[Spoiler warning: Plot and ending are discussed. If you don't want to know, stop reading right now.]

About two weeks ago, I caught the 1933 version of King Kong on TV again. No doubt they were re-running the movie to create hype for the new release by Peter Jackson. It had been years since I'd seen the black and white version last, but the thing that struck me most about it was the totally overdone drama (with an appropriately nerve-wrecking soundtrack) and how cardbordish the great ape looked.

So last night, I went to see the Jackson version. To pronounce the movie outstanding or even great would be ... unjust. Certainly, there were awesome things about it, but overall it just wasn't able to measure up to "Lord of the Rings". I pity Jackson for that. Had Kong had any other director, he would be most likely celebrated for this achievement. Juxtaposed to Jackson's previous movies however, it just does not satisfy completely.

And yet - I walked out of the theater wiping tears off my face. But - wait a minute. I'm getting ahead of myself.

The first hour of the movie (until the characters reach Skull Island) is an utter waste of time and the sole reason this movie can never be considered great. That hour could have easily been cut to half its length. It is slow going and many scenes hardly contribute to the overall feel or the telling of the story (like the big point that is made that this is the Depression area. Yes, we get it. One soup line looks just like the next.), nor do some of the scenes act as the comic relief they were intended to. The movie also goes off on tangents with relationships between different characters that we cannot relate to nor care about (like between ship mates Hayes and Jimmy, or Choy and Lumpy). It's quickly established however that Jack Black's director character is a greedy, selfish bastard. Equally, Naomi Watts doesn't waste much time anchoring Ann Darrow as the delicate, sweet blonde with the heart of gold. Andrian Brody's Jack Driscoll wins the audience's sympathy with close-ups of his gentle face and brown doe eyes. Again, all that could have been shown in less than half an hour.

Once on Skull Island however, the movie goes into overdrive. And together with its speed, it also finally shows off some of those much-hyped special effects. Indeed, they are the cream of the crop. Kong is the most realistically animated creature I've ever seen, and a world apart from the stop-motion ape of the 1933 version. Aside from the dead-on realism of ape-behaviour, this Kong also has depth, character and personality. A big kudo to Peter Jackson for resisting the impulse to humanize this wild animal, and make him behave in this sort of sticky-sweet way we are accustomed to seeing animals portrayed who forge a relationship with humans (I had some fears about that, especially after spending the last half hour of "Return of the King" wincing at those endlessly kitschy and sentimental scenes between Frodo and his companions). So Kong is definitely the crowning achievement of the movie.

Also outstanding are the scenes with the various dinosaurs. Again, the animals are utterly believable in look and behaviour, and I found myself tightly gripping the armrest of my seat during the sequences where the Brontosaurus tumble through the narrow canyon, or when Kong fights the Tyrannosaurus Rex. If you have a strong aversion to insects, spiders and other crawling critters, you might want to skip this movie on the big screen until you can edit out some of the hairy human-insect confrontations on DVD - they are exquisitely terrifying.

The most significant difference between Kong 1933 and Kong 2005 however is the relationship between the ape and the girl. In 1933, Faye Wray spent virtually every scene screaming in terror at the top of her lungs. She clearly did not care for the giant animal. In 2005, Ann Darrow returns the ape's affection in a way that turns the story completely on its head. In a good way. Her love for the ape is strong, sincere, tender, utterly believable and ultimately heartbreaking. Naomi Watts does an amazing job translating this without any words, but only with her huge blue eyes and body language. Her inner luminance and beauty make you understand why Kong fell so hard for her.

Appropriately also, the movie shows true compassion for the plight of a wild animal that gets torn out of its wild environment to be put on display as a novelty for the masses. I rooted for Kong like I'd never rooted for another animated character as he swung at the top of the Empire State building, defending himself and taking down a few of those pesky airplanes while at it. I knew of course how the story would turn out, but a part of me secretly hoped that Peter Jackson would break the rules and create an alternate ending where the ape survives and gets shipped back to Skull Island. Alas, it was not to be. And so I walked out of the theater, heartbroken and with tears on my cheeks (as did almost everybody else in the audience).

So had it not been for that first hour of boredome, this could have been an epic movie. The acting from Watts and Brody is solid (the rivalry between Kong and Driscoll for the love of Ann is an added complexity that played out nicely), Andy Serkis as Kong is a delight as always, and although I was shocked and appalled when I first heard that Jack Black was going to be in this movie, it was ultimately a good move by Jackson - because which other actor is so annoying that you can come to truly hate him over the span of mere minutes?

Winter is a depressing time. Lots of people get the blues, even me. Since I'm at heart an irrepressible optimist though and cannot help myself but look at the Bright Side of life, I've decided to go ahead and spread some serious cheer today.

I'm going to share some nice things that have recently happened or occured to me, and hopefully even you, valued reader, will feel a tad happier after reading them.

• For one, I'm healthy again. Green tea and rum did the trick (a grateful nod to Brian Hinderberger and Kerry Lyles for their helpful pointers...). Hallelejua.
  
  
• It's Winter Solstice today. The longest, darkest day of the year. What's cheerful about that? Hell, it's the turning point, people! From here on out, the days are only going to get longer again. Woohoo!
  
  
• I love my job.
  
  
• Central Oregon is experiencing ultra-warm temperatures right now (quite in contrast to last week), and the snow and ice are melting like butter on a hot plate. The birds and squirrels seem to be munching away at their feeders with a definite lesser air of desparation. My cats have snapped out of their semi-hibernatory state, and can now be observed again doing something else besides eat and sleep. Plus, I can actually see the gravel in my driveway again. This makes me happy. Don't ask me why - it just does.
  
  
• My almost-14-year old dog was diagnosed with cancer a couple of months ago. She's had surgery to remove a couple of tumors, but has recovered amazingly well and is pretty much back to being her old self again. The ordeal has made me realize that she won't live forever. Yet at the same time, I thank the gods every day for all the great years we've had with her, that she's in the hands of a very skilled and caring vet and not some hack, and that she might still have quite a bit of good quality of life ahead of her. It's so much more than I could have ever asked from fate.
  
  
• Christmas cards from all over the globe have been trickling into my mailbox over the past weeks. There was a lovely card from Mrs. Schaer, my English/Spanish teacher from college in Switzerland. We've stayed in touch ever since I left school, and I try to meet up with her whenever and whereever I can. It's amazing to me that she would still be interested in the life of one of her former students, given that she taught for something like 40 years (and I wasn't exactly exuding a particular eagerness about being in school or demonstrating outstanding brilliance - at least not that I was aware of ...). Getting letters and cards from her are more than a blast from the past. They remind me and help me appreciate how infinitely valuable it is to stay connected to the people that have truly made a difference in your life. And she certainly has - after all, she gave me the only A+ of my final exam, for my written English essay. It will be a source of personal pride for the rest of my life ... ;-)
  
  
• I have bought zero Christmas presents this year. And I also don't expect to receive any. Why is that a good thing? Funny thing you should ask. Last year, hubby and I exchanged a multitude of gifts. His biggest present to me was a new bathroom (I got a faucet and the instructions on how to install a new tub, in a pretty box, under the tree), which was just awesome. But we also bought eachother stuff we thought would be just fun to have - or mostly because we ran into an item at the store, got caught up in the pre-Christmas consumer-fever, and made the purchase without much thought about its actual, long-term usefulness. Ergo, we have a bunch of virtually brand-new stuff, just sitting idly around the house, taking up space.
  But not this year. I've refused to get swept up in the ideology of mindlessly buying crap, fueled by this giant news and ad machinery that tells me that I need to go spend money on a bunch of stuff - otherwise I'm a loser and should feel guilty about not giving during this religiously-mandated holiday. Never even mind that I'm not a believer. If I want to truly give a gift to someone, I can do that anytime, anywhere. If I think hard about it too, I really don't need *anything* for myself either. And most of all, I don't need a gift from someone else at Christmas just to make me feel good. Truly, all's I want is to be happy in life, work and relationship.
  
  

If I weren't so sick right now, this post would include some furious chest-beating a la Celine Dion.

It would mostly include the names and credentials of the three local and one national publications that are publishing my photography and writing this month. Plus, it would selfishly ramble on about the pretty coffee table book on Western Design that just came out and includes four of my images.

But alas - I have to keep it short. Some of you may be happy about that. Others may be too.

So I'm gonna go back and hook myself up to my tea-drip again.

For anybody who thought I was just blowing hot air on that -6F/-22C temp yesterday - this is from this morning, 7am:



I also ran into the meter-reading guy from the utility company yesterday, and he told me he thought this year was going to be a repeat of 1992 (yes - that 1992). Where people had to use their snow shovels to clear a path to their door and to free the house windows from the build-up. The year, the weather sucked so bad, everybody seems to remember it in intricate detail (even Jake, who currently only has G-Strings on his mind...).

The meterman also told me about the three impending storms that will slam Central Oregon around Christmas, and while I first thought he was full of it, Accuweather sadly confirmed his statements.

The meter guy looked pretty seasoned too - kinda like he had lived in L.A. Pine his entire life, and had seen it all. Which is exactly why his comments worry me so much.

On the Bright Side - if I make it through this winter, all future winters will be a piece of cake. And meterman announced with just a bit too much enthusiams in his voice, that he had seen all kinds of "For Sale" signs around town - Californians, he grinned. They only just got here a few months ago, we barely get any snow, and they already high-tail it back outta here ...

Last week, La Pine experienced 10 degrees Fahrenheit. I thought that was pretty cold.

Silly me.

As I get up this morning and glance at the thermometer, I do a double-take and end up staring at the meter for longer than I ever have. It showed MINUS 6.

That's Fahrenheit however. It doesn't sound too bad, really. But if you convert that to Celsius, that's 22 freaking degrees below freezing. Now that's cold.

And here comes my issue with Fahrenheit vs Celsius. Really, Dear Americans, what the f**k were you thinking when you implemented this hair-brained measure of Fahrenheit? Did you know that the majority of the rest of the world uses Celsius as a measure for hot and cold? Ever wonder why? That's right. Cause Celsius actually quite accurately describes the temperature state of the environment at any given moment.

Water freezes at 0 degrees (Celsius). At that point it turns to ice - making your life usually a whole lot more miserable, unless you're a hockey player, an ice skater or into luge, of course. So, hmmm, why would you want to attach the number 32 to that? What does 32 have to do with the water freezing?

Oh, I get it. It's a challenge. Kinda like the whole ounces, pound, quart, pint, inches and feet thing, eh? Is it really that unreasonable to ask that those units of measurement make sense to the mere mortal?

So anyway. On top of the cold, the power went out at 6am and stayed off until 8.30am. I lit candles, made a fire in my wood-burning stove, popped a kettle on it, and voila, 10 minutes later I had a steaming cup of Chai.

That sort of made it all better, but I'm still a little disturbed about the whole Fahrenheit thing.

It's Friday already. Only one day left until the man burns!

I get up before everybody else in camp and stroll over to my neighbors Gryff and Toddler's tent. They suggest to go get coffee and ice at Center Camp, and I'm grateful for the distraction from the inevitable drama that will unfold later - the search for the missing key.

Gryff has his mind set on doing a little drawing today, but he doesn't have any pencils. When I ask him how he is going to draw without pencils, he waves his hands in the air and says to me: "The playa will provide, darling. And so while slurping our super-hot coffees at the bustling Center Camp, we meet Ted, a teacher from San Francisco. We chat amicably for a bit, and upon leaving, Ted reaches into his backpack and gifts us - with pencils. Gryff turns to me, beaming. "See?" he says.

I'm thinking that this kind of magical and willful manifestation sure would be useful with the van key - but it is not to be. When I get back to camp, Aaron and I first tear the van, then the entire camp, completely apart. No key. A trip into Gerlach, the nearest town to Burning Man, to organize a locksmith seems inevitable. Sarah is stark-raving mad, and makes no attempt to hide her feelings. Luckily, there are several scheduled bus trips every day to Gerlach. Sarah and Aaron leave to first check the Lost and Found, then catch the bus, while I'm left back at camp with the task of putting everything back together.



It takes a while to organize things into their place again, but mounting winds and thickening dust make me not want to roam the city right now anyway. Bobalicious tells me that Monday, Thursday, and Friday are usually the worst days for dust, because that's when most people arrive with their vehicles in Black Rock City - the dedicated Burners on Monday, the weekenders on Thursday, the Frat-Boy-partiers on Friday. And since the city is down-wind from the entrance, all the dust that gets kicked up by the arriving vehicles blankets the city with dense, merciless white-outs.



I kick back with Sham, my Canadian neighbor. He makes me a Rum-Coke (one of only three alcoholic drinks I ingest the entire week!) and we hang out until the dust settles a bit, since there's nothing else much you can do in a dust storm but hunker down and chill. I remember now why I'm not in favor of any kind of alcohol or other stimulants at Burning Man - the impact of everything you ingest here is roughly 10-fold of that in the Real World.

Gryff comes over to hang out, only a leopard-print sarong slung around his waist. He asks me if I want to go to some party with him and Toddler tonight. I gratefully decline - and he storms off, throwing his hands up in the air, yelling: "Oh, alrighty then. No fun on the playa for you!" I laugh. I'm so glad I met him. He cracks me up endlessly.

Little known fact about Burning Man: It has a vocabulary all its own. For example - it's a big no-no to drop *anything* (anything at all!) on the playa. Trash of any kind is considered "MOOP" or "Matter Out Of Place". You pick it up, even if it's not yours. "Glam" is the definition for all the fun stuff people decorate their camp, their wheels and themselves with. And "Glam MOOP" - we'll that's the stuff you find floating around on the playa that got "redistributed" by the wind. Since there is no way to find its rightful owner, it automatically becomes yours. Today, I find a ring that blinks in three colors. My first Glam MOOP!



After a while the wind dies down a bit, and I decide to venture out. A few blocks down the road is the Barbie Death Camp - a bizarre collection of hundreds of mostly naked Barbies, staged in a variety of morbid accident and death scenes. Actually, it's only morbid at first glance - clearly, this little art installation has been originated with a bit of tongue-in-cheek humor. I ask the creator - a guy in his mid-40s who could easily bear the label "aging hippie" and not be offended - why he chose to mastermind this little venture. He grins. "You want the truth - or the version I tell the media?" The truth, of course. "I ripped the idea off some TV show I once saw", he whispers. So what does he tell the media? "I tell them the same thing Larry (Harvey) tells them when they ask him why he started Burning Man - to get laid, man, to get laid," he grins. "I've been doing the Death Camp since 1997, but it's grown and gotten more elaborate every year ...now I just wish people would fucking stop sending me Barbies", he confesses. "I don't know where to go with them anymore."



As darkness falls on the city for a last night of frantic partying before Burn-Night, I venture out onto the playa with my camera. A large crowd has gathered around a gigantic wooden art piece called "The Machine". A random spectator tells me the builders were supposed to burn it, but someone "forgot" to put the burn-pad under the installation (fire damages the delicate playa surface - therefore all fire installations have to have burn-pads underneath them), and so they resolved to tear it down instead. But there seems to be a big problem - it doesn't want to come down.



Over the span of roughly one hour, and to the soundtrack of a howling, dust-laden wind that makes my eyes and lungs sting, I watch how a huge crane with ropes attached to the Machine tries to pull the structure down.

The crowd is finally getting impatient, and eventually, cries bubble up. "Burn it! Burn it! Burn it!" chants the mob. A girl with a mega phone yells: "Burn the fucking machine down already! Burn it to the ground!" Approving laughter, clapping and hollering all around, but still, The Machine stays up. The stoic part of the crowd hangs around for the finale - and alas, after a few more approaches by the crane and more snapped ropes, the monumental structure suddenly comes crashing down with a thunderous roar. The audience erupts into cheer - and then quickly disburses into the neon night. After all - so much to do, so much to see, so little time ...



Day 6

There's was just a bit too much glee in hubby's eyes when he handed me this piece of paper yesterday. A "friend" of his had given it to him. Why, I cannot even attempt to guess. But I decided to post it here nonetheless - more as a lesson of what *not* to do than anything else.

From "Housekeeping Monthly", 13th May 1955

• Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious
  meal ready on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you
  have be thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are
  hungry when they get home and the prospect of a good meal is part of the warm
  welcome needed.


• Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you'll be refreshed when he
  arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking.
  He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.


• Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may
  need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.


• Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the
  house just before your husband arrives. Run a dustcloth over the tables.


• During the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for
  him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and
  order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering to his comfort will
  provide you with immense personal satisfaction.


• Minimize all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the
  washer, dryer or vacuum. Encourage the children to be quiet.


• Be happy to see him.


• Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.
  


• Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the
  moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first - remember, his topics
  of conversation are more important than yours.


• Don't greet him with complaints and problems.


• Don't complain if he's late for dinner or even if he stays out all night.
  Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through at work.


• Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or lie him
  down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.


• Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing
  and pleasant voice.


• Don't ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or
  integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always
  exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question
  him.


• A good wife always knows her place.

If you're a man - wipe that goddamn grin off your face.
If you're a woman - feel free to scream. I did.

Note: There are some rumors on the Net that this could be a fake. I actually disagree. I do believe it's very much real. Why? Because it goes hand in hand with the 50's philosophy - and I remember seeing an old black & white TV program, in which a young Jackie Kennedy (pre-White House, I believe) preached to the women of America about proper housewife etiquette and pretty much echoed above statements. It was bone-chilling to see...

So I got this new gym membership. Started it last week, and been going almost every day now. It's right here in La Pine too. I'm real happy that I don't have to go very far, especially with the recent weather and those darn hazardous road conditions.

Unfortunately, they're only a seasonal outfit - they usually close up shop in Spring, so this is only a temporary solution and I'll have to look for something different around April. I'm thinking maybe I'll join a swim team or something.

What's really cool at this gym though is that it comes with a complimentary personal trainer - Miss N. She's a real bitch, too. She drives me mercilessly. Mostly, she has me work my arms, shoulders and lower back, but we've been doing leg and butt exercises too. Yesterday, she had me work with heavy weights. Today, it was all light stuff. Not sure I'm seeing a pattern here, but hey - she knows best, right?

She's been insisting that I come work out even when the weather is bad - like she really cares or has something greater in mind for me that I'm not privy to. I don't know what to make of that.

But you wanna know the best part? The gym membership is free. I only had to pay a $20 setup fee. Which is *much* better than the 800 bucks these nitwits are paying for the snobby Athelic Club in Bend ...


Soooo ... you've been "getting" it, right?

Right?


For the not-so-alert readers, those who don't know me well, or those that haven't had enough coffee today (unlike me), let me translate:

Of course I didn't join a freaking gym. The gym is my driveway, "Miss N." is Mother Nature, and the setup fee was for the snow shovel. The workout has been so varied because the snow has been heavy yesterday, and powder today.

My point? Get a grip, people. Why pay $1,600 a year for a trendy gym when you can just move out to La Pine, save 50% on that mortgage, *and* get a workout FOR FREE?

I realize this post is on opposite poles of my anti-La Pine rant yesterday, but I'm trying to come to terms with living in a snowy world after years of perpetual California sunshine.

Mkayyyy?

By now every Bend blogger and their brother has written about the 8" snow the city received yesterday.

Boo-hoo, is all I have to say to that.

L.A. Pine got 14 inches instead - and yepp, it's snowing again *right now*. Hell is freezing over as we speak.

Half an hour to dig out your car? Bleh. Try THREE hours to clear the driveway instead. With the help of a bad-ass snowblower (which turned out to be the best $275 I've spent all year - and All Hail to Craigslist, where I found the brandnew unit last Spring at rock-bottom price ...).

It seemed only fitting then to take a personal snow day, attending only to urgent business. Unfortunately that turned into a drive into Bend in the afternoon to pick up hubby's truck from the mechanic. The only way I could be coaxed into leaving the house though was the swooning promise of a trip to the movies to see Walk the Line at the same time. Which was worth it, I must say. Great movie. And Joaquin Phoenix has just climbed to the near top of my personal "Best Actor" list.

So it was then a dark, cold, and stormy night when I finally returned home. And let me tell you, the 25-mile drive from Bend to La Pine was no picnic. The road was like glass. So smooth and icy, I'd broken out my ice-skates and glided on home instead, had I had any skates at all. The studded tires on the Beemer were utterly worthless, even at the steady 35 mph at which traffic was moving. I had zero grip on the road and at the slightest turn of the wheel, I was priviledged to experience the wonderous sensation of feeling like I had just embarked on a hover craft ride and I was in actuality gliding on a cushion of air rather than on a solid road. Add to that some asshole who hung about 5 feet from my bumper the entire way - and let's just say, I was a little unnerved.

As you may have gathered by now though - I did make it home after all. And that's exactly where I'm staying. I know it's First Friday tonight - but no way in Hell am going back to hovercraft mode for a while ...