Character inspiration for my unfinished novel...

Twas the Night before Christmas

This was a personal essay, memoir if you will, of a christmas about 3 years ago. As of late my well has run dry and I've been editing two stories for the longest. I've also been afraid to put up anything as many of my stories have been denied publication. But, I must persevere. Anyway, enjoy....


For the first time in my life, the house was quiet before midnight on the night before Christmas Eve. I wasn't being asked to clean down the wooden tables with their glass center pieces and my older sisters weren’t busy cleaning the bedrooms and bathrooms. No. My second eldest sister hadn't been living with us for two Christmas holidays now, and my eldest was upstairs in her apartment watching TV. My mind could do nothing but draw a blank after I had just witnessed my mother's second real marriage fall to pieces before my very eyes. It had it coming, doomed from the very beginning. I had never seen two people argue so much on a consecutive basis in my life; the sheer idea of their marriage lasting was based on the fickle idea of hope.
My mother had asked her husband to take a shower before she placed her newly sewn curtains on to the metal rods in the bathroom. He told her no, that he'd rather work up all the sweat he'd have to that night and then take a shower when he retired from engaging in our ritualistic Christmas Cleaning. Sooner or later he took a shower after she had decorated the bathroom to its fullest and the suds his shampoo left on the wall stemmed into what I can only describe as the fight to end all fights; the great fight. It went from him "not being able to speak to anyone properly" to her "always wanting things her way" to him "being a liar" to her not "praying to God the right way" to him "not wanting to give the divorce" and her "not wanting to try to work things out" and then finally her saying that he hurt her and she has not "begun to forgive" him for his misdeeds. The argument continued to roar on as neither one of them could be man enough to stop speaking and let the words die as quickly as they were being emitted by the mouths of the other. The mumblings grew into words and then shouts and finally it lead to her asking him to leave because she was not starting 2007 with any of this pain and confusion.

She let it be known to the both of us that she's been seeking therapy for this so called "tired" feeling that she's been having toward him and the marriage when really I think it's because she's tired of everything that she's been through period.

Tonight, I thought things could've been different. The parang music was playing and the sorrel was boiled and sitting on the stove. The meat was seasoned and waiting to be placed in the fridge and the bread and cakes, baked and wrapped in foil waiting to be devoured by the guests who were to dine with us during this "festive" holiday season. But alas, the true appearance to what I've been calling the "counterfeit Christmas" has shed some light on itself. Every Christmas since I turned 14 has gone wrong for me; a guy broke my heart, my father was nearly killed and now my parent’s marriage finds itself creating the tripod to the reason why I shall now never feel a pinch of the Christmas spirit in my heart.

I spoke to him while he sat on the stairs, his denim jeans and sneakers on and a glass of Bacardi and orange juice sitting in his hand, waiting for his brother to call him back. His clothes packed in garbage bags and suitcases at the door. His eyes were red, as though from crying. My sister said he probably was when she came in the house and saw him in our mother’s room collecting his things. It amazed me how all his stuff fit into just one suitcase and two garbage bags; almost as if he was never meant to stay with us. He told me how he never had anything against me and that he respected my mother. I told him that their problem was that they could never talk to each other. My mother lay on the bed in the guestroom as she was accustom to for some months now. She had stopped wearing her wedding ring and slept in the bed next door to where she use to share dreams with her husband. She was on the phone with my god-mother who I could tell was probably saying to her "you're wrong for doing that." As if my mother cared. If it's one thing about that woman, she'll never admit to when she's wrong. I think that's what really did their marriage in. Anyhow, as I stepped back and forth into the house, trying to salvage what was left of the ritualistic cleaning that stopped, she'd call me over, asking me about anything he may have mentioned to her. I hated that the most. I felt like I was twelve years old all over again, snitching on anything that my sisters had said about her after they had a falling out. To her great surprise I told her nothing. In that moment, I felt part of her anger seer through me. Her tone went slightly harsh and cold when I neglected to tell her anything, almost as though she was accusing me of taking his side. I couldn't help but feel sympathy for him. I've had arguments with her- I know what it feels like to have something thrown back at you and then be called petty if you did the same. To not have the last word. To not have it die right then and there.

I tried to make sense of it all and I just couldn't. I knew it was inevitable, but yet, I didn't want it to happen. Not like this anymore. But now, finally my idea of Christmas is gone. In the early morning hours I mopped the kitchen floor, washed the dishes and wiped the wooden center table. I know that there won't be a smell of baked ham on my mind. There will be no snow, no hot chocolate, and no smiling faces. We didn't even have a tree. Christmas was doomed to fail this year. I don't even think it showed up.

The Last Airbender Movie....and the drama it's causing BEFORE it's released...

The Last Airbender Movie....and the drama it's causing BEFORE it's released...

Friday, August 28, 2009 at 5:09am

The movie that is causing more trouble mid-production than I've ever seen (lol). The Last Airbender, based on the incredibly cool show Avatar, (not to be confused with James Cameron's movie Avatar which got the rights for the name before this movie) the Last Airbender is hitting theaters next summer and is getting a lot of words from people. Brought to us by M. Night Shyamalan (whose last movies haven't been so hot) we are following the story of a boy name Aang, the last airbender and the Avatar, the one person who can restore peace to the world that is currently being overrun by the evil fire nation. This movie is going to be the first of three, following the show's three season run starting with the Water book, then Earth, then the HOTTEST book, Fire.

Why is this movie causing sooo much commotion? The kids who are casted to play lead characters Aang, Sokka and Katara...are all caucasian. What's worse? The fire nation is going to be played by Indian and Middle Eastern descent actors while Earth nation characters are to be played by Korean actors.

I know to some it's really a question of "so what?" but to other's it's really not. To many, it's a version of the media's "white washing" and it has left many fans outraged, seeking you tube and other media outlets as a refuge to sound off. Many want to know what was M. Night thinking to change the cast from its anime inspired Asian appeal? And by Asian, they mean Central and East of Central Asian appeal.

Now you may be wondering, why M. Night decided to do this. Well for the most part from what I've read and seen across the internet, M. Night looked for a boy who embodied Aang, martial arts wise. He found it in the ten year old Noah Ringer. However, many are still wondering why he couldn't find it, in a boy who looked much like Aang- a boy of Central/Eastern Asian descent. Furthermore Sokka, the warrior of the Southern Water tribe, whose people are describe as Inuits and depicted as darker skinned, is being portrayed by Twilight's Jackson Rathbone. His sister, the water bender Katara (who is equally dark) is played by Nicola Peltz and who plays relentless, bad-boy, fire-bending Prince Zuko? Dave Patel. Yes, homeboy from Slumdog Millionaire. And word on the street is the he wasn't even first pick. It was going to go to Jesse McCartney. That would've make two nations (Water Nation and Fire Nation) Caucasian, the last Air Bender (and surviving Air Nation citizen) Aang caucasian AND left the Earth kingdom up for ethnic grabs.

Now why are many asking questions about the changes to the show? One, it's based in the art form of Anime, a Japanese form of animation and two, even the lettering characters and city names all sound like it could be from Central or East Asia. There are debates saying that because "India is Asia," people should be satisfied that technically "Asians" are acting. But a lot of people aren't buying that, especially since it was a last minute move. If Jesse McCartney was still playing Zuko, then what would they say?







Picture of Cast and Cartoon Before Jesse McCartney resigned.




Top Left: Aang: Noah Ringer

Right: Sokka: Jackson Rathbone

Bottom Left: Katara: Nicola Peltz

Bottom Right: Zuko: Jesse McCartney





Dave Patel as Prince Zuko




It seems that M. Night and the studios decided to quite this squabble by declaring that they wanted ethnic diversity- Caucasians playing Water Nation, Indians (and Indian looking) playing Fire and Korean (and possibly stray Central and Eastern Asian) actors playing Earth. But it still didn't shut the crowd up.

The majority of the movie will circle around Prince Zuko and his fire nation entourage, Aang, Sokka and Katara as they try to find Aang a master and as Zuko tries to reclaim his honor. Because this movie is based on a season long of 30-minute episodes, it will have to be considerably condensed and so who knows how many other ethnic people we may see. The point remains that the main characters are the faces that will be on the screen for a lot of the running time, so...what can you really say to appease those who feel like they're not going to see faces whom many identified with?

From Top Left going Clockwise:









Aang: Noah Ringer
Katara: Nicola Peltz
Sokka: Jackson Rathbone
Zuko: Dave Patel



This also comes after an allegedly "disappointing" depiction of another well loved anime show-turned-movie Dragon Ball Z, where the heroes were "white." People brushed that one off saying that the characters came from different "planets" and therefore had no ethnicity despite the origin of the show (JAPAN) and names like Goku.







Dragon Ball Z cartoon to movie characters Goku and Burma played by Justin Chatwin and Emmy Rossum respectively.



Some people are taking it even further asking why the movie version villains (fire nation) are "brown," but I'm not even going down that road.

The television show itself was created by two men of European descent and the voices were of multiple ethnicities including African-American actor Phil LaMarr and Filipino actor Dante Basco and the show earned an Emmy among many other TV awards.

As for me? I'm iffy about the movie because it's live action. If Nickelodeon was releasing an animated movie version of Avatar, I would be in there like swim wear, but I'm not too sure that M. Night, whose vision I adored (until Lady in the Water) can carry off something that I really grew to love. Massive water walls, air slaps, fire emanating from fists and heels, stealthy martial arts that I've only truly seen done to justice in films like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon or Hero (yeah...Asian)...I don't know man. Now apparently Dave Patel is a black-belt in Tai Kwon Doe, which makes him able to do all his stunts and would make for an interesting watch, but...I still don't know.There's going to be a lot of CGI in this flick and I don't know if my eyes can take it if it's not done right. M Night is really going to have to pull that one out his booty. And really good too, because if this one flops, no one's going to want to see two more bad movies. I read that he's already working on the script for the second flick and that this whole trilogy may take up to six years to complete. He's not taking a line from Peter Jackson with the continuous filming thing...which is going to tough to explain why Aang (who is 12 in the show) looks 10 (Ringer's actual age) at the beginning of the movie but then looks 16 by the end of the final movie when only about a year (if so much) was to have elapsed. lol. It's kind of funny now that I think about it.

And knowing that there will be a CONSIDERABLE AMOUNT OF CHANGES...I don't know. I'm still trying to deal with the changes on one of my Book-to-TV shows, so I don't know if I can deal with this. Let's just see how good the second trailer coming out in four months look and maybe I'll think about going to see a matinee showing just because the original creators had a hand in it.

All I have to say is that they're lucky the Harry Potter movie is scheduled for the fall. Otherwise...::smh:: Lets see what other movies we have in store for next summer....

Check these links for the buzz and cast listings:
http://www.firstshowing.net/2009/07/02/a-full-rundown-and-update-the-last-airbender-trilogy/
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0938283/

Green EyEnvy

This is a poem I wrote...

GrEEn EyEnvy

Looking at my learner's permit, you'd see that they list the color of my eyes as brown. In fact, they are green. Envy is a funny thing. I don't mean for it to happen, but it just takes a hold of me. It's a little plague that boils up and out of me whenever I see something that isn't me--pictures of stylish girls having a night out on the town and an empty corner where my smiling face could've been. My eyes go green.

Curled, crimped and trimmed hair sends flashes of red anger through my eyes and down my spine. I don't want to be this way. But, I can't help but mix yellow and blue hues when I travel back and forth to a part of town I wouldn't otherwise be in, to do work I don't get paid for and watch brand name big bags hanging from manicured hands swaying to the beat of the high priced high-heels clacking down the granite hallway.

I don't want to be mean. To take my mind off of things, I come up with every way imaginable to explain why those luxurious gifts aren't meant for me. And when my thoughts stray away, a calm relief washes over me, adding more yellow and a splash of red to the concoction. And I can see again. And I can breathe again. And I feel like a person worth being.

Then as sure as time waits for no one, a pain leaves my chest and grabs at my neck, beckoning me to release that pent up tension. Sexy stilettos step in front of me, reminding me of my of a life I can't have, a party I was denied because people found it easier to not invite me, and an ensemble I could never wear--peacock colors I would never be brave to dare step out in with a semi-permanent disfigured ankle. I envy the feet that dance all night long, to music that I wouldn't be able to along sing to, at places that would never be a part of my memory banks.

Hunter. My eyes grow ravenous, thinking only to tear down what isn't mine or can't be mine, while deep down inside I don't want to be that hungry. I don't want that yearning because I've grown to like the person that I've become--two sides to this one being, who has yet to walk out in her shoes, bought for the sheer fun, but have never graced the murky sidewalk. I don't like being greedy and so sometimes I starve myself. Then the green becomes moss and the hunger grows...

I try to think about other things. I try to make it seem like my eclectic tastes and my random wit and my distorted nature makes up for me being uniquely excluded on the ritualistically included norms of everyone's everyday living. That my difference doesn't hinder me, but gives me a way to see things differently. That my weird is a science only I can understand and what some find intriguing- a whole new world that some venture into with open arms, while others look away with blank bland eyes.

Though, if misery loves company, then my eyes must be filled with something full.

I don't mean to be mean, and I don't want my eyes to be ever-green. I don't want to want, but I can't help that when I see things, my eyes open wide, the colors change and I feel different inside.

My id says that my eyes are brown, but they can be green sometimes...though, I wished they'd just stay brown.

MY Mr. Fixit

Now where flowers bloom, once stood my father, tall and strong. He was a good man. Did whatever he had to do just to make sure we would eat at the end of the day. And if we went more than one day without food, he’d buss his ass to make sure we could eat twice as much the day after. Scrubbing floors, fixing cars, assembling furniture…man I believed that if there was something needed to be done, pops could do it. Pops would do it. And that was the old goat’s downfall. I remember like it was yesterday- I was ten. Mom had been working as a bus driver by them because all the men in our neighborhood had enlisted. Mom came home about six o’clock that evening. She said she was feeling sick and told old Mrs. Gruber to go home. She was a pretty nice old lady. Mom asked me to go to the fridge and pour her a glass of lemonade. That’s when I heard the scream. That’s when she read the stupid letter. I remember hearing a thud sound and running to the living room to see my mother passed out on the floor, her beige pantyhose with a run a mile long wrapped around her limp legs and her hair that was usually pinned in place loose. I though she was dead so I ran to Mrs. Gruber’s apartment and banged the door down. When she answered, I told her that Mom was hurt and needed help. The little on lady ran as fast as her small feet could carry her down the hall, saw momma laying down and said “Oh dear.” She told me to get a wet rag and then hand it to her. She had momma’s head on her lap at this point and I brought the moist cloth to her. She was wiping momma’s face and I saw the letter in her hand. I read it from where I was standing:

“To the family of James Earl Carter,

We regret to inform you that Mr. James E. Carter was severely wounded while fighting for his country on January 14th of the year and died on his way being transported to a military hospital center outside of France…”

They wrote something about him being buried at 1400 hours a couple days later with a proper soldier’s burial. When I read that, I swore I felt a searing hatred running through me. I couldn’t understand. Pops was ‘Mr. Fixit’, he could do anything. I felt my heart sink. I knew why momma had fainted. I felt that same weight drop in my chest. My breath had escaped me. I hated the war. I hated that Pops was so giving. For a while, I hated the Jews too. Did they care that a man was sent to war to help liberate them? I started thinking, that they were just as racist as the racist bastards in the states. They took my daddy from me. I wanted to cuss but momma didn’t like us knowing swear words.
And now, where flowers bloom, lays a man I once called father. Years later, I hold my little sister’s hand crying for the man she never got the chance to meet. The man who went to war, and couldn’t fix it.

LothLorian

I am standing atop a hill looking down at the large willow tree. Mother willow is what I call her. I try to spot who’s sitting by her trunk. I see a figure. I recognize the figure. I run down the hill, barefooted and happy, my gown engulfed by the waves of gentle wind. I reach to the trunk where my love is sitting, intertwining flowers that surround the tree with his long slender fingers. He looks up, stands and comes near me. He lifts me up and spins me around. My hair begins to dance in the billowing breeze. His arms give way and we collapse upon each other. My back lands on his legs. We laugh. The sun begins to set and the sky becomes a reddish hue with streaks of yellow and purple swirling in-between. He wiggles his body so that his back is on mother willow’s bark. My head rests in his soft lap. He looks down at me. The bright brown eyes and a sweet soft smile on his face that can light the thousands of flames that lay burning within my heart. A leaf falls and is swept up by a tiny gale. It falls on my chest. He tosses it aside. And grazes his fingers slowly up my neck. He stretches one finger and plays with my ear. He cups my chin and leans in closer. Strands of his silky hair begin to fall and I rest my hand on the back of those curly tendrils and embrace his kiss. His soft sweet petal lips pierce mine and uplift my heart with a tamed ecstasy. Soon our lips part. He places his lips on my forehead and we both look on to witness the sun set behind the beautiful green hill.