When I first read "I Am Adam Lanza's Mother," I was encouraged by the "strength" of the author who was willing to bear her terrors in raising an emotionally-unstable son. Then I saw this...Disability and Representation... and now am annoyed that I fell into this sensationalism.
I think when I read the first article, I was immediately connecting "Michael" to my dad who was brain-injured when I was a baby and, while his normal mood was kind and loving and generous, he could often "act out" and become threatening. When I was in high school, he waved a gun at my mom and older sister while I was at school, and I slept with a butcher knife under my bed for the next year...just in case.
But I am not "Adam Lanza's daughter."
Anyone who knows my dad would know he's probably the most generous person you'll meet. Growing up, it wasn't uncommon for him to go out to Pizza Hut with my volleyball team after a game and pay for all 20+ people. That was his true heart. So, when he would throw an occasional tantrum, that tantrum DID NOT DEFINE HIM. His generosity and unfailing love for God, me, my sister, and my mom were his true definitions.
I'm not saying any of that to get any special props or sentiment, but to show that I KNOW the fear related to mental disabilities. I've lived that fear and battle with it almost every day. One of my biggest fears is to have a child that is emotionally or mentally disabled. I am terrified of that.
And YET I think it's ridiculous that the first article compared a son with Asperger's to a SCHOOL SHOOTER. The second article was a good dose of reality, showing that mentally-disabled people are STILL PEOPLE. My dad may have had limited moments of anger, but I would never put him in the same category of Adam Lanza. To compare ALL disabled people to school shooters, bombers, etc., is irrational and greatly harmful.
After every national tragedy, people want to know what caused it. Followed by, "How can we prevent it?" We want blame. We want accountability. I want those things, too, but at what cost to our humanity? Are we now going to further stigmatize the disabled? As if there isn't enough fear already. I'm talking to myself here, too, because this fear is real and comes from legitimate sources. We should have options for the welfare of the disabled and their families, but not at the personal cost of the very people we're trying to help. Don't compare the disabled to school shooters...otherwise you'd have to compare EVERY person to a school shooter.
There is evil in every single person's heart. There is potential for heinous acts of cruelty in every single person's heart. It is a choice every single person makes every single day whether or not to act on that inner evil. To lump a group of people as a larger threat than others is irresponsible. Sure, watch out for the disabled. Love them. Care for them. But don't label them as Adam Lanza.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Joy in Fear
There isn't much I can add about the Connecticut shooting. Like with 9/11, I can't quite believe it happened. I see the news clips, the distraught faces, grieving families...but none of it clicks. Maybe I'm just not surprised...I've often marveled that there aren't MORE public acts of violence with how crazy this world is. Not that anything should take away from the tragedy that happened, but there's SO much hate that I witness not just from others, but from within myself. If I have to be completely honest, I've enjoyed the hurt of others...while it's not to the point of actively harming innocent people, there is that seed of potential in me and I've often been startled when I start digging around and find it lurking in deeper soil.
Everyone wants an answer for this tragedy: Why did Adam Lanza do it? What was his mother like and did she lead to his instability? How can we limit access to guns? Did video games inspire Lanza's attack? In the gym this morning, the only topics on Newtown related to gun control. There were a few clips of the children, but the 2nd amendment seemed to prove more news-worthy.
I DO think we need to respond in a practical way, reevaluating current systems of gun ownership, parenting, etc. A close family friend, though, believes that whenever national crises happen, the general response is misdirected and that it doesn't recognize the deeper problem of wanting to control our surroundings.
No matter what happens in this world, I don't want to live in fear. Even if I knew that I would live to the ripe old age of 100 with no health problems or financial burdens, I would still be afraid...because there would STILL be things out of my control. I can't control car accidents or the hurt that I see in others. As much as I want to, I can't control students or reason with someone who doesn't want to change. Ryan and I have talked more about moving within the next year. I LOVE the thought of living somewhere completely foreign to me for a couple years, but am scared of having children in a third-world country. Seeing how hard it is to keep the toddlers out of the sink in nursery at church, I don't know how I could keep them out of it 24/7.
But I don't want that fear to keep me from loving life and enJOYing it. I once asked Ryan if he would rather live until 70 and never leave Indiana, or live only until 50 but see the world. Now that I know him better, the answer of "50 and see the world" shouldn't surprise me, but at the time it did. I've been trained to think that a long, healthy life is just naturally better than a short one. The more I witness fear, though, the more I disagree. Sure, I'd choose to live longer, but I don't want to let the FEAR of living a shorter amount of time keep me from joy.
Bah, easier said than done. I'll always be afraid of things that might be...or not be. I want to fight it, though, and see life as a river, not a raindrop.
Everyone wants an answer for this tragedy: Why did Adam Lanza do it? What was his mother like and did she lead to his instability? How can we limit access to guns? Did video games inspire Lanza's attack? In the gym this morning, the only topics on Newtown related to gun control. There were a few clips of the children, but the 2nd amendment seemed to prove more news-worthy.
I DO think we need to respond in a practical way, reevaluating current systems of gun ownership, parenting, etc. A close family friend, though, believes that whenever national crises happen, the general response is misdirected and that it doesn't recognize the deeper problem of wanting to control our surroundings.
No matter what happens in this world, I don't want to live in fear. Even if I knew that I would live to the ripe old age of 100 with no health problems or financial burdens, I would still be afraid...because there would STILL be things out of my control. I can't control car accidents or the hurt that I see in others. As much as I want to, I can't control students or reason with someone who doesn't want to change. Ryan and I have talked more about moving within the next year. I LOVE the thought of living somewhere completely foreign to me for a couple years, but am scared of having children in a third-world country. Seeing how hard it is to keep the toddlers out of the sink in nursery at church, I don't know how I could keep them out of it 24/7.
But I don't want that fear to keep me from loving life and enJOYing it. I once asked Ryan if he would rather live until 70 and never leave Indiana, or live only until 50 but see the world. Now that I know him better, the answer of "50 and see the world" shouldn't surprise me, but at the time it did. I've been trained to think that a long, healthy life is just naturally better than a short one. The more I witness fear, though, the more I disagree. Sure, I'd choose to live longer, but I don't want to let the FEAR of living a shorter amount of time keep me from joy.
Bah, easier said than done. I'll always be afraid of things that might be...or not be. I want to fight it, though, and see life as a river, not a raindrop.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
The times be a-changing
I'm always telling my students to write more on their own to improve themselves and always chide myself because I know I'm not going to take the same advice. I journal every few days...or once a week...but it's not like I used to journal when I felt like every thought or action I had was of universal importance.
"Today I bought the school lunch instead because I forgot to bring my own."
Mmmm....groundbreaking stuff.
I have PILES of journals dating back to 6th grade when I was reading California Diaries, the spin-off of Baby-Sitters Club, and realized the immediate importance of documenting the dramas of my life. Reading through some of them, they amaze me at how...young...I was. I thought I was so FUNNY. Stuff like, "insert name couldn't get anymore annoying...NOT." More groundbreaking prose.
So, it makes me wonder what I'll think of myself looking back another 15-some years down the road. It's so weird to think of being 40, probably as weird as it was in 6th grade to think of being 26. I also wonder what future generations will think when they look back on mine. What will some of the huge hot-button issues today look like to them? Probably what the Civil Rights movement looks like to me. They'll look at issues like legalizing marijuana and go, "Really? Why was that such a big deal?" But, because I'm living in the middle of the controversy, I'll respond like any good older generation with, "You weren't there, so you just don't get it." And I won't get why THEY don't get it because it seems so obvious to me.
What other issues will look silly to those nameless, faceless future punks and hoodlums who can't respect the better generations before them? I'd like to imagine there will be some huge health movement where all soda is no longer produced and in classrooms, bored students in some history class will vaguely wonder, "Who in their right minds would even drink that stuff?" and then go back to staring at the wall until their lunch of carrots and organic Acai juice.
Bigger question yet: what will become acceptable (or even good) that is so obviously wrong to us now? I personally think (I won't win any debates with this, just thoughts) that, ethically, people will become less and less concerned with the idea of killing older fetuses. According to this article (look at my citing skills paying off!), http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-19815095, one woman is trying to lower the abortion limit from 24 to 20 weeks in the U.K., meaning that right now a legal abortion takes places up to SIX MONTHS. I'm not going to go into much here because, honestly, I don't know exactly where I stand with abortions, but six months seems like it shouldn't even be in question whether or not that baby is alive. So, legally, we're allowing that up to 6 months. I just feel like that age could continue to climb higher. I don't even know what that would look like, but I read an article....http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/she-the-people/post/after-birth-abortion-can-they-be-serious/2012/03/03/gIQADgiOsR_blog.html that shows this idea has at least been introduced and considered. In short, it will be interesting and scary to see how things continue to play out.
I must be getting older, because I'm starting to think that the way I grew up was "in better times." In class we were discussing a chapter where the author suggested buying a Dictionary to look up how to spell words and one student rightfully asked, "Why when I have a phone?" I looked at the copyright and the first edition was 1993, so most likely this was just a dated tip. However, even though you can look up almost any dictionary on a phone, there's something that claws inside me, wanting to rip the phone away and say, "No! Use a book, you dummy!" But why? Because that's the way that I learned it!
The times be a-changing.
"Today I bought the school lunch instead because I forgot to bring my own."
Mmmm....groundbreaking stuff.
I have PILES of journals dating back to 6th grade when I was reading California Diaries, the spin-off of Baby-Sitters Club, and realized the immediate importance of documenting the dramas of my life. Reading through some of them, they amaze me at how...young...I was. I thought I was so FUNNY. Stuff like, "insert name couldn't get anymore annoying...NOT." More groundbreaking prose.
So, it makes me wonder what I'll think of myself looking back another 15-some years down the road. It's so weird to think of being 40, probably as weird as it was in 6th grade to think of being 26. I also wonder what future generations will think when they look back on mine. What will some of the huge hot-button issues today look like to them? Probably what the Civil Rights movement looks like to me. They'll look at issues like legalizing marijuana and go, "Really? Why was that such a big deal?" But, because I'm living in the middle of the controversy, I'll respond like any good older generation with, "You weren't there, so you just don't get it." And I won't get why THEY don't get it because it seems so obvious to me.
What other issues will look silly to those nameless, faceless future punks and hoodlums who can't respect the better generations before them? I'd like to imagine there will be some huge health movement where all soda is no longer produced and in classrooms, bored students in some history class will vaguely wonder, "Who in their right minds would even drink that stuff?" and then go back to staring at the wall until their lunch of carrots and organic Acai juice.
Bigger question yet: what will become acceptable (or even good) that is so obviously wrong to us now? I personally think (I won't win any debates with this, just thoughts) that, ethically, people will become less and less concerned with the idea of killing older fetuses. According to this article (look at my citing skills paying off!), http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-19815095, one woman is trying to lower the abortion limit from 24 to 20 weeks in the U.K., meaning that right now a legal abortion takes places up to SIX MONTHS. I'm not going to go into much here because, honestly, I don't know exactly where I stand with abortions, but six months seems like it shouldn't even be in question whether or not that baby is alive. So, legally, we're allowing that up to 6 months. I just feel like that age could continue to climb higher. I don't even know what that would look like, but I read an article....http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/she-the-people/post/after-birth-abortion-can-they-be-serious/2012/03/03/gIQADgiOsR_blog.html that shows this idea has at least been introduced and considered. In short, it will be interesting and scary to see how things continue to play out.
I must be getting older, because I'm starting to think that the way I grew up was "in better times." In class we were discussing a chapter where the author suggested buying a Dictionary to look up how to spell words and one student rightfully asked, "Why when I have a phone?" I looked at the copyright and the first edition was 1993, so most likely this was just a dated tip. However, even though you can look up almost any dictionary on a phone, there's something that claws inside me, wanting to rip the phone away and say, "No! Use a book, you dummy!" But why? Because that's the way that I learned it!
The times be a-changing.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Moving
Whenever I mention moving and any fears I have about it, most people say something like, "Well, you've traveled so much, it should be no problem for you!" This is somewhat true - I would definitely enjoy different scenery and local food and shifted perspectives, but I also have this crazy dramatic nostalgia that makes it difficult to leave anything behind.
My car, for example, is my best inanimate friend...second only to my bike...and my pillow (which has been referred to as 'a sack of dead squirrels'...apparently, I like pillows to be lumpy). I got it two weeks after I began at Taylor...so, Fall 2004. The keys to it were keys to the universe...I'd gone without a car for 8 months, which really isn't that long, but at 18, it was borderline tragic. Having to *gasp* walk and ride my bike everywhere mom couldn't drive me and feeling bad bumming rides off everyone...anyway, it made me love my car and the thought of a new car is fun, but not worth it at the expense of losing Violet, my brawny Saturn.
Likewise, I love the thought of a new place to call home...and that thought might be reality in 12-18 months. After talking with a supervisor at work, Ryan could be able to transfer to another Michelin plant in that time - there's nothing set yet...no where or what or when, but our top picks are North or South Carolina. I've only been in that area once, last December, but I don't see why either wouldn't be a fine state to try. It's warmer, close to a coast, and it's just DIFFERENT.
But I DO like my life here and LOVE my friends/family nearby. Sure, we'd make more friends we never would have otherwise, but there's always a silly thought of "what if EVERYONE in North/South Carolina sucks? What if we get there are are, like *Gob Bluth voice inserted* I've made a huge mistake'?" Ryan pointed out that we could ask that question anywhere we move and it's really not worth missing out on something amazing just because something bad MIGHT happen. It's kind of funny, really, how I feel like I'm the more random one between me and Ryan, yet the most hesitant.
Ah, but I do love the thought of moving. I know my life here, but I don't know it somewhere 9 1/2 hours away. We could easily settle down here in Fort Wayne, buy a house, start having kids, trust in the stability of Ryan's job, and never face a real urgency to ever leave. We could shop at the same stores for the next 7-8 decades (hey, I'm optimistic), I could teach the same classes, and use the same bank...but I already know, in general, what that life looks like. And it's not BAD - it's just too understood. I already know I don't trust God in change and what better way to FORCE myself to trust than by pushing myself out of the only city I've called home?
Diary quote time: "Why do I want to jumble up the convenience and ease we have going on here? Because if I don't jumble myself, I won't go. I'll stagnate and become bitter. I know these streets too well. I have the buildings outlined in my head...in many ways, the saying "the grass is greener on the other side" is misleading because what if you want the other side, but are still debating your current side's green-ness?"
Isn't it funny that generations before us fought so hard and shed so much sweat and blood so that we could have endless opportunities, yet it's those very opportunities that cause us so much anxiety? "Waaaa, I have too many choices." Pretty sure every oppressed generation of women (and men) would punch me in the face. If they did it at the same time, maybe it would smack some sense into me. What if everyone just moves with us wherever we go? You in?
My car, for example, is my best inanimate friend...second only to my bike...and my pillow (which has been referred to as 'a sack of dead squirrels'...apparently, I like pillows to be lumpy). I got it two weeks after I began at Taylor...so, Fall 2004. The keys to it were keys to the universe...I'd gone without a car for 8 months, which really isn't that long, but at 18, it was borderline tragic. Having to *gasp* walk and ride my bike everywhere mom couldn't drive me and feeling bad bumming rides off everyone...anyway, it made me love my car and the thought of a new car is fun, but not worth it at the expense of losing Violet, my brawny Saturn.
Likewise, I love the thought of a new place to call home...and that thought might be reality in 12-18 months. After talking with a supervisor at work, Ryan could be able to transfer to another Michelin plant in that time - there's nothing set yet...no where or what or when, but our top picks are North or South Carolina. I've only been in that area once, last December, but I don't see why either wouldn't be a fine state to try. It's warmer, close to a coast, and it's just DIFFERENT.
But I DO like my life here and LOVE my friends/family nearby. Sure, we'd make more friends we never would have otherwise, but there's always a silly thought of "what if EVERYONE in North/South Carolina sucks? What if we get there are are, like *Gob Bluth voice inserted* I've made a huge mistake'?" Ryan pointed out that we could ask that question anywhere we move and it's really not worth missing out on something amazing just because something bad MIGHT happen. It's kind of funny, really, how I feel like I'm the more random one between me and Ryan, yet the most hesitant.
Ah, but I do love the thought of moving. I know my life here, but I don't know it somewhere 9 1/2 hours away. We could easily settle down here in Fort Wayne, buy a house, start having kids, trust in the stability of Ryan's job, and never face a real urgency to ever leave. We could shop at the same stores for the next 7-8 decades (hey, I'm optimistic), I could teach the same classes, and use the same bank...but I already know, in general, what that life looks like. And it's not BAD - it's just too understood. I already know I don't trust God in change and what better way to FORCE myself to trust than by pushing myself out of the only city I've called home?
Diary quote time: "Why do I want to jumble up the convenience and ease we have going on here? Because if I don't jumble myself, I won't go. I'll stagnate and become bitter. I know these streets too well. I have the buildings outlined in my head...in many ways, the saying "the grass is greener on the other side" is misleading because what if you want the other side, but are still debating your current side's green-ness?"
Isn't it funny that generations before us fought so hard and shed so much sweat and blood so that we could have endless opportunities, yet it's those very opportunities that cause us so much anxiety? "Waaaa, I have too many choices." Pretty sure every oppressed generation of women (and men) would punch me in the face. If they did it at the same time, maybe it would smack some sense into me. What if everyone just moves with us wherever we go? You in?
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Zombie Dreams
Just watched "Cabin in the Woods" last night and I had a night filled with zombie-killing dreams, mostly with people being eaten or brutally killed.
For the movie, have to say, not impressed like I thought I would be. I wanted to be impressed and was at some parts, but wow...won't ruin the movie for those who actually want to see it, but I'd say it's worth watching just for the end. Ridiculous. And sometimes ridiculous is worth it. Although, I recommend fast-fowarding the blood and guts scenes. Not a fan. It sincerely bothers me that torturing people is entertainment. I get it - it's fiction, it's not real, it's "just for fun." But shouldn't we ask ourselves why our brains find it fun? While we're not watching real torture, isn't the enjoyment of it the same? A student of mine said he loved the Saw movies and I just mentioned how I hate torture for entertainment. He said, "Oh, I love it." Part of me gets it - seeing characters acting out horrible situations where you go, "Oh, man, no way that just happened!" but when you really think about it, people really do LOVE watching others suffer
With that said, I think we forget the power of "mindless" entertainment. It's all "for fun" or "just a joke," but there are definite reactions in our lives whether we admit it or not. I used to say that what I watched didn't affect me. I mean, I'm not going to go out to some cabin in the woods and butcher up a group of teenage college students by impaling them with knives and bear traps connected to ropes. But if I'm honest with myself, it makes me devalue human life. And enjoy suffering.
I was watching a news clip of some woman from a baptist church in some southern state who, with her entire church of about 100 members, taunted family members at the funerals of their sons who died in Afghanistan or Iraq. They were soldiers who fought for our country...but were also gay. So this woman and her church thought it was honoring God to stand with signs that read, "God hates you" and "Thank God for dead soldiers" to get across their hateful belief that God hates gay people. How does this connect to Cabin in the Woods? Because, listening to that woman talk on the news, she ENJOYED human suffering. She wasn't cackling as they were stabbed to death, but in a way, wasn't it about the same? She smiled and laughed as the news anchor literally asked, "What is wrong with you? You should be ashamed", and ranted about "why won't you just obey the Lord your God? Repent, dummies." She ignored the obvious fact that she was enjoying and bringing about suffering to grieving family and friends. Instead of responding to that point made by the anchor, she kept ranting about why God hates them...as if she is the authority on God.
So I see a connection in the simple fact of suffering producing pleasure. We don't value other humans - which ironically the movie actually seemed to point out, while following the same "cut 'em, slice 'em" type of filmmaking. So, no, watching these movies doesn't make me want to go out and torture people, but they DO create an apathy or, even worse, enjoyment of watching suffering.
For the movie, have to say, not impressed like I thought I would be. I wanted to be impressed and was at some parts, but wow...won't ruin the movie for those who actually want to see it, but I'd say it's worth watching just for the end. Ridiculous. And sometimes ridiculous is worth it. Although, I recommend fast-fowarding the blood and guts scenes. Not a fan. It sincerely bothers me that torturing people is entertainment. I get it - it's fiction, it's not real, it's "just for fun." But shouldn't we ask ourselves why our brains find it fun? While we're not watching real torture, isn't the enjoyment of it the same? A student of mine said he loved the Saw movies and I just mentioned how I hate torture for entertainment. He said, "Oh, I love it." Part of me gets it - seeing characters acting out horrible situations where you go, "Oh, man, no way that just happened!" but when you really think about it, people really do LOVE watching others suffer
With that said, I think we forget the power of "mindless" entertainment. It's all "for fun" or "just a joke," but there are definite reactions in our lives whether we admit it or not. I used to say that what I watched didn't affect me. I mean, I'm not going to go out to some cabin in the woods and butcher up a group of teenage college students by impaling them with knives and bear traps connected to ropes. But if I'm honest with myself, it makes me devalue human life. And enjoy suffering.
I was watching a news clip of some woman from a baptist church in some southern state who, with her entire church of about 100 members, taunted family members at the funerals of their sons who died in Afghanistan or Iraq. They were soldiers who fought for our country...but were also gay. So this woman and her church thought it was honoring God to stand with signs that read, "God hates you" and "Thank God for dead soldiers" to get across their hateful belief that God hates gay people. How does this connect to Cabin in the Woods? Because, listening to that woman talk on the news, she ENJOYED human suffering. She wasn't cackling as they were stabbed to death, but in a way, wasn't it about the same? She smiled and laughed as the news anchor literally asked, "What is wrong with you? You should be ashamed", and ranted about "why won't you just obey the Lord your God? Repent, dummies." She ignored the obvious fact that she was enjoying and bringing about suffering to grieving family and friends. Instead of responding to that point made by the anchor, she kept ranting about why God hates them...as if she is the authority on God.
So I see a connection in the simple fact of suffering producing pleasure. We don't value other humans - which ironically the movie actually seemed to point out, while following the same "cut 'em, slice 'em" type of filmmaking. So, no, watching these movies doesn't make me want to go out and torture people, but they DO create an apathy or, even worse, enjoyment of watching suffering.
Friday, September 7, 2012
Calling All X-File Fans!!!!
While I wait for pumpkin bread to bake and chili to cook (our apartment smells delicious, by the way), I figured I'd use this time wisely and correct the monstrosity that was X-Files: I Want to Believe. For those who don't know, The X-Files was the best show ever made. Never mind that rewatching episodes makes me giggle a little bit at HOW obsessed I was, but seriously, it's still the best. And never mind that Scully was actually super annoying and overly-skeptical. As a scientist, don't you think she'd notice the statistics of how Mulder was right 100% of the time every time of every moment in time?
Now that I've emphasized the greatness of the show, let me also say how I don't include anything after Season 7 in the true story of The X-Files. For one, Mulder was barely in the show after Season 7 and the last movie, as I've stated, was as if they took the bold epic heroism of Mulder and Scully, skinned them, put them on some lame marionette puppets and then had them sit in a sterile hospital waiting room for two hours. Something like that. It was just laziness. For instance, Scully decides to basically invent a cancer surgery for some patient (I didn't bother to remember the details) and where does she begin her research? GOOGLE. Really, Scully? Or should I say, really Chris Carter? GOOGLE?! You don't have to be a comp. teacher to know that if she was back at med school she'd be thrown out before the second O was typed.
Ok ok ok. I could rant more, but on to my point: I decided to fix this dilemma since I believe the greatness of The X-Files former glory can still be resurrected with some gentle prodding and actually awesome plot. Granted, I won't act like I'm about to create the best story ever. I'm just going to prove that in an hour, I can make up a MUCH better movie than that last one. There will be plot holes and stereotyped storytelling all over the place, but again, this is just to prove that an amateur blogger can make a more thrilling story that actually extends the story of Mulder and Scully instead of having them hiding out in some cabin in the woods for six years (as if Mulder would stay in the shadows for that long. Come on, people).
So, first, we'd start from the end of Season 9 (for the sake of time, I'll just act like the last two seasons were part of the true X-Files story). So, Mulder and Scully are finally reunited and fleeing to Mexico because the government is actually going to kill Mulder. They know that this epic alien attack is going to take place in 2012 (so why wouldn't the next movie BE ABOUT THE ALIEN ATTACK????). They're laying in a hotel room, like in the first episode, speculating on this attack. So that's where the series left off and here's where my correction of the next movie begins:
So Mulder and Scully wake up the next morning, realizing they'd had this CRAZY dream where they were in a crappy cabin six years in the future, realizing they were super lame, and decided to go back in time. Therefore, the problem of the second movie is erased. They wake up and spend the next six years solving paranormal cases in Mexico, on the sly of course, and finding allies along the way (Spanish Lone Gunmen, anyone????). Their Hispanic friends help them out, telling them about various crazy events, children turning into pinatas and, I don't know, tacos having the exact shape of Mexican leaders? Whatever, it doesn't matter because all of this will just be a brief snippet at the beginning of the movie to show the audience how awesome Mulder and Scully continued to be after the last night in that hotel and DIDN'T turn lame, hiding out for 6 years while Scully somehow worked in a hospital where no one knew that (duh) Mulder would be living in the EXACT SAME PLACE as she did, and Scully DIDN'T turn into a boring anti-investigator, telling Mulder "No, don't solve crimes. Let's just live quietly and not do anything ever."
So back to my story: after this montage of them solving cases in Mexico for the next six years, they continue to wait for the epic alien attack of 2012. Now, they don't know the official day, of course, so are just preparing for anytime that year. With the help of their Hispanic friends, they form a counterattack that they won't reveal until the end of the movie (I haven't thought of it yet...). So, one lovely summer day in some village on the coast of Ecuador, local fishermen notice abnormally large waves rolling under their boats. Speaking in Spanish (X-Files was great with subtitles instead of pretending everyone around the world speaks English), the fishermen are like, "What's that? What's going on?" and then BAM, lights and noises and chaos erupt. The boats are engulfed in a massive water storm of chaos. The audience has no idea what's going on, but you hear broken Spanish of "What IS that?" and "Hold on!" I don't know. Just regular sci-fi reactions to crazy crap.
The screen pans back to Mulder and Scully, three days later, riding in the back of a pick-up truck with sunglasses. The truck stops at a gas station where they hear frantic women talk next to them at the pump. Mulder awesomely jumps over the rail of the truck bed, asking the women what the problem is. He's, of course, fluent in Spanish now. They tell him about the Ecuador fiasco, leading him to walk into the gas station, seeing a news clip (also subtitled) of a reporter, trying to look unafraid, telling about the odd events in the fishing village. Knowing what's going on, Mulder runs out of the shop, yelling at Scully to contact the others. She whips out a sweet cellphone and calls up their Spanish Lone Gunmen.
Blah Blah Blah, they spend the next half hour figuring out how to connect the dots between ever-increasing attacks across the globe (the Ecuador event was just the beginning...ooooooo). They figure out, after this half-hour of intense investigation, that the aliens are attacking small villages first to avoid immediate reaction from the humans. They've also seen Independence Day where the aliens made the mistake of attacking large cities first. So, not only are they attacking small villages, but they're attacking small coastal villages. And not only are they attacking small coastal villages, but they're attacking small coastal villages in an elaborate, but identifiable zigzag pattern that Mulder has elaborately marked with push pins on a map in he and Scully's straw hut.
So now they know the next location of the aliens attack: Playa Gaviota, Argentina (I used Scully's model of scholarship and Googled "Argentina", zooming in on small villages). "But we don't even know exactly who or what we're fighting with," Scully rightly protests.
"We never have before," Mulder responds with a devilish grin that makes the audience grin because now they're thinking about the TV series and how they're also in on the fairly lame connection to Mulder and Scully's FBI past.
Scully and Mulder then hitch a ride down to Argentina, along with their new Lone Gunmen, and whatever secret plan we don't know about yet (seriously, I don't know it). When they get there, they have no idea how long until the attack or what they'll be looking at. From what they learned from TV reports, these "phenomena" happen on the water, so they warn everyone to avoid the shore (no one listens, except a darling little girl of about six who convinces her family to move farther inland. Will she come into play later on? I really don't know...).
Around three the next morning, Mulder awakes to a light trembling (he and Scully and their Lone Gunmen are sleeping in a hotel about a mile from the shore). Mulder wakes the others up and they all run outside to a brilliantly lit sky of rainbow colors, flashing and roaring. Amazed, they listen to the screams of those who didn't flee from the water's edge and run towards the sounds. The first person they find on the streets is an elderly man, clawing at his face, but nothing is on him. Another woman runs from behind him, clawing at the ground, scratching and screaming. Whatever, it's weird. Looking up, Scully yells that there's some kind of fog creeping from the bright-colored sky. Actually, the colors themselves are a fog, spreading toward them.
This is bad, obviously. So they all start to run and the fog of colors is nipping at their heels. They're not going to make it!!!!!!
But they make it and try to figure out what they just saw. Scully somehow deduces that the fog is emitted from rays that blah blah, science, blah. So they have to destroy the fog maker. Fortunately, their secret plan just might work. What is their secret plan? Crap......
Ok, so during the six years that Mulder and Scully roamed South America, they found a chemical in a pit, like, two miles below the earth. One of their contacts told them about this pit and that there was a foreign...something...that was never supposed to be uncovered. When they asked why it wasn't supposed to be found, they were told, "Because they know (they obviously meaning aliens) it will destroy them". So, whatever, they have this thing that can destroy them. We'll call it Netrablium. This sucks, I admit, but again, this is still better than the last movie, so go with it. No one knows how it will destroy the aliens, but they figure it out.
After they escape the fog, they continue to hear a distant buzzing, like bumblebees (a nice tribute to the first movie, I dare say). They follow the buzzing (why wouldn't they?) and see tubes creeping back into the water. The fog's now lifted and they follow the tubes. Mulder grabs the vial of Netrablium and, against Scully's logical warnings, he dives into the water and grabs one of the tubes. The tube pulls him almost a mile out into the sea until it jerks him under (don't worry, he gets a crazy big gulp of air that will last him an absurdly long time). With eyes open and magically unstung by the salt, he sees he's being pulled into a type of submarine, but more alien-looking. He's pulled under the sub and the camera zooms out to show just HOW alien-looking this thing is. Back on Mulder, we see him letting go of the tub and feeling his way around the equipment. Soon he finds a hatch and squeezes in side, taking as silent a gasp for air as he can.
So he's inside the underwater spaceship and prowls around. Blah blah, he finds the central area, throws the Netrablium in it, and the whole thing starts spazzing out. Aliens are shrieking and don't seem to have a backup plan for this sort of thing, so Mulder's the only one who gets out before the whole thing explodes or melts or whatever. He swims back to shore, gasping on the sand (he barely escaped the sub, so he's rightfully exhausted).
Mulder and Scully hug. It's emotional. The camera pans out and upward, and we see the sub dissolving into the water, knowing once again, our planetary health is due to our beloved agents.
BUT we have to have some hint that there will be another movie, so after the credits, we see some mystery person reading a newspaper with a headline like "Coastal Catastrophes out to Sea" or some lame pun implying there are no more alien disasters. The newspaper comes down and we see....THE SMOKING MAN...and he turns to a shadowy figure looming in the corner. He says, "We're going to have some explaining to do." The shadowy figure slowly walks into the light and we see....SKINNER. He says, "Yes. Yes, sir, we sure are."
So, again, not the best story ever, but I would gladly pay $9.25 to see this sucker opening night. So please, from the bottom of my heart, someone make this happen.
Now that I've emphasized the greatness of the show, let me also say how I don't include anything after Season 7 in the true story of The X-Files. For one, Mulder was barely in the show after Season 7 and the last movie, as I've stated, was as if they took the bold epic heroism of Mulder and Scully, skinned them, put them on some lame marionette puppets and then had them sit in a sterile hospital waiting room for two hours. Something like that. It was just laziness. For instance, Scully decides to basically invent a cancer surgery for some patient (I didn't bother to remember the details) and where does she begin her research? GOOGLE. Really, Scully? Or should I say, really Chris Carter? GOOGLE?! You don't have to be a comp. teacher to know that if she was back at med school she'd be thrown out before the second O was typed.
Ok ok ok. I could rant more, but on to my point: I decided to fix this dilemma since I believe the greatness of The X-Files former glory can still be resurrected with some gentle prodding and actually awesome plot. Granted, I won't act like I'm about to create the best story ever. I'm just going to prove that in an hour, I can make up a MUCH better movie than that last one. There will be plot holes and stereotyped storytelling all over the place, but again, this is just to prove that an amateur blogger can make a more thrilling story that actually extends the story of Mulder and Scully instead of having them hiding out in some cabin in the woods for six years (as if Mulder would stay in the shadows for that long. Come on, people).
So, first, we'd start from the end of Season 9 (for the sake of time, I'll just act like the last two seasons were part of the true X-Files story). So, Mulder and Scully are finally reunited and fleeing to Mexico because the government is actually going to kill Mulder. They know that this epic alien attack is going to take place in 2012 (so why wouldn't the next movie BE ABOUT THE ALIEN ATTACK????). They're laying in a hotel room, like in the first episode, speculating on this attack. So that's where the series left off and here's where my correction of the next movie begins:
So Mulder and Scully wake up the next morning, realizing they'd had this CRAZY dream where they were in a crappy cabin six years in the future, realizing they were super lame, and decided to go back in time. Therefore, the problem of the second movie is erased. They wake up and spend the next six years solving paranormal cases in Mexico, on the sly of course, and finding allies along the way (Spanish Lone Gunmen, anyone????). Their Hispanic friends help them out, telling them about various crazy events, children turning into pinatas and, I don't know, tacos having the exact shape of Mexican leaders? Whatever, it doesn't matter because all of this will just be a brief snippet at the beginning of the movie to show the audience how awesome Mulder and Scully continued to be after the last night in that hotel and DIDN'T turn lame, hiding out for 6 years while Scully somehow worked in a hospital where no one knew that (duh) Mulder would be living in the EXACT SAME PLACE as she did, and Scully DIDN'T turn into a boring anti-investigator, telling Mulder "No, don't solve crimes. Let's just live quietly and not do anything ever."
So back to my story: after this montage of them solving cases in Mexico for the next six years, they continue to wait for the epic alien attack of 2012. Now, they don't know the official day, of course, so are just preparing for anytime that year. With the help of their Hispanic friends, they form a counterattack that they won't reveal until the end of the movie (I haven't thought of it yet...). So, one lovely summer day in some village on the coast of Ecuador, local fishermen notice abnormally large waves rolling under their boats. Speaking in Spanish (X-Files was great with subtitles instead of pretending everyone around the world speaks English), the fishermen are like, "What's that? What's going on?" and then BAM, lights and noises and chaos erupt. The boats are engulfed in a massive water storm of chaos. The audience has no idea what's going on, but you hear broken Spanish of "What IS that?" and "Hold on!" I don't know. Just regular sci-fi reactions to crazy crap.
The screen pans back to Mulder and Scully, three days later, riding in the back of a pick-up truck with sunglasses. The truck stops at a gas station where they hear frantic women talk next to them at the pump. Mulder awesomely jumps over the rail of the truck bed, asking the women what the problem is. He's, of course, fluent in Spanish now. They tell him about the Ecuador fiasco, leading him to walk into the gas station, seeing a news clip (also subtitled) of a reporter, trying to look unafraid, telling about the odd events in the fishing village. Knowing what's going on, Mulder runs out of the shop, yelling at Scully to contact the others. She whips out a sweet cellphone and calls up their Spanish Lone Gunmen.
Blah Blah Blah, they spend the next half hour figuring out how to connect the dots between ever-increasing attacks across the globe (the Ecuador event was just the beginning...ooooooo). They figure out, after this half-hour of intense investigation, that the aliens are attacking small villages first to avoid immediate reaction from the humans. They've also seen Independence Day where the aliens made the mistake of attacking large cities first. So, not only are they attacking small villages, but they're attacking small coastal villages. And not only are they attacking small coastal villages, but they're attacking small coastal villages in an elaborate, but identifiable zigzag pattern that Mulder has elaborately marked with push pins on a map in he and Scully's straw hut.
So now they know the next location of the aliens attack: Playa Gaviota, Argentina (I used Scully's model of scholarship and Googled "Argentina", zooming in on small villages). "But we don't even know exactly who or what we're fighting with," Scully rightly protests.
"We never have before," Mulder responds with a devilish grin that makes the audience grin because now they're thinking about the TV series and how they're also in on the fairly lame connection to Mulder and Scully's FBI past.
Scully and Mulder then hitch a ride down to Argentina, along with their new Lone Gunmen, and whatever secret plan we don't know about yet (seriously, I don't know it). When they get there, they have no idea how long until the attack or what they'll be looking at. From what they learned from TV reports, these "phenomena" happen on the water, so they warn everyone to avoid the shore (no one listens, except a darling little girl of about six who convinces her family to move farther inland. Will she come into play later on? I really don't know...).
Around three the next morning, Mulder awakes to a light trembling (he and Scully and their Lone Gunmen are sleeping in a hotel about a mile from the shore). Mulder wakes the others up and they all run outside to a brilliantly lit sky of rainbow colors, flashing and roaring. Amazed, they listen to the screams of those who didn't flee from the water's edge and run towards the sounds. The first person they find on the streets is an elderly man, clawing at his face, but nothing is on him. Another woman runs from behind him, clawing at the ground, scratching and screaming. Whatever, it's weird. Looking up, Scully yells that there's some kind of fog creeping from the bright-colored sky. Actually, the colors themselves are a fog, spreading toward them.
This is bad, obviously. So they all start to run and the fog of colors is nipping at their heels. They're not going to make it!!!!!!
But they make it and try to figure out what they just saw. Scully somehow deduces that the fog is emitted from rays that blah blah, science, blah. So they have to destroy the fog maker. Fortunately, their secret plan just might work. What is their secret plan? Crap......
Ok, so during the six years that Mulder and Scully roamed South America, they found a chemical in a pit, like, two miles below the earth. One of their contacts told them about this pit and that there was a foreign...something...that was never supposed to be uncovered. When they asked why it wasn't supposed to be found, they were told, "Because they know (they obviously meaning aliens) it will destroy them". So, whatever, they have this thing that can destroy them. We'll call it Netrablium. This sucks, I admit, but again, this is still better than the last movie, so go with it. No one knows how it will destroy the aliens, but they figure it out.
After they escape the fog, they continue to hear a distant buzzing, like bumblebees (a nice tribute to the first movie, I dare say). They follow the buzzing (why wouldn't they?) and see tubes creeping back into the water. The fog's now lifted and they follow the tubes. Mulder grabs the vial of Netrablium and, against Scully's logical warnings, he dives into the water and grabs one of the tubes. The tube pulls him almost a mile out into the sea until it jerks him under (don't worry, he gets a crazy big gulp of air that will last him an absurdly long time). With eyes open and magically unstung by the salt, he sees he's being pulled into a type of submarine, but more alien-looking. He's pulled under the sub and the camera zooms out to show just HOW alien-looking this thing is. Back on Mulder, we see him letting go of the tub and feeling his way around the equipment. Soon he finds a hatch and squeezes in side, taking as silent a gasp for air as he can.
So he's inside the underwater spaceship and prowls around. Blah blah, he finds the central area, throws the Netrablium in it, and the whole thing starts spazzing out. Aliens are shrieking and don't seem to have a backup plan for this sort of thing, so Mulder's the only one who gets out before the whole thing explodes or melts or whatever. He swims back to shore, gasping on the sand (he barely escaped the sub, so he's rightfully exhausted).
Mulder and Scully hug. It's emotional. The camera pans out and upward, and we see the sub dissolving into the water, knowing once again, our planetary health is due to our beloved agents.
BUT we have to have some hint that there will be another movie, so after the credits, we see some mystery person reading a newspaper with a headline like "Coastal Catastrophes out to Sea" or some lame pun implying there are no more alien disasters. The newspaper comes down and we see....THE SMOKING MAN...and he turns to a shadowy figure looming in the corner. He says, "We're going to have some explaining to do." The shadowy figure slowly walks into the light and we see....SKINNER. He says, "Yes. Yes, sir, we sure are."
So, again, not the best story ever, but I would gladly pay $9.25 to see this sucker opening night. So please, from the bottom of my heart, someone make this happen.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Oh, the Places We'll Go! Part 2
I'll sum up the rest of our trip this July....the next two days in Ireland, we went to Glendalough, a sweet hiking area in the Wicklow Mountains, and to County Cork where we kissed the Blarney Stone. Turns out the stone isn't actually for luck, but for the gift of eloquence/persuasion. Who knew? After gaining our rightful gift, we flew to Edinburgh from Cork on Ryan Air (of course, we got a picture of Ryan in front of the plane...and if you look carefully, he might look a little bulgy...that's because he's got on four shirts and a fleece to keep his backpack under regulation size).
It was getting dark when we got off the bus from the Edinburgh airport. Dark, cold and rainy. But how much better did that make it when we found our hostel? Not just any hostel, but a CATHEDRAL. For serious. It was a small cathedral renovated into a hostel. Like, they turned the sanctuary into two makeshift hallways with separate rooms. We were only in the hostel to sleep the next two nights, but it was still glorious. Our room's "roof" had a window at the top so we could see the stained glass sanctuary windows. A window through a window.
The next day we left crazy early to take a bus up to Loch Ness...we got there around noon and walked by the water, mostly just touring Inverness, a city along the lake. And did we find ol' Nessie? You better believe it. Turns out she turns herself into a bunch of swans and we got a picture of her transformation. She's quite the trickster. We spent part of the afternoon sitting by the lake, talking about where we saw ourselves in five years...turns out we don't know the future. Lame.
Around 6 we took the bus back to Edinburgh. It was a lot of driving for one day, but like the trains in Ireland, the scenery was well worth it. The next morning we got up at 4 AM. What? And somehow I was totally ok with that. We took an early train to Sheffield, England, where we met up with MARIEEEEEEE. She was getting her Masters there and we crashed in her flat. That day we walked around Sheffield and took a bus to the Peak District where we ate at a pub (Marie and I got a roast that was...freaking...delicious).
The next day we went into London after ANOTHER early morning (5 if I remember). Our first stop was Kings Cross to pose by the trolley outside the Hogwarts Express. Actually, the trolley isn't even between platforms 9 and 10. Super lame. It's just thrown by some random wall in the station. Guess most tourists don't want to pay to actually get into the station.
The next stop, after dropping our bags off somewhere, was St. Paul's. I'd been there before, but had never climbed up the the Whispering Gallery...a mere thousand steps up to the top of the dome where you get a crazy view of London. Back at the bottom, my leg would twitch when I leaned forward in just the right way. I thought it was the coolest thing ever, but Marie and Ryan didn't seemed impressed. Also at the bottom I paid to light a candle with a prayer for mom who just found out about her breast cancer, which I don't think I'd done before, but it really felt more sacred to pray that way.
We then went to see the Changing of the Guards at Buckingham where uniformed people yell at you to keep moving...keep moving...keep the sidewalk clear...come on, people, don't block the way.
And then it was Westminster Abbey. Another place I'd seen, but not fully. Before, I'd seen the outside, but the audio tour was well worth it. We struggled to find Marie after that, but eventually saw her flailing around Big Ben. After THAT we went to The British Museum to see The Rosetta Stone and surprising amounts of Egyptian stuff. There was also a Horse Exhibit with old arrow heads from 8,000 BC. Crazy. I don't know how to handle looking at stuff that old.
Before we left the museum, I messed with my camera to see if it was working again (I brilliantly washed it at Marie's, forgetting it was in one of my pockets). It was splotchy and blurry, but it worked! And throughout the trip, it eventually cleared up more.
Sadly, this was the time when we had to part with Marie. We said our farewells at the tube station. It was awful. I just didn't really think before then how SHORT it would be with her. She left for her train back to Sheffield and Ryan and I made it just in time to see The Mousetrap at St. Martin's Theatre.
We grabbed our bags after the show and took the tube to our hostel. It was around midnight by that point and it was so great to finally get to Hostel #8 and feel like we were coming to a home of sorts. We were cheap when we booked stuff, so stayed in a 21-person room...basically just rows of bunk beds and lockers. But for $10 a night, who cares?
London was still on our list the next day. We made it to The Globe and spent hours at The Tower of London and Tower Bridge. We saw the Crown Jewels and this is just amazing...to keep tourists from standing too long in front of the jewels and blocking everyone, you go on a moving walkway. That's just freaking genius. We took a river cruise back to the east side of London, which got interesting when the heavens themselves burst forth rain. It almost felt like a scene out of Titanic, people fleeing across the top of the boat to get into shelter.
The NEXT day we did a bus tour of Oxford, Windsor and Stonehenge. Super good thing we did a tour since buses/trains don't go very consistently between the three. And our tour guide was sweet...brown suit with a bowler hat and pipe. Interesting guy.
This was now Monday and our last night at #8 Hostel (no alcohol allowed...as they have their own bar). We left at 4:15 the next morning for a bus into London for another bus to Standsted Airport. For a cheap-o flight, they had the most intense screening ever. The lady emptied EVERYthing in my bag. Granted, I had liquids all over the place like a dummy. So this was our flight to Budapest. We had to end up on that side of Europe, so found this cheap-o flight to a country neither of us had been to before. We were only in Budapest about 6 hours, but walked around and ate this plate of potato/cheese/egg goodness with lemonade for just 3 euros. We took a bus that afternoon to Vienna, which we got off around 10 pm. When we got out onto the dark streets of Vienna....we realized we had no idea where to go from there. We had an address, but weren't seeing trains, so cheated at took a cab. But I'm glad we did because we met Mr. Cabdriver who had moved to Vienna from Africa several years ago and still didn't have good friends where he lived. Apparently Austria is beautiful, but not very friendly. So we gave him a good tip and I said I'd talk to everyone in Vienna, telling them to be nicer.
At our Vienna hostel, right away it was so different from the western European ones we'd been at. As in, it was QUIET. There was a girl sleeping across from me from Malaysia (or Mongolia?) who was really friendly, asking where we were going and seeming genuinely sad that we were only at the hostel until the morning.
So the next day we took a train to Salzburg, officially my favorite city ever. Vienna's great and all, but Salzburg is how I actually picture Austria...mountains and old buildings with copper-topped towers. And the apple streudels! Gah. And the hostel THERE was even better than Vienna's. It was a youth hostel, but NICE. Definitely the cleanest we'd seen. When I woke up the next morning, I just stared at the sun coming through the window, marveling at the epicness of our trip. But soon it was off to do more craziness. We rented bikes (apparently everywhere in Salzburg rents bikes) and rode to the Germany border so Ryan could say he'd been there. On the way back to the city, we stopped by different Sound of Music landmarks. The night before, we'd stopped by the fortress overlooking the city and Nonnberg Abbey (where I had an amazing wipe-out on the rain-covered cobblestones).
That night we took the train back to Vienna for one night back at the hostel with the nice Malaysian/Mongolian girl, except she wasn't there when we got back. We just crashed, charged up our camera and Ryan's beard trimmer, then woke up to meet our church group at the Vienna Airport. It was the strangest thing, seeing people we KNEW there. Sure, we'd seen Marie, but that already felt like ages ago. The next 11 days we were in Slovakia, teaching English at the KECY camp. For some reason, the second the camp started I lost pretty much all the gratuitous amounts of energy I'd had during our backpacking. Although, it didn't keep me from enjoying the Slovak campers and getting to know them.
I don't even know what all to write about camp. I spoke one of the nights, which was hard because I so wanted to express how I believe in a loving God even when everything seems chaotic and confusing. I think I communicated that, but it's hard to tell with the whole language barrier. What's more important, though, are the friendships. I really miss them and was sad when we left the city on a train for Prague.
We stayed in Prague for the next two nights with Dave and Angie, then flew home.
And that, my friends, is the summed up version of our trip!
It was getting dark when we got off the bus from the Edinburgh airport. Dark, cold and rainy. But how much better did that make it when we found our hostel? Not just any hostel, but a CATHEDRAL. For serious. It was a small cathedral renovated into a hostel. Like, they turned the sanctuary into two makeshift hallways with separate rooms. We were only in the hostel to sleep the next two nights, but it was still glorious. Our room's "roof" had a window at the top so we could see the stained glass sanctuary windows. A window through a window.
The next day we left crazy early to take a bus up to Loch Ness...we got there around noon and walked by the water, mostly just touring Inverness, a city along the lake. And did we find ol' Nessie? You better believe it. Turns out she turns herself into a bunch of swans and we got a picture of her transformation. She's quite the trickster. We spent part of the afternoon sitting by the lake, talking about where we saw ourselves in five years...turns out we don't know the future. Lame.
Around 6 we took the bus back to Edinburgh. It was a lot of driving for one day, but like the trains in Ireland, the scenery was well worth it. The next morning we got up at 4 AM. What? And somehow I was totally ok with that. We took an early train to Sheffield, England, where we met up with MARIEEEEEEE. She was getting her Masters there and we crashed in her flat. That day we walked around Sheffield and took a bus to the Peak District where we ate at a pub (Marie and I got a roast that was...freaking...delicious).
The next day we went into London after ANOTHER early morning (5 if I remember). Our first stop was Kings Cross to pose by the trolley outside the Hogwarts Express. Actually, the trolley isn't even between platforms 9 and 10. Super lame. It's just thrown by some random wall in the station. Guess most tourists don't want to pay to actually get into the station.
The next stop, after dropping our bags off somewhere, was St. Paul's. I'd been there before, but had never climbed up the the Whispering Gallery...a mere thousand steps up to the top of the dome where you get a crazy view of London. Back at the bottom, my leg would twitch when I leaned forward in just the right way. I thought it was the coolest thing ever, but Marie and Ryan didn't seemed impressed. Also at the bottom I paid to light a candle with a prayer for mom who just found out about her breast cancer, which I don't think I'd done before, but it really felt more sacred to pray that way.
We then went to see the Changing of the Guards at Buckingham where uniformed people yell at you to keep moving...keep moving...keep the sidewalk clear...come on, people, don't block the way.
And then it was Westminster Abbey. Another place I'd seen, but not fully. Before, I'd seen the outside, but the audio tour was well worth it. We struggled to find Marie after that, but eventually saw her flailing around Big Ben. After THAT we went to The British Museum to see The Rosetta Stone and surprising amounts of Egyptian stuff. There was also a Horse Exhibit with old arrow heads from 8,000 BC. Crazy. I don't know how to handle looking at stuff that old.
Before we left the museum, I messed with my camera to see if it was working again (I brilliantly washed it at Marie's, forgetting it was in one of my pockets). It was splotchy and blurry, but it worked! And throughout the trip, it eventually cleared up more.
Sadly, this was the time when we had to part with Marie. We said our farewells at the tube station. It was awful. I just didn't really think before then how SHORT it would be with her. She left for her train back to Sheffield and Ryan and I made it just in time to see The Mousetrap at St. Martin's Theatre.
We grabbed our bags after the show and took the tube to our hostel. It was around midnight by that point and it was so great to finally get to Hostel #8 and feel like we were coming to a home of sorts. We were cheap when we booked stuff, so stayed in a 21-person room...basically just rows of bunk beds and lockers. But for $10 a night, who cares?
London was still on our list the next day. We made it to The Globe and spent hours at The Tower of London and Tower Bridge. We saw the Crown Jewels and this is just amazing...to keep tourists from standing too long in front of the jewels and blocking everyone, you go on a moving walkway. That's just freaking genius. We took a river cruise back to the east side of London, which got interesting when the heavens themselves burst forth rain. It almost felt like a scene out of Titanic, people fleeing across the top of the boat to get into shelter.
The NEXT day we did a bus tour of Oxford, Windsor and Stonehenge. Super good thing we did a tour since buses/trains don't go very consistently between the three. And our tour guide was sweet...brown suit with a bowler hat and pipe. Interesting guy.
This was now Monday and our last night at #8 Hostel (no alcohol allowed...as they have their own bar). We left at 4:15 the next morning for a bus into London for another bus to Standsted Airport. For a cheap-o flight, they had the most intense screening ever. The lady emptied EVERYthing in my bag. Granted, I had liquids all over the place like a dummy. So this was our flight to Budapest. We had to end up on that side of Europe, so found this cheap-o flight to a country neither of us had been to before. We were only in Budapest about 6 hours, but walked around and ate this plate of potato/cheese/egg goodness with lemonade for just 3 euros. We took a bus that afternoon to Vienna, which we got off around 10 pm. When we got out onto the dark streets of Vienna....we realized we had no idea where to go from there. We had an address, but weren't seeing trains, so cheated at took a cab. But I'm glad we did because we met Mr. Cabdriver who had moved to Vienna from Africa several years ago and still didn't have good friends where he lived. Apparently Austria is beautiful, but not very friendly. So we gave him a good tip and I said I'd talk to everyone in Vienna, telling them to be nicer.
At our Vienna hostel, right away it was so different from the western European ones we'd been at. As in, it was QUIET. There was a girl sleeping across from me from Malaysia (or Mongolia?) who was really friendly, asking where we were going and seeming genuinely sad that we were only at the hostel until the morning.
So the next day we took a train to Salzburg, officially my favorite city ever. Vienna's great and all, but Salzburg is how I actually picture Austria...mountains and old buildings with copper-topped towers. And the apple streudels! Gah. And the hostel THERE was even better than Vienna's. It was a youth hostel, but NICE. Definitely the cleanest we'd seen. When I woke up the next morning, I just stared at the sun coming through the window, marveling at the epicness of our trip. But soon it was off to do more craziness. We rented bikes (apparently everywhere in Salzburg rents bikes) and rode to the Germany border so Ryan could say he'd been there. On the way back to the city, we stopped by different Sound of Music landmarks. The night before, we'd stopped by the fortress overlooking the city and Nonnberg Abbey (where I had an amazing wipe-out on the rain-covered cobblestones).
That night we took the train back to Vienna for one night back at the hostel with the nice Malaysian/Mongolian girl, except she wasn't there when we got back. We just crashed, charged up our camera and Ryan's beard trimmer, then woke up to meet our church group at the Vienna Airport. It was the strangest thing, seeing people we KNEW there. Sure, we'd seen Marie, but that already felt like ages ago. The next 11 days we were in Slovakia, teaching English at the KECY camp. For some reason, the second the camp started I lost pretty much all the gratuitous amounts of energy I'd had during our backpacking. Although, it didn't keep me from enjoying the Slovak campers and getting to know them.
I don't even know what all to write about camp. I spoke one of the nights, which was hard because I so wanted to express how I believe in a loving God even when everything seems chaotic and confusing. I think I communicated that, but it's hard to tell with the whole language barrier. What's more important, though, are the friendships. I really miss them and was sad when we left the city on a train for Prague.
We stayed in Prague for the next two nights with Dave and Angie, then flew home.
And that, my friends, is the summed up version of our trip!
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