Hair and Makeup of the Apocalypse 

 I am a huge fan of young adult post-apocalyptic novels. The fascination is most likely a result of too much imagination and too little adventure in my real life. Some of these novels, like The Hunger Games and the Divergent series, have been turned into succesful motion pictures.

 

Based on the success of those film adaptations I was pumped about seeing The Fifth Wave by Rick Yancey. The novel had everything I wanted in an end of the world novel: a strong female protagonist, a stud muffin with identity issues, and a rival male to make life even more interesting. Add in evil aliens and this book had it all. 

Chloë Grace Moretz, the film’s star, is a gorgeous young woman, and a decent actress. Her performance in If I Stay was sweet. 

Both of the young suitors are handsome and earnest. Alex Roe plays the dishy, yet severely conflicted guy, and Nick Robinson’s character is the former high school athlete turned soldier who realizes he should have paid more attention to Chloë’s character back before the Others invaded.

So why did the film fall flat? There are a couple of easy answers to that question. First, the screenplay watered down parts of the novel, condensing instead of expounding. 

In addition, the main character was portrayed much differently in the book than in the movie. In the book she was a bit of a geek, shy and not in the party crowd. In the film she’s more of a girly-girl and actually has a shot at landing the high school quarterback.

But my main beef with the film revolves around Chloë’s character’s perfect hair and makeup at the height of the apocalypse. Yes, there were scenes when she appeared disheveled and besmudged. But, in the final scene, when her tiny band of humans is on the run from the bad guys from outer space, there she sits with freshly washed hair and perfectly applied makeup–right down to the soft green eye shadow highlighting her pretty eyes.

 

There was far too much of the girl on the left and too little of the one on the right to make this film believable.
 
I call foul. Foul, I say! 
Still, the novel was good, as was the sequel. I’ll buy the third installment upon its release, but the movies won’t get any more of my hard-earned money.

Peace, people!

Excitement at Doright Manor

I was in bed, reading the latest adventures of Joe Ledger by the light of my Kindle Paper White when I heard the sound of scuffling cats. My feisty felines do not care for each other’s company, but when they disagree it’s with a great deal of hissing and noisy posturing. This sound was the one they make when in co-pursuit of another critter. Not a good thing to hear at bedtime.

My first inclination was to let them handle the situation, but then one of the cats made a sound of distress. I grabbed my trusty iPhone and activated the flashlight accessory, pointing it in the direction of the noise. Sure enough, there were Scout and Patches standing guard over a rather large lizard. 

 

Not THE lizard, but you get the picture.
 
Cautiously I slipped out of bed and stood over the anxious cats and nervous reptile. I could see one white whisker poking out of its little mouth. The damned thing had attacked my baby!

Throwing caution to the night, I grabbed that lizard by the tail and tossed him out the back door where he landed on the porch with a satisfying “plunk.” That’ll teach him to mess with me and mine. 

Of course now the cats are patrolling the bedroom with wide eyes and bushy tails. It might be awhile now before we can settle down to sleep. Maybe Joe Ledger and company can soothe my jangled nerves.

  
Or maybe not. At least it isn’t The King of Lizards! 

Peace, people! I might be awake for awhile.

FrogSong

I never knew I was a fan of frogs’ singing
until I moved into a home by a
lake.
Rough voices color the night while
mingling
with lights dancing off of the water’s
face.

   
In unison the choir stops to admire the
stars,
to imagine the sound of joined voices in
space
A whisper bounces back from galaxy’s
edge
ribbit! ribbit! echoing through the Milky Way.

Eleanor Rigby

Written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:

This Is Your Song

Take a line from a song that you love or connect with. Turn that line into the title of your post.

“The Lyrics”

by Leslie Noyes

My head is
full of
lyrics
they roll
through
my soul like
honey and
thunder.

These words
soothe and attack,
seek and destroy,
reduce and elevate.

My only
defense
is to
join my
voice to
the melody,
dance
to the
beat,
or sob.

I’m reduced to tears every time I hear  “Eleanor Rigby” by The Beatles. I’ve highlighted my favorite line.

http://youtu.be/btyWqO6R0UE

Eleanor Rigby

Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Father McKenzie writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near
Look at him working, darning his socks in the night when there’s nobody there
What does he care?

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name
Nobody came

Father McKenzie wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved.

All the lonely people (Ah, look at all the lonely people)
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people (Ah, look at all the lonely people)
Where do they all belong?

THE BEATLES lyrics are property and copyright of their owners. “Eleanor Rigby” lyrics provided for educational purposes and personal use only.
Copyright © 2000-2016 AZLyrics.com

Privilege

we’ve all
been there,
done that;
inadvertently
chosen
the wrong path
or even worse,
knowingly picked
the greater
of two evils,
and still
others never
had the chance
to see the
paths of
separation
distinct for a
few, a blur to
many.
why for some
are such choices
ruinous,
unforgiveable,
irredeemable?
and for others,
merely sleeping
police in
destiny’s way?
happy accidents
of birth,
color, and
privilege
create a
line delineating
the merely flawed
from the
tragically
ill-fated.
we know our place
even if we refuse
the claiming.

Parlez Vous Francais?

Written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:

A Bird, a Plane, You!You get to choose one superpower. Pick one of these, and explain your choice:

A) the ability to speak and understand any language

B) the ability to travel through time

C) the ability to make any two people agree with each other

“Give me the words, the language, and the ability to listen and I shall rule the world.”–me, 02/01/2016

http://youtu.be/DH5sGa5WJWs
Adios!

Caucus

cau·cusOrigin

mid 18th century (originally US): perhaps from Algonquian cau’-cau’-as’u ‘adviser.’

In Iowa, voters are meeting by party all over that state in order to demonstrate their preferences for the 2016 Presidential election. Members registered to vote Republican cast a ballot with their candidate’s name on it making the process similar to what occurs in all other states across party lines.

Democrats, however, use a process that includes meeting with others of their party and breaking into groups by candidate. They powwow and campaign citing pros and cons of their chosen candidate.

I’ve heard the word caucus forever, and speculated that it had something to do with the Caucasus mountain range in Europe. The same root of the word Caucasian.

Wrong! Caucus is derived from caucauasu, a word from the Algonquin peoples of the North American continent, and means “adviser.” It’s a genuine made in the USA word. 

Some day I would enjoy participating in a political caucus; however, I have no desire to move to Iowa. It’s a great state, but they have some nasty winter weather. In fact, there is a storm headed their way even as I type this. Iowans are a hardy bunch, though, and will caucus their hearts out. 

As for me, I shall sit in front of my television, (on my porch in 70 degree weather), to find out who comes out on top in this first big political event of the year. I can hear the frogs caucusing down by the lake. Maybe they’ll let me join in.

Peace, people!

Goodbye, Friend

Just take a moment and read this beautiful piece. More at storyshucker.wordpress.com.

Stuart M. Perkins's avatarStoryshucker

One of my best friends passed away.

Over the years I’ve experienced the passing of people related to me and have attended quite a few funerals. I’m from a large family with an even larger extended family so deaths and funerals are part of that reality. Not until now have I lost a friend. The loss isn’t any more or any less, but it’s different.

With family, you love them all but treat only a few as friends.

With friends, you love them all but treat only a few as family.

Mary Dell Grey was family.

Mary Dell suffered a stroke several months ago and sadly things went steadily downhill. During those awful months she was watched over and cared for by her son Greg Eversole (my friend since fourth grade), her sister Brenda Taylor (my friend for years now), with help from their family and friends. When Mary Dell passed away everyone was understandably devastated.

A small group of friends and I knew Mary Dell for nearly forty years. In all…

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Last Night

Oh my! Please read more at poesypluspolemics.com. Paul is one of the finest poets you’ll encounter.

Paul F. Lenzi's avatarPoesy plus Polemics

(c) Diane Gallagher; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation “Sleeping Child” by Archibald A. McGlashan

the child is me
returned to his morning
restored to his wonder
regained of his innocence

second chance
a rebirth unexplained
reimagined from
one dying dream

the child is me
become tabula rasa
receptive to imprint
of brand new ideas

treat him kindly
each person he loves
knows or meets a de facto
new teacher new mentor

to learn from their
patent unwitting example
from even their casual
passing connection

the child is me
soft and eager for life
fresh as spring in relief
of a long painful winter

what shape will
accrue to this new
iteration of character
carried to manhood

what better a
man will be manifest or
was the dream but a prayer
to endure one last night

the child is me
soul asleep in his peace
of departing as clean
as when he arrived

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