I believe in the power of the Holy Spirit, the power of a loving god, the power of a savior’s blood and the power of grace. The power found in forgiveness and mercy and humility. The power of a soul changed for Christ. Forgive as Christ forgave you.
Haven’t you heard? Forgiveness is powerful. (Ephesians 3:20)
I believe in the power of strength. I believe in doing what others say cannot be done. I believe in the power that comes from hard work and perseverance; dedication and commitment. I believe that if you do what you do with power, with true and total commitment, you can and will do amazing things.
Use your powerful strength. (Hebrews 12:1, Ephesians 6:10)
I believe in the power of words. I believe a kind gesture or an encouraging phrase is powerful enough to change a life. So open your mouth, and unleash the power you have. Tell someone they’re beautiful, because those words are powerful. Tell someone they are talented, because those words hold power. Tell someone they can, tell someone that you believe in them. Tell someone all of the things you wish would be returned to you, and they will.
Use your powerful words. (Ephesians 4:29)
I believe in loving powerfully. I believe in humbling yourself and becoming a servant to others—what greater power is there than that? There is no limit to love; you have been given unlimited fuel to share with the world, so don’t be stingy with it.
Use your powerful love. (I John 4:7, Romans 13:8) I have a love hate relationship with weekends; it's true.
On the one hand, work is long and exhausting and cool, weekend! On the other hand, when the boss is away, the Kris will play… which means I get quite a bit of non-work-related writing done during my forced downtime in front of a computer. Which is nice; I really miss writing. So work is not all bad, particularly when it’s slow, which can be agonizing and fun by turns.
I like the idea of weekends. Two whole days off to relax with time to myself. Especially now that it’s summer, and infinite amounts of homework are no longer clogging up my every spare moment.
It sounds good, but they never work out that way. I usually spend them cleaning up after a less than emaculate husband, taking care of the dogs, and catching up on things I’ve promised to get/make/do for people. By the time the weekend is over, I realize I didn’t really get to do much of anything that I really wanted to do.
It doesn’t help that David works a rotating four days on, four days off shift, so half the time my weekends aren’t his. Like this coming weekend, which I am really not looking forward to because I will spend it exactly as I have described: cleaning and catching up while David is at work. It's more like two days of no work than two days of Hurray!Weekend.
Hm, all of that sounds very complain-y. That wasn’t my intention. Just trying to explain the sentiment.
Mostly, I wish I had a friend or two around to go adventuring with me on weekends. Heck, I’d settle with someone to watch Smallville or Disney movies with me. Or go on walks. Or play guitar with. All of the above.
Hopefully, when life levels out and things get a little less hectic, weekends will become one of those things I look forward to every week, instead of a period of latency that come around every once in a while and are occasionally fairly enjoyable. ---
First in a series I’m working on called “Conversations with Gabriel”. Because there are some things that people need to hear more than “turn to Jesus.” Like, “I believe in you.” The rest will follow.
---
It was ten in the morning on a Thursday in Stillwell, Kansas. And everyone knew it.
Laurie held an-old fashioned letter opener in her hand, absently tracing the names and dates on her crinkled desk calendar. The day’s first customer had yet to walk through the front door, and the soft, rhythmic sound of the fan in the office window was enough to put anyone to sleep. There was an old radio with a wire coat hanger for an antenna under the counter, but her boss didn’t let her keep it on very loud and the one station in town was broadcasting only broken static at the moment.
Sighing heavily, she dropped her forehead down to rest against the desk. It was going to be one of those days.
“One of those days?”
Laurie lifted her head blearily.
A man of about thirty sat on top of the tall postage counter just across from her desk, elbows on his knees as he regarded her curiously.
Laurie looked from the stranger to the door, to the small bell hanging above it. Maybe it was broken.
She returned her attention to the only eventful thing to interrupt her morning. The man in question was wearing a pair of jeans and a bright white t-shirt; the picture of unremarkable normalcy. He was attractive, but there was something in his attitude that defied physical attraction. Kind of like a preacher. Except that he was perched on her counter like a cat.
She blinked at him.
He cocked his head at her, and now she was sure that he was a cat. Somewhere between the climbing temperature and the maddening silence of the Post Office, she had begun hallucinating. This man was just Alexander, the temperamental gray cat that Mrs. Jorgensen allowed to live under her porch because it reminded her of her departed daughter.
“Alexander?” She asked flatly, half-convinced that he would ‘meow’ back.
“You mean the cat? Come on, it hasn’t been that bad of a day.”
“Sorry. Who are you?”
“Gabriel.”
“You’re not from town.”
“Was it that obvious?”
Laurie nodded. She wished he would climb off the counter; he really looked like a cat.
“Why are you here?”
Laurie wanted to yawn. The combination of the surreal conversation and the agonizing slowness of her day was somehow exhausting in all its uneventful bleariness.
“I work here.” She retorted flatly. “Why are you here?”
“I was passing through.”
“And you decided to make a pit stop to sit on the counter in the Post Office.”
The man smiled widely; he had perfectly straight, white teeth. “That sounds about right. So what are you doing here?”
“I just told you that.” Laurie dropped her chin into one hand. She was too tired to hold it up on her own. “Why do you ask so many weird questions?”
“I’ve only asked one.”
“Well, that’s one more than I usually get a day.” Laurie wondered if she drifted off and woke back up again, if she might find Alexander sitting on the counter across from her staring at her condescendingly.
“So why don’t you answer it?”
“Because it’s weird.” Laurie griped, frowning.
“Humor me.”
She sighed, wishing she could chew a piece of gum. She did when it was slow sometimes but if her boss were to drop by and catch her, she might lose her job. After a moment’s contemplation, she really couldn’t remember why that was a bad thing.
“I’m here because it was easier than going to college.” She admitted flatly.
“Ah.”
Ah? “That’s it?”
“Well, what would you like me to say? It was your decision to make, after all.”
“Yeah, but considering that you’re like twenty years older than me I expected you to tell me that it was the right decision and I should stay in town and stuff, or that I’m wasting my life here and I need to go learn something.”
“Leaving and learning aren’t necessarily synonymous.”
“Yeah, see, now if I’d run off to college like every other kid I graduated with, I might know what the heck that means.”
“It means you don’t have to leave Stillwell to learn something.”
“Yeah. I stayed here, and I learned a heck of a lot about sending packages to places I’ll never go.”
The man stared at her, a half-smile playing at the corner of his lips.
“What?” She sighed apathetically, chin in her hand again. She thought about turning off the fan since it was blowing warm air at her and making her want to fall asleep on her feet, but that would involve walking over to the window. Definitely not worth it.
“There are a lot of people who feel the same way that you do, you know.”
“I’m sure there are.”
“I mean it.”
It was Laurie’s turn to stare. “Are you a preacher?” She asked the question that had been on her mind since she first laid eyes on the man.
“No. Do I look like one?”
“Not really. But you sound like you’re always just about to tell me to get Jesus.”
“Would that be a bad thing?”
“I don’t know. It’s what everyone tells me.”
“Do you listen?”
Laurie shrugged one shoulder. The radio crackled. “Not really.”
The man looked thoughtful, drumming his fingers on his knees.
“I don’t need someone to tell me to get religion, honestly.” Laurie sighed, wondering why she was talking to a complete stranger. “I need someone to tell me to get off my butt and go do things in the world before I die. And then maybe religion will come, because there will be something in my life that’s worth saving.”
Gabriel looked very solemn. “You don’t need me to tell you any of that, actually. You just said it all yourself.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think I believe it yet.”
“Why is that?”
“Because there is nothing in my life that’s worth anything.”
“Circular reasoning.”
“See, that’s another one of those things I might know more about if I had gone to college.”
“You probably know more than you’d think.” Gabriel insisted. “Not all small-town high-schoolers can read Dostoevsky and understand it.”
Laurie frowned, eyes flickering down to the dog-eared copy of Crime and Punishment stuffed under the counter with the broken radio.
“How did you—“
“It’s not a crime to learn more about the world. It’s a big place, full of new things. Raskolnikov is a good example of a man who let himself get swept up in knowledge. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders. I don’t think you need to worry about that happening to you.”
Laurie stared, intrigued. “You really aren’t from around here, are you?”
Smiling, Gabriel went on. “Dostoevsky went through a period of exile too, you know.”
“This isn’t exactly Siberia.”
Gabriel looked pleased with her connection. “No, it isn’t. But it does go to show that everyone goes through periods of change and stagnation in their lives. Maybe it seems like a drought now, but those can only last so long.”
“Okay, now you really sound like a preacher.”
“Sorry.” Gabriel smiled brightly.
“I’m kind of confused.” Laurie admitted. “Why did you come in here?”
“To talk.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“Exactly.”
Laurie’s eyes narrowed. “You are a preacher.”
Gabriel sighed. “Not really.”
“I knew it.”
“If you must label me, call me a missionary.”
“A missionary for who? Or what?”
“I thought you didn’t want anyone preaching religion at you.”
“You’ve interested me.”
“Really?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not a complete heathen.”
“I supposed nothing of the kind. If you would like me to fulfill your stereotype, however, I suppose I could tell you to get off your butt and go do something in the world before you die.”
“I intend to.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” Laurie nodded emphatically. “If only to make you get off my counter before my boss comes in and yells at me.”
Gabriel hopped off the counter, smiling. “Done. Now, what are you going to do with your life?”
“I’m going to go somewhere.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m going to get into college.”
“And then?”
“I’m going to travel. And get a job that pays me to do it.”
“Wow. That’s very ambitious.”
“So was Raskolnikov.”
“And he wound up committing murder.”
“Several, actually.”
Gabriel grinned. “I think you’ll make it.”
Laurie smiled despite her lethargy, feeling invigorated and perhaps a little excited for the first time in months. “You really are an odd guy.”
“I’m from an odd place.”
“So where’s that?”
The back door creaked loudly, and Laurie jumped. She looked over her shoulder as her boss came in and began rummaging in through boxes at the back of the small office.
When she turned around again, Gabriel was gone.
Walking around the corner of her desk, Laurie opened and shut the front door a few times. Every time the hinge swung, the small bell above the frame sounded loudly. For good measure, she stuck her head outside and peered up and down the street in both directions. There was not a soul in sight.
“Laurie!” Mr. Thomsen yelled testily. “Stop playing with the door!”
She pulled back inside and returned to her desk for her tattered paperback.
“When you’re done jacking around, there’s some work for you to do.” Her boss scowled as he worked. “This place is a mess."
“Actually,” Laurie smiled, snapping her nametag off the ugly gray polo shirt she had to wear to work every day, “I have other plans for today. Filling out college applications, to be exact.”
The balding man that used to be her boss sputtered as she pressed the plastic tag into his hand.
“You can’t just—“
“Actually, I can.” Laurie shot him a smile, halfway out the door. “There are a lot of things I can do. And I intend to.”
Grinning, she let the bell ring on her departure, and didn’t look back.
She had places to go. Prepare yourselves, ladies. There is a lot of hotness coming up in this post. ^_^
As should be exampled by the title itself, this is a post for ladies, primarily. Of course the gentlemanly crowd is encouraged to read it as well, particularly if they are either curious about the fangirlish tendencies of the female sex, or simply questioning their masculinity.
Originally, I was going to make a top ten list of personal favorite eye-candy, but I realized that I don't have ten, and the list is more complicated than "top ten". So I have made a Top Five, and included several honorable mentions and up-and-comers who will always be competing for spots on the all-important list.
We'll start with those, all in reverse order of course.
-
Honorable Mention #4:
Daniel Craig.
Why for you have to be so old, Daniel Craig? You have such pretty eyes. <3 That being said, he's not on the actual list because, hey: he's so old.
Honorable Mention #3:
Hugh Jackman.
Also, not on the list because he could be my father. But still, he has his quite delicious moments. I appreciate, you, Hugh Jackman.
Honorable Mention #2:
Jake Gyllenhaal.
For some reason, Jake Gyllenhaal is like a cake in my perspective: Pretty, adorable, festive, and fun to look at. But not really something I want to munch on. He's adorable and has pretty eyes, but he's not quite my cup o' tea. Therefore, not on the list.
At least this honorable mention is not twenty or thirty years older than me.
Honorable Mention Grand Prize:
Ian Somerhalder.
Soooooo pretty. Right now I am quite turned off by the fact that he is deeply entrenched in another crappy vampire romance show, but someday I'm sure he'll snap out of it.
I'll be waiting for you, Ian!
-
Moving on to the Up-and-Comers: Those lucky few who will probably be on the list within a year or so.
Up-and-Comer #4:
Channing Tatum.
Ever since his first cheesy chick flick, I have had a special place in my heart for this man. He wasn't THAT hot though, so I kind of ignored him until he kicked up his game and started really, truly acting. Watch the Eagle if you haven't seen it yet. Boy can act, and therefore, if he keeps it up, he will probably make my list very soon.
Up-and-Comer #3:
Jude Law.
Do I really need to explain this one? LOOK AT HIM. Pretty eyes. <3. He's only so far down the list because sometimes he's kind of a spaz. But he's an amazing actor, and his looks kind of speak for themselves.
Keep working, Jude! You can make it up the list!
Up-and-Comer #2:
Tom Welling.
I know I'm a little late on the uptake here, but after years of watching sporadic episodes/seasons and getting completely lost and confused, I'm finally going to sit down and watch Smallville from start to finish. The first two seasons are already on their way to my mailbox. Therefore, it is inevitable that Tom Welling will rapidly climb the ranks into my Top Seven list within the year.
Up-and-Comer Grand Prize:
Jensen Ackles.
Look at that picture: nuff said. If you haven't ntoiced yet, I'm quite the sucker for pretty eyes. Also I'm working on wtaching Spernatural at the moment. It was over for poor Jensen from the word go.
THE ACTUAL LIST:
And now, the moment you've all been waiting for. The Top Five.
Number 5:
James Marsden.
I can't help it. He's fiiiine. And such an amazing actor/singer/everything. And such pretty eyes! So blue. <3
Number 4:
Darren Criss.
So he's cute. He can sing. He can act. And he's a NERD. What's not to love? I'll admit it, I'm more than a little obsessed with this one.
Number 3:
Wentworth Miller.
Wentworth, we can forgive you for having such a dorky name, because you're hot. And you have the world's prettiest eyes, except for maybe #1. So much love for this man.
Number 2:
Karl Urban.
So he doesn't have the world's prettiest eyes or the greatest body, etc., but there is something amazing about this man. Not to mention he's a brilliant actor. I would wear his face on a T-shirt. Proudly.
Number 1:
Chris Pine.
Shameless crush on this man. On his style, on his face, on his eyeballs. Heck, I don't even mind his stubble. The moment I walked into Star Trek: 2009, it was over for me. It will be very hard for any actor, pretty eyes or otherwise, to bump him out of his #1 spot.
<3
Wednesday, April 6, 2011 7:57 AM
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Red Riding Hood: a fairy tale with a twist that is painfully reminiscent of the first Twilight. This movie was so terrible that it actually cheered me up, because I spent the entire time watching it thinking of exactly how I was going to demolish it in a particularly vengeful blog review.
Don’t worry, I’ll try to be nice. Ish.
If you’re a parent worried about letting your kid see it, it’s a movie that’s about as safe as a new puppy. It’s cute, furry, and visually adorable, but it may try to nip at you once in a while and will almost certainly try to have babies with your leg.
Content-wise, the naughtiest bit this movie has to offer is some suggestive partial undressing (no skin shown, or even revealed off-camera) and some kissing. It does get a little violent, I suppose, considering there is a giant wolf running around eating people, but very little is shown—if it is shown, it’s tragically fake and not at all disturbing. At one point someone’s hand is bitten off to become a Halloween-style prop, and that is literally the worst this movie can dish out.
Will you like it? If you like Twilight, then yes you will. And I sympathize that you had such a poor and deprived upbringing that your mother taught you to watch movies like this. If you didn’t like Twilight, or liked it but had your issues with it, then read on.
Good Points
There were some good points to this movie, and for fear of sounding too negative, I think I should point those out first.
The first saving grace was Amanda Seyfried, who unlike a certain parallel counter-part whose shoes it looked suspiciously like she was being encouraged to fill, is a decent actress. I wasn’t blown away by her performance by a long shot, but she didn’t make me want to cringe away from the screen in horror and plug my ears lest my children’s children be tainted by her soul-wilting wooden delivery and stage presence (or lack thereof).
The second redeeming element was the scenery: panorama shots, location, etc. The moviemakers definitely had something going for them in this department, though I need not point out that they almost completely wasted said scenery, or else completely desecrated it by the strategic placement of glaringly fake backlighting. Considering we’re dealing with the director of the original Twilight movie here, however, I’m honestly not surprised.
The third and final redeeming factor was simply that I went to the movie on a Tuesday night, and the theater offers a free bottomless bag of popcorn on Tuesdays. YAY popcorn!
Bad Points
Considering that I already let my innate cynicism and sarcastic commentary leak into the “Good Points” section, those who have already seen and enjoyed this movie, or even those who are the kind and sensitive type, might not want to read any further.
You’ve been warned.
There were a lot of “bad points” to this movie, so I won’t waste my time with the small things. I’ll just hit on the really big, glaring, “punch-you-in-the-eye-with-my-atrocity” type.
First and foremost: SWEET LORD IN HEAVEN, we get it lady. You directed Twilight. You don’t have to point it out to us in every scene by forcing every male lead to sport a six-inch coif of over-gelled hair that would make Elvis cry out from his grave in horror and betrayal. I mean, come on. If you were a director trying to depict a winsome, fantasy-esque fairy tale with a dark twist, would you really throw off your entire illusion by slapping a pound of pomade on the lead's head? Furthermore, would you take a step back, look critically at your sticky, hairy masterpiece, and think “Yeah, that’ll do it”?
Moving on. Bad point numero dos. The costumes. And this is a double whammy, because the costume designs themselves were actually really good. They were in no way period-accurate of course, but we can buy that because firstly it’s a fairy tale, and secondly because it’s a fairy tale with a twist. I actually spent some time admiring the costume work until I began to realize one thing. Every single costume was brand spanking NEW. No stains or wear or fading. None of that. The occasional cloak or smock had a hole in it or something, but these always looked terribly contrived, as if some particularly bright wardrobe stylist had said, “oh, that should look a little worn out!” and then promptly taken a pair of scissors to it. And made a neat little hole. With clean edges. Whaaaaat?
Let’s not get hung up on details. But the details sucked. Lighting, particularly. You know that horrendous, brightly-colored shining backlight that a lot of directors from the 90’s liked to use to light up their outdoors scenes and which they now pretend never happened? That was in this movie. Everywhere. Ooooh, pretty forest. It almost looks real, except for that semi-truck shining it’s lights onto the set.
The script. Dear God, whoever wrote the script for this movie should be taken out and shot. I’m a little embarrassed to be breathing the same air as these people. Apparently these writers never got past the “Introduction to Independent Clauses” lesson in school, because commas are as rare as spotted owls in this movie. Not to mention the content of said independent clauses: “But I love you.” “The wolf is here.” “I’m not leaving.” “I’m not the wolf.” Any variation of those four sentences made up 80 percent of the script. And the rest was probably screaming.
There was one fight scene in this movie. Count it: one. And I would take the fight choreographer, if they bothered to hire one, out to be executed with the scriptwriters. It was that terrible. Of course it was three guys beating the crap out of another guy, but it still looked like stuntmen practicing for a Chuck Norris film. Now that takes some real effort to mess up..
You get the gist. Technically speaking, this movie was disaster. Let’s talk about the plot.
The Predictability Factor.
If you haven’t seen the movie yet and are afraid of hearing spoilers, read no further. Conversely, if you can’t guess who the wolf is after the first quarter of the movie by yourself anyway, maybe you deserve to hear the “plot twist”, if any self-respecting movie critic can call it that.
There are some basic assumptions you can make whenever you walk into a movie where the final “mystery” remains hidden and you, the audience, are compelled to suspect and theorize until your face turns blue. Because the moviemakers presumably know that you are trying to guess, they make it a point to have you suspect, suspect, suspect and then BAM! You didn’t guess it was going to be THIS guy, did you? Ahhaha.
No. There’s a way around that. First you have to recognize that you’re sitting in this type of movie and then, if you know the slightest thing about typical plot devices (and this movie was the benchmark for typical) you can guess the “twist” within minutes, without fail.
Break it down. In the original story, you have Little Red Riding Hood, the Grandma, and the Wolf. Who are we missing? Why the Woodcutter, of course. No-one thinks of him, generally.
So now we have to determine which character is the woodcutter. The most confounding element here, and in the whole movie for that matter, was that the main love interest, Peter, is a woodcutter, and Valerie’s Dad is also a woodcutter. So you have to determine which one is THE woodcutter. This doesn’t take long. Plus, why would this director toss off the perfectly-gelled, broodingly handsome hero with the giant forehead? Oh no no. It can’t be done.
Next, it’s power of elimination. Oh no, there’s a wolf! Oh no, it’s a werewolf! OH NO it’s someone in this village! Whodunnit? Start guessing.
Rule number one for guesswork is that unless the director and writers are especially clever, and these are certainly not, the main character never suspects the actual baddie. Oh, she suspects, Peter. He’s out. She suspects the Grandma, and the priest, and Henry. None of them are the wolf, clearly. Anyone she even thorws a sideways suspicious glance at is officially safe.
This leaves literally, one person. Not to mention that this person was given both exposition and motive in the first sixteen seconds of the plot. I mean, that’s unimportant right? Of course.
I’m not saying that if you couldn’t figure out who the wolf was right off that you’re an idiot. Just that you might want to consider not having babies.
To conclude, if you watched this movie with your critical hat on and you somehow came out liking it, then you have serious delusional issues and should consider seeing a shrink.
A shrink who is nicer than me, preferably. “The size of your success is measured by the strength of your desire; the size of your dream; and how you handle disappointment along the way.”
Most of you know already that I didn't get the job I applied for at the Custer County Chief. The publisher told me (to cushion my fall, no doubt) that my competition had a degree in Journalism with a focus in Sports Reporting, which looks pretty impressive next to my complete lack of sports smarts. Although this was not the job I wanted to have for the rest of my life anyway, I was still disappointed for unfathomable reasons.
I am no longer disappointed. Because here comes, creeping up, something less profitable but even more enjoyable and potentially rewarding than being a sports junky. I have been hired as a subcontractor for the paper to produce weekly photo pages (and articles when fitting), including front page photos.
I like to think of myself as a "Freelance Photographer" over "Subcontractor", because that title moves me exponentially closer to my lifetime goal of being more like Spiderman.
So I will be covering a Children's Fair next week for my first assignment and developing a spread on Spring in the Sandhills: and I have three more assignments lined up.
God is pretty good. So today I began a new adventure: by sheer chance as it happens. Today is David's first day off, and he called me from the coffeeshop where he was camping for the morning to tell me that he had met the publisher of the local newspaper. Being the talker that he is, he got to chatting with her and discovered that they would soon be advertising an open position at the paper. The publisher (and David) insisted that I apply. As my current job will be ending in June and is certainly not what I want to be doing for the rest of my life, I agreed.
Here's the catch: The position that is opening is for Sports Editor.
Now, some of you may not know this about me, but most do: I played flag football in 4-H for a few years. And therein is encompassed the width and breadth of my entire sports experience. And interest, for that matter.
I know NOTHING about sports. Nada. Zip.
But that's certainly not going to stop me. Within two hours of hearing about the position I had e-mailed the publisher, rounded up an application, and turned it in together with several samples of my writing and photography.
And now, despite being perfectly candid with the publisher about my lack of sports enthusiasm, I have an interview on Monday.
Before Monday, I must fabricate a newspaper article on the Final Four.
I had to Google "Final Four."
But the article is almost done, and I have learned more about basketball in the last two hours than I thought I would ever know in my entire life. This is exciting because not only might I possibly get to work at a newspaper, which is definitely on my "Top Ten Careers" list, but I will also be forced to innundate my uneducated mind with sports stats, jargon, and lingo.
After all: you never know when you will need to swap NCAA torunament predictions with a potentially rich, famous, and impressionable stranger.
So wish me luck! Who knows what the heck I am getting myself into.
