Nah, it's a real title. It's not that I couldn't think of anything. It's from the wonderful Pulp Fiction. The very part where Uma Thurman overdoses and John Travolta stabs her through the breastplate and into the heart with a needle full of adrenaline, and she jumps up with this huge needle stuck in her chest and the drug dealer asks her, "If you're really okay, then say something." And she stares at the needle, and says, "Something." So if you don't like the title, blame Quentin Tarantino, not me. I just saw it today, when it came on Bravo. It was really good... I just love Tarantino style. It's infused with humour and poignancy, he's a great director. And no one handles a music track as well as he does. Seemless... every shot is seemless... And Uma's a natural. I do still think she's not very pretty, but she's a great actress.
Anyway, onto real life. My dad, gasp, has been very, gasp, nice. I sent him the picture of Heathcliff I drew (go back an entry), and he said that I have talent, just like Mum. What? On top of that, he actually told my mum to take the extra $200 he got from a payraise this month to pay for a new palmpilot for herself. What? And on top of that, he actually said he was going to skip going to the movies this week. He still did, but only because Mum okayed it. He went to go see The Bourne Supremacy. *snaps fingers* I've been waiting forever to see that, and he still gets to see it before me. I really want to see Hero, too. Another Tarantino flick. Apparantly Dad's been taking vitamins (A, C, and B... I think), and it helps his temper. Why didn't he do that 25 years ago? Mum's marriage would be a lot happier, I would be living in New York right now, the family wouldn't be split down the middle, and I wouldn't be as distrustful of his sudden turn-around as I am now. Seventeen years of life I've had, and all seventeen years he's been trying to get away. When he first told Mum he didn't love her, that he loved another woman, on that night that he first left for that hotel, I asked him why he'd chose death over us. I asked him why he'd risk HIV instead of staying at home with a family that still loves him. I understood that it wasn't my fault, but he'd stay with Mum if he really did love me enough. He came back a day or two later. I think what I said chewed at him for a long time. When he came back, I wouldn't even speak to him. And you know what? It's never gotten better.
Now why hasn't he been taking vitamins all along? It's no wonder I suddenly feel as though I'm being tricked. Can you blame me? Distance must really make the heart grow fonder.
Hmm... I've been slaving away over my purdy Wuthering Heights scrapbook. And I've been collecting ribbons and stuff for the Heart of Darkness scrapbook. I can't wait to put it all together. I came up with the neatest way to assemble my page for the Gothic Imagery essay, instead of just punching holes in the essay and sticking it in. Nah, I've got a plan for every single thing I've got to type. Because I'm clever like that. And I've got pretty printer paper that looks pre-aged and everything. I don't even have to stain it with tea and crumbled coffee, and then burn it. It looks yellowed without looking destroyed. Yay! And for the Heart of Darkness, I get to use coloured printer pages, in bright, bright colours. Ahh... fun... And I'm going to make paper animals, papier-mache birds... I even ripped off the bottom of a Micky D's drink holder and painted it to be the sun. It's scrapbooking... *in a big voice* To the Extreme! *trumpets blare* Now I've just got to draw Mr. Lockwood, and paint the moors. Then write a plethora of essays, and fix them neatly on their pages, nicely folded and everything. I'll take pictures when it's all done.
It's weird drawing Mr. Lockwood, because I've made the executive decision to use a picture of (how convenient) Hugh Dancy as Daniel Deronda, and every time I pick up my pencil and paper and the picture to go by, a commerical for "Ella Enchanted" comes on. Which, as we all know, had him as the prince. Well, I've never had the inkling to see that movie, nor shall I ever, but it freaks me out, so I'm always hesitant to return to drawing again. Maybe I should pick something else... like someone from Mansfield Park. Maybe that would be safer..... No, I still think my picture is the best one for Lockwood. Distinguished and refined, yet misanthropic and somewhat miserable. What else might work? I feel like a casting director... ooh, cool. Casting director.
Actually, casting directors should be my mortal enemies! ARGH!
Anyway, that was rambling at its finest. I'd better run off then, and get back to work. But not drawing. Maybe cutting and pasting would be more suitable.