We've been in Israel for about 3 weeks now. There's been quite an adjustment period, and I've decided to give myself another few weeks to get used to things here.
Our house is beautiful, just outside of Jerusalem right off Road 1 in Ramat Motza. It is a three level with balconies overlooking the valley between Mevasseret Zion and Motza Illit, but high enough that the highway traffic noise doesn't bother.
So far, I've managed to find several grocery stores, a bookstore, some pharmacies, the market in Jerusalem (great fruits, veggies), a deli that sells pork products from a hidden cabinet under the register, coffee shops, and lots of other amenities. The language barrier is a challenge, but most people at least have a smattering of English, so I've not had too much trouble. Haven't been keeping up with the Hebrew lessons, because our internet has been a real challenge. Until today, the transfer speed has varied between .1 (yes - .1) and 10 kbps, and tended to just go offline right in the middle of my bill paying etc. It seems up to speed today for the first time, and hasn't just dropped the connection for almost 4 hours. Nigel predicts that it will be fine until just after Shabbat starts.
The kids have been enjoying their new school, though The Starving Child has had some virus and hasn't been to school for the past three days (yesterday they were all home because of parent/teacher conferences). He seems over it now, but they have swimming on Thursdays and I didn't want him overdoing it. The homework is much more intense than in the US, with tons of writing. I don't know if it's just the US school systems or if my kids are just slow, but where they were just learning about what a complete sentence is in Oregon, they are now expected to already know all about it and to write several of them in their homework each day. It is difficult for me, because all three need constant supervision while completing their work, but I am only one person. It has tended to take 2 to 3 hours daily to get all their work completed.
Nigel's work has been interesting as well. We have to drop him at his shuttle stop by 6:50am, then we generally drive on into Jerusalem and I let the kids play at one of two parks we drive by on the way to school until it is time for drop off. Nigel tries to get on the 17:00 shuttle for home, which puts him here at a bit after 18:00. One of his co-workers, IF he makes the shuttle, brings him home, or if not, we have to go pick him up. This puts supper between 18:00 and 19:00, leaving only a half hour for baths and bed for the kids. Plus, I have to have supper made and keeping warm while we pick him up or while he is on his way. This is hard for him, since he's always been a fan of hot, fresh suppers. The kids are not used to having to wait so late for supper, either, so they are always starving and begging for snacks between the time we get home from school and suppertime.
I've noticed that since we are now in a place where food is much more expensive than in the States, the kids are eating us out of house and home. Back in Oregon, they were never hungry and didn't want to eat anything - but food was cheap there, so I guess it figures.
I have been saving some money in that the tap water here is really quite tasty and I haven't had to buy any bottled water like we had to in OR because of the nasty tasting/smelling well water we had there.
We had to wait forever for a dryer to be delivered. The one that was already here had been put together wrong and would not run. Our landlady promised us a new one every day for two weeks, and it did finally arrive. I have to say that it ROCKS. Many of the other ex-pats have complained that their dryers take forever and don't get the clothes dry, but ours certainly does. It actually takes less time for the clothes to dry than it takes them to wash in our miniature washing machine, which takes 2 hours to complete a load. Prior to receiving the new dryer, we were having to dry everything by putting it outside (we had to purchase a clothes line and pins) or, since it has rained off and on since we got here, hang them all over the house to dry. Not a pretty sight, and took forever. Now it is quick and efficient.
There are some plumbing problems. When we drain the bathtub after the kids' baths, it drains into the extra bedroom's bathroom. Plus, our landlady has told us not to put toilet paper in the toilets! This is unacceptable and we have to let her know to get a plumber out here asap the next time we see her. We are up so high, I would think that gravity alone would make sure the pipes are all clear and running downhill. If they clog that easily, they should be fixed. I do not want to live where I have to smell used toilet paper every time I use the bathroom, plus it is very difficult for the kids to remember not to flush the paper. They've been flushing it for 4 years and their brains have all they can hold with all the complete sentences they are having to write!
This is a beautiful country. We have hiked around our area and will be trying to do more touristy stuff as time goes by. Most of the people are very friendly.
More details to come....
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Senator Clinton
While perusing my regular morning blogs today, in an attempt to more productively procrastinate, I ran across this guest blogger at Bad Astronomy.
Coincidentally, I had, just last week, decided to force myself to stop calling Senator Clinton "Hillary" in conversation. Just as Mrs. BA writes, I decided that this was just a manifestation of disrespect and the inherent misogyny of our electoral politics, and of our world in general, i.e. women in positions of power (though there really aren't any) can be spoken of using only their first names, while men must be called by their last name, their title, or some dudely nickname, like "Dubya," or "Brownie," or "Governator."
Some commenters on BA's blog have said that Senator Clinton, herself, promotes this Hillary-ing by using her first name as her brand. This is true. Her website, her promotional materials, and her campaign are all about "Hillary in '08," etc. I suppose this is her perogative. It is HER campaign after all.
I still choose to try not to do so, and I find it a sad comment on our society that she finds it acceptable, even desirable. It simply illustrates that Senator Clinton is no less subject to the demands of patriarchy than any of us are. I hope to find out if she will support or encourage change when she is elected by demanding some fucking respect.
Coincidentally, I had, just last week, decided to force myself to stop calling Senator Clinton "Hillary" in conversation. Just as Mrs. BA writes, I decided that this was just a manifestation of disrespect and the inherent misogyny of our electoral politics, and of our world in general, i.e. women in positions of power (though there really aren't any) can be spoken of using only their first names, while men must be called by their last name, their title, or some dudely nickname, like "Dubya," or "Brownie," or "Governator."
Some commenters on BA's blog have said that Senator Clinton, herself, promotes this Hillary-ing by using her first name as her brand. This is true. Her website, her promotional materials, and her campaign are all about "Hillary in '08," etc. I suppose this is her perogative. It is HER campaign after all.
I still choose to try not to do so, and I find it a sad comment on our society that she finds it acceptable, even desirable. It simply illustrates that Senator Clinton is no less subject to the demands of patriarchy than any of us are. I hope to find out if she will support or encourage change when she is elected by demanding some fucking respect.
Memories of Ignorant Youth, Part I
When I was a freshman in college, a friend of my roommate's brother told me,"You look like you could suck the chrome off a trailer-hitch."
I thought this was a compliment.
Some days, I truly fear for my daughter.
I thought this was a compliment.
Some days, I truly fear for my daughter.
Yaz
First of all, I just hate it that some pharma has stolen the name of one of my favorite 80's bands for their birth control product.
Second of all, I saw an ad recently stating that Yaz, in addition to preventing pregnancy, of which prevention I am determinedly in support, also treats mood swings, irritability, headaches, anxiety, bloating, and food cravings.
Bloating, I'll admit, is annoying, but that's the limit of it. If I can't fit into my regular size pants, I go for something more stretchy or loose, like sweatpants. Now, I wouldn't want to encourage women to wear anything uncomfortable, because I, myself, refuse to do so, but why is it okay for men to wear their pants just below their jello-like, hanging, protuberant bellies, which CAN'T be comfortable for them, since just holding all that up must leave a belt-mark 1/2" deep in their backs, but we women, who might even have an excuse besides too much beer or "good cookin'", are frowned on for doing the same?
I assume the "headaches" may have been those of the male scientists who were tired of living and/or interacting with women with mood swings, irritability, or anxiety. Because, goodness gracious, women shouldn't be moody, irritable, or anxious! Especially when they are about to fucking BLEED and possibly cramp for several days. Especially when they are required to carry the full burden of birth control to begin with. Especially when, in today's jesUSbUShland, if said birth control fails, it is becoming more and more likely that a pregnant woman's uterus will become the property of the state. Nothing anxiety-inducing or irritability-causing there, huh???
And why are food cravings a bad thing? In my not at all humble opinion, the only problem with food cravings are when said food is unavailable.
Second of all, I saw an ad recently stating that Yaz, in addition to preventing pregnancy, of which prevention I am determinedly in support, also treats mood swings, irritability, headaches, anxiety, bloating, and food cravings.
Bloating, I'll admit, is annoying, but that's the limit of it. If I can't fit into my regular size pants, I go for something more stretchy or loose, like sweatpants. Now, I wouldn't want to encourage women to wear anything uncomfortable, because I, myself, refuse to do so, but why is it okay for men to wear their pants just below their jello-like, hanging, protuberant bellies, which CAN'T be comfortable for them, since just holding all that up must leave a belt-mark 1/2" deep in their backs, but we women, who might even have an excuse besides too much beer or "good cookin'", are frowned on for doing the same?
I assume the "headaches" may have been those of the male scientists who were tired of living and/or interacting with women with mood swings, irritability, or anxiety. Because, goodness gracious, women shouldn't be moody, irritable, or anxious! Especially when they are about to fucking BLEED and possibly cramp for several days. Especially when they are required to carry the full burden of birth control to begin with. Especially when, in today's jesUSbUShland, if said birth control fails, it is becoming more and more likely that a pregnant woman's uterus will become the property of the state. Nothing anxiety-inducing or irritability-causing there, huh???
And why are food cravings a bad thing? In my not at all humble opinion, the only problem with food cravings are when said food is unavailable.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Misanthropy
I have a handful of friends. Strange, but true. There are four people in this world, other than my family, who might just show up to help me out in an emergency, regardless of time or distance. I, too, would do the same for them.
However, in general, I just don't like people. Even my friends. Friends will always call you at the worst possible moment and will be impossible to get off the phone. Friends will make you late. Friends never take good advice. Etc.
This morning, one of my few friends asked me if I would follow her to the auto-shop and then take her to run a "short errand." I informed said friend that I had to pick up Son #1, The Starving Child, and take him to an opthmology appointment by 10:45 am and that it would take me 30 minutes to get there, requiring my appearance at school by 10:10 at the latest.
"No problem!" said my friend, "We'll take the car first thing and the errand is just some quick grocery shopping."
Reluctantly, as I've experienced this many times, I said, "Okay. Be at my house by 8:15."
At 8:20, the phone rang. I knew who it was.
Indeed, it was my friend, telling me she was just passing our kids' school and would be at my house within 10 minutes. I hung up and sighed.
We took her van to the shop without incident, though she seemed always to be in the lane that ended at the next intersection. This was confusing, since she's lived here for years. At any rate, the van was dropped off by 9am.
I loaded her twin 2-year-olds into the van's built-in car seats, she got in, and we tooled away.
"Where do you need to go?" I asked, expecting her to tell me a location nearby the auto shop.
"Oh, you know where XXX is," she said, naming a local grocery store at least 10 miles away, "I just need to pick up some chicken soup and Gatorade for (daughter) and (husband), who are home sick."
Again, I sighed. As I reminded her that I needed to be AT the school by 10:10am, one of the twins began to cry.
"Poor sweetie," I said, "What's wrong?"
"Oh, he's just getting over this stuff that we've all had," replied my friend, "and (twin #2) is just now starting to get it. Do you have any tissues?"
I mentally reminded myself to buy more hand santizer, since I would obviously be using all the stuff I had in my bag during this trip. Handing her the tissue box, I turned onto the street where XXX grocery store was - only 8 more miles.
At 9:25, we pulled in and parked. I took (twin #1) and crammed him into the seat of a cart, while she did the same with (twin #2). She pulled out her list.
"I only have a couple of food items, but can we just go through the mens' department, the kids' department, the automotive department, and photo/frame department, and the craft department?" she asked.
I said, "Well, we have about 15 minutes to get everything and get out of here."
"No problem," she said.
At the grocery store, my friend first purchased both twins a package of Cinnabon "twisty thingies." These were broken into small pieces and strewn on the floor throughout the store. I tried to pick them up as I saw them fall, but gave up after a while. Later, as we headed for the checkstands, me with a somewhat desperate look on my face and my friend apologizing over and over, she bought all three of them chocolate donuts.
"Be sure you eat them quickly, boys," she said, "we can't eat in Maleficent's car!"
Even if I did allow eating in my car, I would have to say I didn't to my friend, simply because I've seen the inside of HER car.
I kept the boys entertained while she checked out, trying to keep them from spitting and coughing on me, and liberally applying sanitizer.
You know the rest of the story. I was 20 minutes late picking up The Starving Child, and by recklessly speeding, I was only 5 minutes late for his appointment, but was unable to feed him on the way as I had intended due to his having missed lunch for the appointment.
As I loaded The Starving Child into the van, I noticed chocolate donut crumbs all over the backseat of the van.
I hate people.
However, in general, I just don't like people. Even my friends. Friends will always call you at the worst possible moment and will be impossible to get off the phone. Friends will make you late. Friends never take good advice. Etc.
This morning, one of my few friends asked me if I would follow her to the auto-shop and then take her to run a "short errand." I informed said friend that I had to pick up Son #1, The Starving Child, and take him to an opthmology appointment by 10:45 am and that it would take me 30 minutes to get there, requiring my appearance at school by 10:10 at the latest.
"No problem!" said my friend, "We'll take the car first thing and the errand is just some quick grocery shopping."
Reluctantly, as I've experienced this many times, I said, "Okay. Be at my house by 8:15."
At 8:20, the phone rang. I knew who it was.
Indeed, it was my friend, telling me she was just passing our kids' school and would be at my house within 10 minutes. I hung up and sighed.
We took her van to the shop without incident, though she seemed always to be in the lane that ended at the next intersection. This was confusing, since she's lived here for years. At any rate, the van was dropped off by 9am.
I loaded her twin 2-year-olds into the van's built-in car seats, she got in, and we tooled away.
"Where do you need to go?" I asked, expecting her to tell me a location nearby the auto shop.
"Oh, you know where XXX is," she said, naming a local grocery store at least 10 miles away, "I just need to pick up some chicken soup and Gatorade for (daughter) and (husband), who are home sick."
Again, I sighed. As I reminded her that I needed to be AT the school by 10:10am, one of the twins began to cry.
"Poor sweetie," I said, "What's wrong?"
"Oh, he's just getting over this stuff that we've all had," replied my friend, "and (twin #2) is just now starting to get it. Do you have any tissues?"
I mentally reminded myself to buy more hand santizer, since I would obviously be using all the stuff I had in my bag during this trip. Handing her the tissue box, I turned onto the street where XXX grocery store was - only 8 more miles.
At 9:25, we pulled in and parked. I took (twin #1) and crammed him into the seat of a cart, while she did the same with (twin #2). She pulled out her list.
"I only have a couple of food items, but can we just go through the mens' department, the kids' department, the automotive department, and photo/frame department, and the craft department?" she asked.
I said, "Well, we have about 15 minutes to get everything and get out of here."
"No problem," she said.
At the grocery store, my friend first purchased both twins a package of Cinnabon "twisty thingies." These were broken into small pieces and strewn on the floor throughout the store. I tried to pick them up as I saw them fall, but gave up after a while. Later, as we headed for the checkstands, me with a somewhat desperate look on my face and my friend apologizing over and over, she bought all three of them chocolate donuts.
"Be sure you eat them quickly, boys," she said, "we can't eat in Maleficent's car!"
Even if I did allow eating in my car, I would have to say I didn't to my friend, simply because I've seen the inside of HER car.
I kept the boys entertained while she checked out, trying to keep them from spitting and coughing on me, and liberally applying sanitizer.
You know the rest of the story. I was 20 minutes late picking up The Starving Child, and by recklessly speeding, I was only 5 minutes late for his appointment, but was unable to feed him on the way as I had intended due to his having missed lunch for the appointment.
As I loaded The Starving Child into the van, I noticed chocolate donut crumbs all over the backseat of the van.
I hate people.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
My Girlie-girl
My daughter, the Princess, is a girlie-girl.
I am not and never was.
I have decided, based solely on my personal family experience, that the girlie-girl gene skips generations, since my grandmother was not a girlie-girl, but my mother was.
What to do with a princess? Yesterday, she wanted to paint her 6-year-old nails and cover her face with sparkly pink powder from a makeup kit she received for her birthday from my brother's MIL. I should have thrown the damned thing out. Her dream gift from Nana for the recent holiday was a "deluxe" Sleeping Beauty dress. She wanted a girl-day while we were visiting, including lunch at her favorite restaurant, which she calls The Elephant Party, and a showing of the treacly Disney movie, "Enchanted."
I am having to reevaluate my contempt for all things "feminine," and it sucks most heinously.
During my formative years, there was a school of thought that put forth the hypothesis that girls and boys were, except for the obvious physical differences, exactly the same. Girls learned stereotypical girl-behaviors and boys learned stereotypical boy-behaviors. If we could only teach them differently, there would soon be a generation of children all playing with all the toys and dressing up as the same super-heros and cowboys (there was little support, even at that time, for boys dressing up as princesses). I had on double-LP, and have purchased on DVD more recently, Free To Be, You And Me, a musical compendium produced by Marlo Thomas (formerly That Girl on TV, now spokesman for St. Jude's Children's Hospital) with such voices as Alan Alda, Rosie Greer, and Carol Channing performing gender-role-ridiculing songs, poems, and stories. One of my favorites was "William's Doll," in which a boy, who kept on asking for a doll, while his parents kept on giving him footballs and other accoutrements of boyhood. His grandma finally gave him a doll and explained to his baffled parents that William would be a father someday and needed to learn how to care for his child. I now wonder why the story illustrating a BOY emulating non-boy behavior was more impelling to my young mind than the tales of girls striding confidently out into this men's world were. Maybe it was because William's outcome was much less likely in the real world than the other. I always liked fantasy. I'll admit that I did and still do love Sheldon Harnick's poem, "Housework," rendered in Carol Channing's gravelly voice, was also a favorite.
Before I misrepresent myself as some feminist role-model, let me first add that I am a happily married, misanthropic stay-at-home-mom with no desire for a career to speak of. I am too lazy to be an activist of any sort. I refuse to wear shoes other than flats, preferably flip-flops in summer and sneakers in winter. I wear makeup occasionally. I grow a winter pelt between 10/1 and 5/31 every year, but shave during the summer. Hypocracy, thy name is Maleficent.
Still, I don't feel forced, though I probably AM, since I would feel WRONG (why?) to go swimming with hairy legs, into any of these things, and I don't want my daughter to be forced either. I should never have turned on the TV in front of her, and should have kept her hermetically sealed in the house. Not that it's possible. Nigel says we can't shelter her from the real world, but when her role-models are not us, but are the ridiculous girlie-girls out there in megacorporatiobuybuybuyland, it's difficult not to second-guess myself.
Some studies indicate that there may be some truth to the belief that boys and girls have innate behavioral differences - that there IS a girlie-girl gene. I would like to believe that this is NOT at all true. Some deep, very deep, abyssally deep desire for it to NOT be true forces me to try to turn the Princess away from her girlie-girl ways, to encourage my boys to coddle their baby-dolls (for which they begged, but on which they spend much time performing karate moves), and to teach critical thinking skills to all three.
Bottom line: It's hard to compete with the crap available to girls. There is definitely a back-lash in our country against feminism. It is difficult to set an example when I have so many contradictory behaviors and beliefs myself. Ugh.
My inner misanthrope says, "I am what I am and fuck you if you don't like it."
More confusion to follow, I'm sure.
I am not and never was.
I have decided, based solely on my personal family experience, that the girlie-girl gene skips generations, since my grandmother was not a girlie-girl, but my mother was.
What to do with a princess? Yesterday, she wanted to paint her 6-year-old nails and cover her face with sparkly pink powder from a makeup kit she received for her birthday from my brother's MIL. I should have thrown the damned thing out. Her dream gift from Nana for the recent holiday was a "deluxe" Sleeping Beauty dress. She wanted a girl-day while we were visiting, including lunch at her favorite restaurant, which she calls The Elephant Party, and a showing of the treacly Disney movie, "Enchanted."
I am having to reevaluate my contempt for all things "feminine," and it sucks most heinously.
During my formative years, there was a school of thought that put forth the hypothesis that girls and boys were, except for the obvious physical differences, exactly the same. Girls learned stereotypical girl-behaviors and boys learned stereotypical boy-behaviors. If we could only teach them differently, there would soon be a generation of children all playing with all the toys and dressing up as the same super-heros and cowboys (there was little support, even at that time, for boys dressing up as princesses). I had on double-LP, and have purchased on DVD more recently, Free To Be, You And Me, a musical compendium produced by Marlo Thomas (formerly That Girl on TV, now spokesman for St. Jude's Children's Hospital) with such voices as Alan Alda, Rosie Greer, and Carol Channing performing gender-role-ridiculing songs, poems, and stories. One of my favorites was "William's Doll," in which a boy, who kept on asking for a doll, while his parents kept on giving him footballs and other accoutrements of boyhood. His grandma finally gave him a doll and explained to his baffled parents that William would be a father someday and needed to learn how to care for his child. I now wonder why the story illustrating a BOY emulating non-boy behavior was more impelling to my young mind than the tales of girls striding confidently out into this men's world were. Maybe it was because William's outcome was much less likely in the real world than the other. I always liked fantasy. I'll admit that I did and still do love Sheldon Harnick's poem, "Housework," rendered in Carol Channing's gravelly voice, was also a favorite.
Before I misrepresent myself as some feminist role-model, let me first add that I am a happily married, misanthropic stay-at-home-mom with no desire for a career to speak of. I am too lazy to be an activist of any sort. I refuse to wear shoes other than flats, preferably flip-flops in summer and sneakers in winter. I wear makeup occasionally. I grow a winter pelt between 10/1 and 5/31 every year, but shave during the summer. Hypocracy, thy name is Maleficent.
Still, I don't feel forced, though I probably AM, since I would feel WRONG (why?) to go swimming with hairy legs, into any of these things, and I don't want my daughter to be forced either. I should never have turned on the TV in front of her, and should have kept her hermetically sealed in the house. Not that it's possible. Nigel says we can't shelter her from the real world, but when her role-models are not us, but are the ridiculous girlie-girls out there in megacorporatiobuybuybuyland, it's difficult not to second-guess myself.
Some studies indicate that there may be some truth to the belief that boys and girls have innate behavioral differences - that there IS a girlie-girl gene. I would like to believe that this is NOT at all true. Some deep, very deep, abyssally deep desire for it to NOT be true forces me to try to turn the Princess away from her girlie-girl ways, to encourage my boys to coddle their baby-dolls (for which they begged, but on which they spend much time performing karate moves), and to teach critical thinking skills to all three.
Bottom line: It's hard to compete with the crap available to girls. There is definitely a back-lash in our country against feminism. It is difficult to set an example when I have so many contradictory behaviors and beliefs myself. Ugh.
My inner misanthrope says, "I am what I am and fuck you if you don't like it."
More confusion to follow, I'm sure.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Golden Compass
Happy New Year!
We took the kids to see The Golden Compass this afternoon, and a good time was had by all. Having already read the books, I certainly hope the series will continue, considering that the movie ended well before the demise of poor Roger. I understand why the movie had to end that way. No guarantee that #2 and #3 will be made (though there is soon to be a Prince Caspian movie, regardless of the lack of box-office for the first Narnia movie, which I can't even think about without humming Lazy Sunday), plus the movie would have been even more despised by those who were already predisposed to despise it had it ended on such a sad and sour note. All three of the Malefikids decided that the armored-bear battle was the best part, and I have to agree. There's just something about armored bears. It was somewhat disconcerting, to me, hearing Gandalf's voice coming from Iorek's mouth, though.
I heard some kid-less theater-goers at the end of the show saying, "Uh huh!" and "Yeah, I could see it." I assume they were shills for the anti-Golden Compass crowd who wanted to vet the movie before exposing their kids to the evil atheist conspiracy endorsed movie. I couldn't see it myself. Several of the characters said such things as, "Merciful Lord!" and other godly exclamations. It was made quite clear in the very first narration that the movie took place in a parallel universe, very different from ours. Plus the discussion of "souls" and the difference in their manifestation between Lyra's universe and ours was not very atheist-ish.
The movie lessened the trauma of losing one's daemon (which was pronounced "demon") that was so evident in the books and even brought a tear to my reader's eye. Probably, the producers didn't want to address the insanity and death that resulted, in the interests of the younger viewers. Violence was not censored, though it was bloodless, and we were treated to a graphic image of Iorek ripping the jaw from his rival's face at the end of their battle. The jaw itself flew toward the screen, which would have been great in 3-D.
Like the more recent Harry Potter movies, there was just too much in the book to include, which probably made the movie confusing to those who hadn't read it. The Gyptians, Lee Scoresby, and Serafina the witch were peripheral characters only, with no development or back-story.
The casting was excellent.
On a more personal note, my mom has informed me that my nephews and niece will not be allowed to see this movie, due to the fear of my sister-in-law that it will turn them into atheists. She attends an Episcopal church, which, in my experience (and I have quite a bit), always seemed a bit more open to harmless entertainment and a bit less stridently fearful. Her background is Church of Christ, though, of which I don't know enough to determine the possibility of lasting effects.
I don't know if she has allowed them to see any of the Harry Potters, but I assume not. In regard to those, I even got a laugh out of Nigel, who is Roman Catholic in name, but has actually formed his own religion of which he is the only member (the definition of "cafeteria catholic"), when I asked if the parents who claim Harry Potter is satanic and will make their children turn to sorcery and witchcraft truly fear that their kids will point a stick at them and cry, "Stupify!" and have it actually WORK.
Bottom line, crazy sister-in-law: FICTION, dumbass.
Perhaps I should sent the Pullman trilogy to them as a late solstice gift. Probably not, as I don't want to make my poor brother's life any more difficult than it already is.
Poor kids!
We took the kids to see The Golden Compass this afternoon, and a good time was had by all. Having already read the books, I certainly hope the series will continue, considering that the movie ended well before the demise of poor Roger. I understand why the movie had to end that way. No guarantee that #2 and #3 will be made (though there is soon to be a Prince Caspian movie, regardless of the lack of box-office for the first Narnia movie, which I can't even think about without humming Lazy Sunday), plus the movie would have been even more despised by those who were already predisposed to despise it had it ended on such a sad and sour note. All three of the Malefikids decided that the armored-bear battle was the best part, and I have to agree. There's just something about armored bears. It was somewhat disconcerting, to me, hearing Gandalf's voice coming from Iorek's mouth, though.
I heard some kid-less theater-goers at the end of the show saying, "Uh huh!" and "Yeah, I could see it." I assume they were shills for the anti-Golden Compass crowd who wanted to vet the movie before exposing their kids to the evil atheist conspiracy endorsed movie. I couldn't see it myself. Several of the characters said such things as, "Merciful Lord!" and other godly exclamations. It was made quite clear in the very first narration that the movie took place in a parallel universe, very different from ours. Plus the discussion of "souls" and the difference in their manifestation between Lyra's universe and ours was not very atheist-ish.
The movie lessened the trauma of losing one's daemon (which was pronounced "demon") that was so evident in the books and even brought a tear to my reader's eye. Probably, the producers didn't want to address the insanity and death that resulted, in the interests of the younger viewers. Violence was not censored, though it was bloodless, and we were treated to a graphic image of Iorek ripping the jaw from his rival's face at the end of their battle. The jaw itself flew toward the screen, which would have been great in 3-D.
Like the more recent Harry Potter movies, there was just too much in the book to include, which probably made the movie confusing to those who hadn't read it. The Gyptians, Lee Scoresby, and Serafina the witch were peripheral characters only, with no development or back-story.
The casting was excellent.
On a more personal note, my mom has informed me that my nephews and niece will not be allowed to see this movie, due to the fear of my sister-in-law that it will turn them into atheists. She attends an Episcopal church, which, in my experience (and I have quite a bit), always seemed a bit more open to harmless entertainment and a bit less stridently fearful. Her background is Church of Christ, though, of which I don't know enough to determine the possibility of lasting effects.
I don't know if she has allowed them to see any of the Harry Potters, but I assume not. In regard to those, I even got a laugh out of Nigel, who is Roman Catholic in name, but has actually formed his own religion of which he is the only member (the definition of "cafeteria catholic"), when I asked if the parents who claim Harry Potter is satanic and will make their children turn to sorcery and witchcraft truly fear that their kids will point a stick at them and cry, "Stupify!" and have it actually WORK.
Bottom line, crazy sister-in-law: FICTION, dumbass.
Perhaps I should sent the Pullman trilogy to them as a late solstice gift. Probably not, as I don't want to make my poor brother's life any more difficult than it already is.
Poor kids!
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