Midnight Musings

I was tired of mindless entertainment so I thought I'd give this movie a spin. It really surprised me. At first blush, I didn't think I liked it. The more I thought about it, the more the imagery sank in (loved the store window display of detergent ) the more I appreciated the content. We've become so accustomed to action that we sometimes miss the subtleties (no, not the subtitles) unless they're pointed out. It's a very long poem, you know. Three hundred sixty-six lines, published in 1717 for Alexander Pope. Here is the section they picked out:

207 How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
208 The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
209 Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
210 Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;
211 Labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
212 "Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;"
213 Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n,
214 Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav'n.
215 Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
216 And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams.
217 For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms,
218 And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes,
219 For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring,
220 For her white virgins hymeneals sing,
221 To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away,
222 And melts in visions of eternal day.

and on that note, 'night.

Fruity pie? 

The cutest pic of my brother I'll ever see (he's the bigger one)  

This was taken in August 2002, I think. I love it.

'night.

Some think that others' perception of them is what they are. Of course, that isn't entirely true, but it is to a degree. You can be completely other than your public persona, but if your behavior is dictated by public opinion then that is what you are at that moment for those people. I think of the image I have of certain friends (mostly male). When I make positive comments in front of their family members, I am often met with derision and a remark like, "Oh, you don't know the *real* him." I may not know them the same way they do but I've known them for years, can read them accurately and love them dearly. Who is to say who the real person is? Sometimes it's a matter of self-esteem. Earlier, a friend asked me who wrote The Grapes of Wrath and when I said, "John...," she cut me off and said no, the name wasn't John. Oddly, I believed her. It actually was John Steinbeck but I automatically assumed I was wrong when she stopped me. I should have had more confidence in my memory or at least pretended I did. There are times when I display more bravado than is necessary to the situation and then there are these times. I yam what I yam, like it or not. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die. 'night

My son noticed the hand sanitizer in my purse. He mused, "Hand Sanitizer...is that in case your hands go insane?"

'night.