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The Internship (A movie review)

10 Jun

Hello Everypony!

Sorry that it’s been so long since I gathered my wits enough to write. Things have been a little wonky here in Equestria. It hasn’t necessarily been okie-dokie-lokey around these parts. But they’re getting easier. I won’t bore you with the details any further–let’s just dive right in to the review!

When I first saw the trailers for this movie, I thought to myself, they’re trying to recapture the magic of Wedding Crashers all over again–this is going to be a disaster. (So of course, I made a point to go see this. I couldn’t look away!) Yet, surprisingly enough, Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn manage to recapture the fun chemistry they had in Wedding Crashers without killing the rest of the film.

The film opens with two salesmen, Billy (Vaughn) and Nick (Wilson) pumping themselves up for what they hope will be a big sale. Unfortunately for them, it turns out their company has gone under and they’re the last ones to know. Defeated and in a rut, they go their separate ways and face their own woes, (divorce, foreclosure, begging off of family, working for jerks) which are essentially the stereotypical whole nine yards of cruddy things someone might have to deal with after losing their jobs.

Billy, desperate to find a job, stumbles across an opening for Interns at Google and immediately stakes out to find his partner, Nick. After a small scene involving Will Ferrel as a huge jerk of a boss, (a moment that feel weirdly unneeded.) Billy manages to convince Nick to go with him to California to apply for the internship in the hopes of obtaining a job with the internet giant.

Of course, hilarity ensues as the older gentlemen tackle the younger generation and the unfamiliar technological territory involved.

In general this movie was interesting to me, especially after having recently taken a course on Generational Diversity. For a moment or two, I was able to see how the generations above me might handle (or not handle) technology, and what the younger generation can teach them. Along the same thought; I also saw what the younger generation (including myself) might learn from the older generation that we seem to be lacking. (People skills for one. Optimism for another.)

All and all the movie was the sort that’s good for warm-fuzzies, big smiles and a happy aftermath of contentment. Sure, the characters sometimes feel very familiar–the Revenge of the Nerds might seem to meet with Sixteen Candles in there somewhere. (Especially when Yo Yo goes wild. You’ll see what I mean.)  Yet, the movie was pretty good about not leaving loose ends, and wrapping it all up with a nice bow in the end.

I give this a four out of five cupcakes scale! Dig into that sweetness and smile!

Never heard of it? Google it.

“R” you in love with Warm Bodies? A book and movie review

8 Feb

“I am dead, but it’s not so bad. I’ve learned to live with it.”

And I was hooked. This is the first line of Isaac Marion’s novel, Warm Bodies, and right away I felt that I had connected with his main character–who just so happens to be a mildly clear-thinking, witty, brain-eating zombie. If I had to sum up this story: it’s a romance–with zombies. Marion’s novel stuck with me as he narrates a story above life, love and survival from the eyes of someone who is already dead. (well…sort of. )

The lead character, who goes by only the letter R as he has forgotten the rest of his name, is a zombie. He explains right away that the living dead can’t remember their names, their past lives or what it was like to be alive anymore–they only keep going, unable to communicate, trapped within rotting bodies.

This brilliant novel struck a chord with me–and it is obvious from the movie that it struck the filmmakers in the same way–in regard to the lack of human interaction and communication in the present. R poses questions to himself and to the reader as he faces his inner self in various conflicts–like eating people, for example. Although R knows that he has to eat people to survive, he doesn’t like to hurt people. He has inner conflict about it. I suppose that is partly why he was susceptible in the first place to falling for one of the living.

After eating the brain of a boy named, Perry, R finds himself hopelessly enamored with a girl named, Julie. The only problem is that she is alive. Torn between his nature and his newly discovered feelings, R seeks to protect the terrified Julie, and after camouflaging her scent in his dead blood so the other zombies won’t smell her, he takes her back to his home in the airport. Julie is understandably terrified at first, but soon R shows that he is becoming something bigger than he once once. Speech begins to return to him in blurbs at first, hunger for flesh and brains ebbs and his attachment to Julie grows.

I have always been a fan of the unusual point of view narrations–but so far, Warm Bodies takes the cake as one of my favorites. R’s narrative is an exciting combination of poetry, philosophy and gore. I quickly grew attached to the lead character and found myself rooting for him as he fights to change and as Julie rallies with him to find a “cure” to the zombie “plague”. All the while they each face their own version of zombies, both actual and physical as the actual humans within the story begin losing what made them such and emotionally slowly decays.

The film Warm Bodies, does a pretty fair job of picking up on R’s sense of humor–though I would have liked if it retained more of his inner narrative than was given. However, it was impressive how much emotion I felt came across from the actor who played R, Nicholas Holt,despite his lack of much facial expression or vocal cues.

Perhaps it was because I read the book that I felt that the actress who played Julie, Teresa Palmer, seemed to show less emotion than Holt, who was the actual zombie. She didn’t seem nearly as charismatic or lively as she is depicted in the novel: however, the film’s version of Julie has a grittier, older feel–and for a moment or two it feels like the movie version of The Hunger Games. (Which perhaps was the point?)

What I applaud the film most for is the horrific visual of the Boneys, skeleton-like zombies who within the novel are the leaders of the Zombie “hives”. They were truly grotesque in movements and presentations. They even made me jump.

Though, I wish that the film has stuck with the ending given to Julie’s father, General Grigio. It better reflected the comparison between current humanity and zombies, and though grim, I felt was more suitable. But alas, Hollywood loves their happy endings!

I rate the novel a 7 out of 10 on the restless writer scale, and the movie a four out of five cupcakes.

All and all, both the film and novel are worthwhile time-passers for this winter. And for those who love romance and also zombies–these are to die for. (Or perhaps to live!)

This Pony is going to Poland!

4 Feb

Hello Everypony!

So, for a while there, I must admit that I was in kind of a slump. After finally finding myself a permanent position as an editorial assistant; my life consisted of a flurry of learning and attempting to put my best hoof forward at Baltimare. Not to mention there’s obvious tension between Trixie and myself, which is waning now thankfully as I feel myself growing more confident and able to push back when needed.

Still, I had found myself stuck mentally at the office and couldn’t seem to wriggle myself back into writing, or reading or doing any of the things that I usually enjoy. Daily, I face the daunting task of fixing grammatical catastrophes (as best as I can) prior to publication on my daily deadline. (Try saying that then times fast!) So by the time I got back home, all I wanted to do was crash into my bed.

I soon found myself stuck in a rut of the same old daily routine. I felt myself growing less and less enthusiastic about things that I usually would be thrilled about. At parties, I had even begun finding myself surrounded by people but feeling completely and utterly alone. I knew I had to do something to spice things back up.

So I’ve decided to take myself on a trip.

I had debated this trip: worried over it. Would I have enough money? Could I still pay my bills? Could I manage to get the time off from work to do it?

But my mother, the wonderful and amazing woman that she is, put all of my worries to rest.

“You’re always talking about moving out, and you’ve been paying your bills really well–why not do it before you move? Once you move, you’ll regret it if you haven’t gone.”

And I realized she was right. So, in I jumped.

Everypony–the restless writer is heading to Poland!  (Krakow to be specific.) I leave in April, and I managed to get a really great deal on airfdaire. It’s been at least three years since my last trip abroad, and I will never forget it. I hope this trip to see one of my best friends and a very old city will be just as unforgettable.

Krakow, Poland

 

 

 

 

Love is Delicious

15 Feb

“Valentine’s Day is so Cliche.” Twilight Sparkle claimed yesterday morning, along with multitudes of other negative Valentine’s Day things. “I think it should only be for little kids, that’s kind of cute. But it’s so cliche, all the lovey-mush on Valentine’s day.”

I sat quietly and listened to my inner monologue narrate how lonely her life is. Sure, Valentine’s Day is a giant Cheese-fest. I can agree with that much. I can also agree that it’s probably some huge scam by the chocolate companies, floral companies and card companies to suddenly generate some revenue in an otherwise Holiday-dead month. But, all I could think as she ranted all day long about how irritating the day was–was how cliche it is to hate Valentines Day. Yes, it’s cliche to love it too. So, I like to take the mainly middle road of passive indifference. (i.e. I can live with it–but I can also live without it.) Besides, how could you not smile a little bit at the idea of how that holiday even started up? I mean, some saint who is secretly marrying Christians when Christianity is forbidden gets beheaded and thousands of years later we’re all chasing our tails? (or some tail, depending.)

For the past few years, my idea of the ideal Valentine’s Day involved masses of delcious and savory foods, friends and zombie movies. (Eat your heart out) But once my boyfriend, Mickey, came into my life–things changed.

I have never been a romantic. In fact, I have a tendency to ruin moments that would otherwise be considered as such. I will admit, I almost sometimes go out of my way to ruin them because I get nervous. Not Mickey. Last year, he made every effort to create the ideal Valentines Day for us. It went horribly awry, and ended in tears–but I appreciated the effort all the same.

This year was different.

So, as I listened to Twilight Rant all day–truly just grinding her lonely, dateless existance into the very pores of our team–he was plotting. I practically sprinted out of the office yesterday, forgoing the elevator for stairs so I could burn off steam. As I pinged my card through to access he train and nervously barrelled down the stairs, Mickey was waiting for me.

Dressed in a long black coat, black slacks, dress shoes, a suit coat, a white button down shirt and the new black and silver bow-tie I had gotten him as a gift–he looked more ready for the Opera than just a casual night out. (When I told him this, he replied “I always do.” And he does.) Leaning against the wall nearest the stairs, he posed, extending a colorful bouquet of flowers toward me, and a cocky proud smile. (probably laughing at my surprise.) I could already feel my cheeks flushing as I took the flowers and pecked him on the lips. Even though we’ve been together for over two years, romance still makes me flustered. It’s something I don’t think I’ll ever be able to change completely. I was also presented with a card, hand=designed with photos of us from last year and a heartfelt message within. (This gift I showed off to my whole team at work today, to Twilight’s great displeasure.)

Together, we took the red line toward Kendall. Until this moment, I had not been told where we would be heading. (Though I had tried to weasel the answer out of him from the moment he mentioned wanted to plan something.) Eagerly, I fidgeted in my seat before he finally told me that we would be having sushi that night.

As I know you don’t know my boyfriend like I do, reader, let me make something clear about Mickey. He is a picky eater. On a usual night, he won’t even eat chicken, let alone sushi. My brows raised when he made this declaration.

“What made you decide on sushi?” I asked him earnestly as we walked into the cool wind through East Kendall.

“Remember the other night, when you told me I should be more adventurous with my food?” He asked me back. I furrowed my brows, vaguely recalling something like that happening when we were out. I nodded my consent. “Well, I decided you were right. And when I tried something new last time we were out, you were so proud of me. I wanted to give this a shot.”  He makes me smile.

Fuji at Kendall, is not a far walk from Kendall station off of the red line. Located at 300 third street in Cambridge, a little Googleing after our visit pulls up the website immediately. The place even from the outside looks modern and organized. (Just as most of the buildings in this area) We were promptly greeted by the hostess once through the door, who quickly showed us to a table. I was pleasantly surprised to find that other than a handful of people at the sushi bar, we were the only patrons. The sound system pumped gooey but classic music through the open and airy space, but was not overpowering or unpleasant in any way. (In fact, I quite like Frank Sinatra.) Tables for two clustered across the right side of the restaurant, in an evenly and carefully placed in a way that almost felt overly planned. (but was also visually pleasant) Each table was neatly set with a fresh colorful orchid set in vases of water, along with carefully folded napkins, small white plates, and plastic chopsticks neatly awaiting use. Despite feeling slightly exposed due to the very clear windows surrounding us, the space felt bright, clean and open. Across from us was the bartop, decorated with liquor and thoughtfully arranged wooded boats. My boyfriend smiled as he watched me take in the space, knowing I was more than pleased with his choice.

We did not drink anything other than ginger ale yesterday, so I can’t review their drinks, but their food was beautiful. What I like most about Japanese food, or any Asian cuisine, really is the attention to visual detail that is paid of each dish. Our appetizers, steamed vegetable dumplings, and salt and pepper shrimp–came first. The dumplings popped from the plate in bright green hues against the stark whiteness of the plates, and were flavorful even without the spicy dipping sauce provided with them. The shrimp were cooked to a perfect-looking golden brown and flecked with bright reds and deep blacks of pepper.

Our sushi was not as visually impressive, but was some of the best that I have had, taste-wise. The Unagi Maki was sweet and slightly warm–which I enjoyed. The Boston Maki was cool and tangy, slightly chewy and the spicy tuna maki–well that was perhaps the only let down on my part. The spicy mayo included in bright orange, warning hues on top is nothing to laugh at. The spice was almost overpowering rather than enjoyable.

By far though. the dessert was the most wonderful to look at. We decided to each try Fuji’s fried dessert options. I decided on the safer, Fried Icecream, while Mickey opted for the Fried Cheesecake. Both came out with beautifully decorated plates and were both delicious in their own way. The fried cheese cake is not for the texturally sensitive though.

All and all, I would definitely return to Fuji at Kendall. The only major problem I had with the service was that our waitress felt very pushy and I felt overly rushed to finish my meal. For now, I will pass it off as the fear of the Valentines rush.

Though I may not be the romantic type, I’m glad I’ve finally found someone who is. Cheesy and mushy as it may sound–he brightens up my life each day, not just on Valentines Day. I hope everyone out there remembers to show those you love that you care each day–and treat each day like it’s a holiday. Love should always be celebrated, even if it’s not the romantic kind. Even if it’s a working relationship in the office, a group of close friends or your family–a little love each day, expressed in some little way might make all the Twilight Sparkle complainers out there–feel a little more tolerable toward the hopeless romantics.

A Night at the Theater–Addams Family Musical Review (Spoilers!)

9 Feb

They’re creepy and they’re spooky, mysterious and kooky–they’re all together ooky–The Addams family!

Well, creepy certainly was the word. Crammed in the tiny balcony seats of the Schubert Theater in Boston, I was trying with some difficulty not to allow the overly-nosy eight-year-old boy in front of me to look up my dress in the awkward angle and sitting beside my boyfriend who looked even more uncomfortable. There, we awaited the start of The Addams Family Musical. ( My poor boyfriend’s first words once the show ended was–“I think my shins are bruised.”) I felt lucky that we had managed to even get seats on opening night–the place was packed– and even the cramped space of the balcony weren’t under $50 dollars a ticket.

The crowd seemed restless and eager to start the show. Ages varied from young kids to so elderly they needed assistance getting up and down the narrow (and without a middle railing, which was terrifying in heels) stairs. After all, who couldn’t recall the memorably grim but laugh-inducing Addams? I knew I couldn’t resist. My childhood was riddled with memories of Saturday morning cartoons, in which The Addams Family often frequented the screen. The show was grim, and hilariously twisted, which is the main reason I enjoyed it. It is that spirit of twisted humor that was kept alive throughout the opening night of The Addams Family Musical.

The premise: The creepy cold child, Wednesday, has suddenly found herself in love and wanting to be engaged to–dramatic pause–a “normal” boy! Hiding the ring from her over-protective mother, Morticia, she confides in her father, Gomez, about the reason for a sudden dinner party with this boy and his family. She begs him to promise not to tell his beloved wife–and so hilarity ultimately ensues.

All of the characters I knew and loved made their premier on stage, portrayed with care and confidence by their respective actors and actresses. (Well–with the exception of a rather annoying little boy who played Wednesday’s brother, Pugsley. Him, I could have done without.) Even Thing and Cousin It make a few short appearances.

The show was much better than I anticipated; the music was catchy, saucy and well-composed, the scene changes were fascinating to watch–and the use of puppeteers was a pleasant and fun surprise throughout the production.I found myself bouncing in my seat to the music as performers sang and danced, grabbing your attention and ultimately keeping it.

The only issue (depending on who you are) that I found with it was the massive amounts of sexual humor that permeated the whole performance. As an adult–I have no problem with sexual humor. In fact, it’s kind of my favorite. But it does get somewhat uncomfortable when there’s an eight-year old in front of you and Gomez just made several penis jokes. All I could think was, God, I hope this goes over your head. Oh, also, the occasionally topical humor that Uncle Fester tosses into the performance–I found somewhat jarring. Funny, sometimes–but other times just unneeded.

I must admit, that I was thrilled to realize that the actor playing Uncle Fester had also played Edna in Hairspray when I went to see it with my Meme five years or so ago. All of the cast did a bang up job–particularly the actors and actresses who played, Fester, Gomez and Wednesday,  who stole the show. Even the actor playing Lurch surprised me with a suddenly solo singing performance that gave me chills in ways that only seeing The Phantom of the Opera on stage had done previously.

All and all I give The Addams Family Musical a 4 out of 5 stars. It’s only here in Boston for this month–and I would definitely recommend it to the younger generation looking for a laugh. (Or perhaps even the older. People are DYING to see this show.) Sorry, I had to. If you can afford it–skip the cheap seats. But honestly, the view from anywhere in this theater is fine. It’s only legroom that gets tricky.

Getting the Log Rolling

8 Jan

I have found recently that I can recall the dreams I had the night before, more often than usual. They are startlingly clear and colorful.In them, I always feel like I’m looking for something that I’ve lost.

This could be in part due to a fever that fogged up my head for the past two nights. Yesterday, I finally gave up and sequestered myself in my room to sleep it off. So, I apologize for my lack of entry.I figured posting about my dream that night–of being some sort of pirate in a demigod pirate summer camp looking for my missing three-corner hat–wouldn’t be the most sensible entry. When I woke from it, I was soaked through with sweat and running a much more normal temperature. The remainder of my day was spent washing  and drying my bedding and airing the sick out of my room.

Perhaps, I’m still recovering from that sickness, because last night my dreams were again filled with a sense of searching. A big white mansion on a hall towered over me. I was with someone, I think it may have been my boyfriend but it’s had to remember exactly now. Together, we searched this abandonded mansion, while outside in a blue car my parents and younger sister waited for us to report back about our findings. From what I recall, the mansion had belong to some celebrity woman who had since vanished. None of the rooms made any sense, and a horror-film suspense filled me as we searched the rooms. I can only remember a few of the rooms. One was the kitchen, all white and mostly dark. The only light was above the fridge that was pushed into the cabinets. Upon opening the fridge, we found blue alien-looking mold and promptly closed it again. The second room I can remember had the most bizzare indoor golf course. It stretched impossibly upward, and while we climbed to the top, the hill felt like it was inflatable. It bounced and turned as we climbed. It was green and brown like earth–but reminded me of the bounce houses I had played in as a kid. The third room was in the basement–and was the only occupied room. A girl I didn’t know with dark hair sat in a chair in this room. It felt like a dorm room–only I knew for some reason that this had once been a radio studio of some sort. The girl was wearing a school uniform and playing a large acoustic guitar in her lap. She didn’t feel threatening–and spoke to us casually as if she had every right in the world to be there. So, we left her alone. She told us something about the mansion’s previous owner–but I can’t remember what anymore. I don’t remember much after that other than I was again in the backseat of the blue car with my family. It’s get’s flustering from there–so I won’t bore you further.

I can’t help but think my subconscious is reminding me that I’m looking for something.

Other than odd dreams, today felt productive. I cleaned my room and made it more livable again. As the week ends it will need picking up again. Hair from our shepherd dog piles up astoundingly quick in this house. I can’t figure out how–as she’s barely in my room at all. Still, I manage to find an entire dog  by weeks end.

I spent time writing some letters to friends that have moved to other states and I haven’t been in touch with. I could call them–I’m aware that it’s the 21st century–but for whatever reason I feel like letters are so much more personal. So much more honest. And all and all, a much more pleasant way to remind someone you don’t hear from all that often that you’re taking time out to think of them. I suppose that way of thinking is a bit old fashioned–but then again I’m 23 and crochet. Maybe, I was just born old. Born in the wrong century even.

Speaking of born in the wrong century–I was made to help pile wood today. Or–really i should say–logs. My parents cut down a rather large pine in our yard today and being the oldest and most capable, I was drafted to help my father (who apparently threw out his back) and mother (who guilted me shamelessly into helping by informing me of that) into piling the logs up behind our shed. Three of them were to large that the only way to move them was to roll them like a wheel. As I covered myself in sawdust and mud and pine sap–I suddenly appreciated people who had once done that sort of thing for a living. And as I had plans, I am now on duty to finish the log rolling process tomorrow. My back already aches with anticipation…

Once I changed and scrubbed my hands, I spent time catching up with a good friend of mine. Whenever we’re together, we tend to talk about the deeper issues in life. Our constants tend to be reflections on our lives, and feelings of restlessness we both seem to share. As he spoke to me of his desire for a change in his life today–I couldn’t help but agree. Yes, times are tough. I’m not making the money I had hoped that I would be by this age–and I am not sure if I would even have the means of considering moving out on my own around here. But, it doesn’t mean that I don’t feel the ache of being stationary. There was a time in my life, when I felt that I really lived. My time in Florence, Italy. My time on my own. I miss it sorely and fondly all at once.

My friend and I spoke of looking for our ideal jobs, our place in the world and possible travel. Now, I can’t seem to settle my mind back down. It’s nearly midnight here and I’m wide awake, and restless. Wondering about what step I should take next to get the log rolling, so to speak.

I suppose revisiting my resume should take first priority. It will need remolding, filling in my new experiences including my work with editing fiction novels. Then to decide my Where. I have never been to San Fransisco–but I have always wanted to visit. I hear out there, that there’s opportunity for publishing jobs, writing positions and the like. I may start there, or anywhere surrounding there, I suppose would do. As long as I can reach my goal and live my passion. Paying my bills with work that I am passionate about–now that would truly be to live.