ditched the love triangle, and fleshed out the cutthroat fashion-world and addiction plots instead; it would have worked much better. You could still have misunderstandings, but they would arise more naturally than the contrived drama here. Despite the authors’ attempts to undermine the R&J connection by having them meet knowing each other already (ugh), their relationship is still more interesting by itself than the Jim one.

As for the writing, it’s super simple and shallow—meet for YA except for the fact that the characters are consistently written as if they were adults. It’s a bit of a shock to learn they all attend the same high school. The national and gender stereotypes were garish to the point of parody—not that Romeo and Juliet were convincing as French teenagers, anyway, and Jim was a walking talking cliché of an American. There was obvious research done, and the romantic clichés of Paris are kept at a bare minimum, but well. I’m not the most suited to judge the cultural authenticité on that front. Suffice to say, this book is very clearly written by Americans (ugh).

All in all, for a troll premise, this wasn’t a complete disaster, just a very unsatisfying one. I think the problem is that while it’s clear the writers understand the R&J dynamic and had some idea as to how to translate it to the modern world, (the shared email account was inspired) they found themselves at a loss as to how to secure the epic star-crossed ending. It is hard, I agree, but there is a lot of seediness that occurs among the rich too, and the book ends on a de facto murder. At least the R&J romance was treated with respect, which is more than I can say for other books of the same premise (coughJulietImmortalcough). Of course, it only made the contrivance of the Jim dalliance all the more contrived and unsatisfying. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. My advice? Just don’t bother.

(P.S. Also, and this is obviously my fangirl mind talking…a modern AU set in freakin’ Paris with bonafide French!R&J and zero RetJ references? Shameful. Vous êtes à Vérone, bitches!)

[ulfwolf]

My Precious Library -- Musing 185

Paging through   my library— I know I am   the richest soul on Earth

I know that among the four hundred and fifty books, along with the two hundred and thirty-four “Paris Review” Interviews with writers (which appear on the Kindle as documents rather than books) housed on my Kindle reader, I will find the answers to all of my questions, especially my main one.

Okay, perhaps a small lie that, for I also know that the actual answer, the Truth Actual and Ultimate will not emerge from books but will one day arise form an immeasurable depth during meditation. Still, the path to that wonderful illumination is paved with the many books I’ve found and chosen to buy and place in my, yes, precious library.

A brief orientation perhaps is in order: I love the number eight.

And, as a consequence, I love the number sixty-four (i.e., eight times eight or eight to the second power, i.e., squared) eight times as much. So, not surprisingly, I have created sixty-four Kindle Collections to facilitate navigation. Collections are like bins where you store likeminded books or documents.

Most of these collections are by author—some of which, in no particular order: Nadeem Aslam, David Loy, Joan Didion, Jack Kerouac, Mary Oliver, Mavis Gallant, Rebecca West, John Crowley (of Little, Big fame), John Le Carré (who, by the way, is one of the best writers on the planet—don’t for a second pigeon-hole him as a spy-thriller author, he is so, so much more than that, even if most of his novels roam that genre), John Berger, Paul Auster, Diane Ackerman, Ursula Le Guin, Thomas Pynchon, John Updike, George Saunders, Salman Rushdie, Arundhati Roy, Mary Robinson, Siri Hustvedt, and Eduardo Galeano.

The balance of these collections are by subject, e.g., Zen, Bhavana (meditation), Dhamma (writings on, mainly, Pali Buddhism), Poetry, Haiku, His/Sci (History and Science), Emptiness (the Ultimate Truth), Words (my many dictionaries), Craft (of writing), Language (more on English and writing), Paris Review (which contains 243 Interviews with Writer as published over the years in the “Paris Review” magazine), Dhammapada (four translations of this Buddhist classic—my favorite one by Thomas Byrom; perhaps not the most accurate but certainly the most poetic), et cetera.

In addition to the 450 books housed on my Kindle, I have more than that again in the Kindle cloud—the number of publications on my Kindle cloud (including my downloads and Paris Review documents) reads 1,234: yes, admittedly I have a thing for numbers. Not that I consider them magical or anything, or that I steer my little craft by them, I just love them as ornaments, I enjoy their sparkle.

The collection name “Story” houses 44 books, mainly stories or story collections by writers such as Martin Amis, Mark Helprin, Kurt Vonnegut, Chekhov, Robert Pirsig (“Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance), Dostoevsky, Doris Lessing, Gene Wolfe, Richard Powers, David Mitchell, John Cheever, Alice Munroe, Grace Paley, Flannery O’Connor, Raymond Carver, V.S. Naipaul, William Faulkner, Anthony Doerr, Benjamin Black (aka John Banville), Thomas McGuane, Margaret Atwood, Nabokov, Hemingway, Eudora Welty, Lydia Davis, Stig Dagerman to name just about all of them; along with collections of Grimm’s fairy tales, and those by Hans Christian Andersen, as well as a good translation of “The Arabian Nights”.

Lucy Ellmann finds herself in the “Story” bin as well—I’m currently reading her “Ducks, Newburyport.”

The collection named “Phil/Rel” (Philosophy and Religion) houses, yes, eight (64/8) works: “The Perennial Philosophy” by Aldous Huxley, “The Life of the Mind” by Hannah Arendt, “The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali” as translated by Edwin F. Bryant, “History of Western Philosophy” by Bertrand Russell, “Principles of Human Knowledge and Three Dialogues” by George Berkeley, “My View of the World” by Erwin Schrodinger, “Brave New World Revisited” by Aldous Huxley, and Thomas Traherne’s “Centuries of Meditation”.

It was Traherne who wrote: “You never enjoy the world aright, till the Sea itself floweth in your veins, till you are clothed with the heavens, and crowned with the stars.” One of the most beautiful statements of Truth I have ever come across.

When, each morning as I being my meditation, I express my heartfelt thanks for all their help I thank firstly, Buddha Gotama for his brilliant path, and secondly and embracingly, my Sangha, my “support group” as it were, which to me includes all those religious figures, writers, poets, philosophers, historians who have sincerely pondered the Great Unknown, the big, the ultimate questions, and shared their conclusions either as story or as essays and the like.

The robust ignorance of this planet springs a leak now and then. Some of these leaks we call Saints, some we call Poets, some Writers, some Painters, and so on. This both temporal and spacial archipelago of wisdom-lights is what I view as my Sangha, and I thank them all each day.

Since I’m now practicing Zen, the majority of my Sangha are Buddhists, both Pali and Zen, both ancient and current. Some are meditation teachers, some are philosophers. A not very partial list, in no particular order: Dogen, Dan Leighton, Red Pine (excellent translator of Chinese scriptures), Sheng Yen, Edward Conze, Bhikkhu Bodhi, Shohaku Okumura, Robert Aitken, John Blofeld, Gary Snyder, Thich Nhat Hanh, Kazuki Tanahashi (excellent translator of Japanese scriptures), Rabindranath Tagore, Kosho Uchiyama, Hee-Jin Kim (amazing analyst of Dogen’s work), Hakuin, Gil Fronsdal, Eknath Easwaran, and last, but certainly not lease the Dalai Lama.

Between them the above Sangha has read and reflected a thousand times more widely and deeply than I have, and that they have all shared their very real “finding” is my very real blessing.

Yes, I know, I really do, that there are many, many more philosophers and teachers and writers and so on out there who are as well read, as good, and would be as helpful to my search as those I’ve listed here. But I also know, with the same certainty, that they would not be better, or more helpful—if he or she exists, I would have run across them by now: I have been looking for teachers for as long as the Internet has been in existence, and an amazingly brilliant light would have appeared on my screen by now. But, yes, I’ve missed not a few, of this I’m sure.

Still, I know that with what I now own, both on my Kindle and in the cloud, I have as much help as I am ever going to need, no one will help me better (unless in person, of course, but considering my age and location I have more or less ruled that option out; in other words, I plan to complete this journey via books, via “long distance” assistance, as it were.

If for no other reason than to prove that it is possible.

So, that’s why when, every now and then I page through my Kindle library, I say to myself, I am the richest person on the planet.

 ::

P.S. If you like what you’ve read here and would like to contribute to the creative motion, as it were, you can do so via PayPal: here.