January 28th, 2001


Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

While the rest of the world busily prepared themselves to watch men run into each other and fight over a piece of pigskin, I let the Dragon Lady talk me into watching a movie. A foriegn movie with actual subtitles. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.
It was beautiful. Awesome. Amazing. I loved the special effects. The fight scenes were very dramatic and fast.
But for two hours, it seemed like twenty. Maybe I just don't handle chinese movies well, but...it seemed like it would never end. Kinda like Titanic, except at least then you knew the boat would eventually sink. With this movie, you were never sure which character would kill the other and then kill themself. (Although I had an inkling it would be the Governor's daughter...)
The Dragon Lady insists that it is important for me to expose myself and absorb the Chinese culture. Honestly, though, I could've stayed home and watched channel eight for six hours and seen the same story with poorer effects.
Anyway, go and see it. Asian pride and all that.

My Weird Disnified Dream

It's a random dream from Saturday...no, Friday night.

Wendy Darling has just opened an exhibition of her beautiful paintings to the masses. Eager critics, delighted fans rush in to admire her work.

A young man, perhaps a year or two younger than her twenty-seven years, is looking at a painting of children flying through the night sky.

"Do you like that one?" she asks. He nods. "It was inspired by a dream I had when I was younger." He looks interested, so she continues, "I dreamed that this boy, Peter Pan, took me and my brothers flying through the sky when I was...oh, ten...maybe twelve...perhaps I wasn't even nine. Anyway, we went to his little place in the stars and fought pirates, or some such rubbish, and then he took us home in his flying ship...funny, I've never told anyone about that before. It was so long ago...hang it all, I've forgotten the name of the country he took me to." She laughed. "I'm sorry to bore you with such a silly little story..."

"It was Neverneverland."

"Why, I do believe you're right. How'd you know that?"

"Wendy, it's me. Peter!"

Wendy looked disturbed, then she laughed again. "Oh, you're such a kidder! Really now, what newspaper are you a critic for?"

"Wendy, don't you recognize me?" She stopped laughing and looked at him strangely. "Dammit, I taught you how to fly with Tinkerbell's pixiedust! You came to Neverneverland to live with me and the Lost Boys! You got jealous when I danced with Tiger Lily and wanted to go home, so I brought you back in Captain Hook's ship!"

"Oh my god, it is you." Wendy sits down. "You grew up."

"I had to, Wendy, because it's the only way I could get you back, because you were going to grow up. And then I couldn't find you, no matter how hard I tried!"

"You're too late, Peter. I'm married. I have a child. Too late." As if on cue (she prob'ley was) a little girl runs over to Wendy and hugs her knee.

"But...but...I grew up for you!" Realization crumples him like a paper bag. "What do I do now?"

"You'll have to find your own answers to that." Wendy walks away with her daughter, and the Man called Pan needs to come up with a Plan.

I never have nice, vague dreams about elephants playing football. My dreams are always so random and crystal-clear, with dialogue and everything.

Drat. Why Peter Pan? I haven't seen that movie since I was seven...