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| Requiem
This xanga is dead.
This site has become like an old diary - it has become an embarrassment to read. This blog is nothing more than my memories of junior high - friends have drifted away, what once seemed life-changing is now impossible to recall in the pile of collected dust. The truth is, I have been writing on another blog for more than a year already, and I have no desire to continue with this one.
Catch me
If you can.
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| Why can't we just read the damn subtitles?
You know what pisses me off? When they have American remakes of foreign films, and the originals end up getting no credit whatsoever.
Apparently, there is a remake of the Korean movie "My Sassy Girl" coming up this year in 2007. The character that Jun Ji-Hyun starred as ("Wanna die? Drink coffee.") will be portrayed by Elisha Cuthbert in the remake. I can't exactly judge a film without having ever seen it, but I doubt the remake will even come close to the original. Even if the film doesn't tank, it's safe to assume that most of Americans who watch the movie will have no idea that the story was taken from Korea. I mean, how many of you knew that "The Lake House" was adapted from a Korean movie?
The same happened with "The Departed." I haven't watched "Infernal Affairs" or "The Departed," so I can't say whether the remake was worse or not. But it's fairly obvious not many people know about the original from Hong Kong. I heard that "The Departed" was introduced at the Oscars as being "Based on a top selling Japanese film." (That's what I heard, though I'm not sure if it's true) However, I do know that when the movie won Best Picture, the people who picked up the Oscar didn't even mention "Infernal Affairs."
Oh, and don't forget that our beloved horror movies such as "The Ring" and "The Grudge." They're both from Japan.
I find it rather disappointing that most Americans refuse to watch really excellent foreign films simply because they don't want to read subtitles. Instead, they have to resort to American remakes, which oftentimes ends up taking away much of the quality of the original. Then, all those movie-viewers start thinking, "Wow! Hollywood is coming up with some brilliant story ideas!" when really all they're doing is borrowing the story from another country.
There are rumors that Nana might also be remade into an American film. If that happens, I'm not sure what I'll do. I love the characters and storyline to death. Somehow, either way the outcome doesn't seem good. If the movie tanks, I'll just be disgusted by how they ruined a perfectly good story. But if it succeeds and becomes a blockbuster, I'll probably go insane thanks to the ignorance of all the teenage movie-goers who think the punk rock-and-roll story of Nana is so unique.
edit//
Oh, and while I'm at it, an Americanized version of Battle Royale was scheduled for 2008. But due to the Virginia Tech shooting, the release date has been delayed. Anyone care to watch another round of bloody massacre? Personally, I think there's no point in "Americanizing" that movie - I think all that blood and killing can get the point across without translation.
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| One fine day
I've decided to return to xanga with a creepy anecdote written in limited third person point of view. Of course, since now that I'm paranoid and I'm afraid the creep is going to hunt me down, my name has been changed to Sophelia, aka my pen name on fictionpress.
SO.
One fine day, or evening to be precise, Sophelia was yelled at by her piano teacher for not practicing enough. Even though she played four hours everyday since Friday, but that's a completely different story. Thus, she arrived at the tennis courts with only an hour left of clinic left. Not wanting to barge into clinic so late, she decided to hit against the wall. This went relatively well until the lights went out.
Apparently, the lights hold a grudge against Sophelia, because they refused to turn back on no matter how many times she pressed the on-switch. Cursing bitterly, she kicked the light post and proceeded to hit volleys against the wall under the very dim streetlights.
Then, someone appeared nearby. He appeared to be in his late fifties, wielding a small Yonex bag. It was not uncommon to see these type of men around the tennis courts. It was not common, however, for these type of people to randomly start talking to a teenage girl who was trying to hit volleys in the dark.
He mumbled faintly to Sophelia. Thinking he was asking about the lights, she said, "I already tried turning the lights on, but they don't seem to work." Puzzled, he walked a little closer and asked, "You want to hit with me on a court?" With nothing better to do, Sophelia agreed.
He seemed friendly enough, asking the typical conversational questions such as "What's your name?" or "What school do you go to?" Frankly, this was a big mistake on Sophelia's part, for she happened to give this man her name and the name of her school. All she got was his name, which happened to be "Bob."
So while he ran off to set the timer on the court, Sophelia called her mom to let her know she was hitting on a court with a stranger. Sophelia took out a can of balls as the man took his racket out of his bag. Then, the trouble started.
"If you want I can tell you something about your school," he said excitedly. Thinking it would be tennis related, Sophelia said, "Sure." Big mistake. The mysterious man went on to ramble about "corporate spending," "government lies," "illegal military recruits," and a whole bunch of nonsense he managed to link together in the same conversation. This man was insane. He could talk on and on without even pausing for breath. He talked so fast, so maniacally that Sophelia couldn't even follow the conversation.
Initially, Sophelia thought, "Wow, this guy must really study government or something." Eventually, she realized this man had no idea what he was talking out. She probably would have been fooled by his use of lawyer terms if she hadn't taken Policy debate last year. So Sophelia stood there for about ten minutes fiddling with her racket, unsure of how to stop a boulder once it had started rolling down the hill.
Eventually, her mother came by with a concerned look on her face. No doubt she was wondering why this man was still talking to her daughter ten minutes after they'd gotten to the court. This man could care less. To him, it was just another audience member. He began to talk to Sophelia's mother about stadium costs, panthers, and the new movie "23." The weirded-out look on her mother's face grew more and more apparent as the man rambled on.
It was very awkward. Sophelia knew if she was any ordinary sane person, she should have been freaked out, perhaps run away and hide in the car. No, Sophelia was trying so hard not to burst out laughing that she was getting a headache. This man could have been some insane psycho out to murder people as he chattered harmlessly about goverment plots against education. And here she was, desperately trying not to burst out laughing at this nutcase!
Finally, obeying her mother's frantic gestures that screamed "hurry up and play so i don't have to listen to this weirdo!!!", Sophelia simply walked on to the court, giving him the hint that she wanted to play tennis, not be lectured. Thank goodness she had a decent poker face.
The tennis itself was uneventful. Sophelia regretted telling him she could hit until eight, but at least he could keep the ball in play. She tried her best to avoid picking up balls near the net, lest she wanted another nonstop lecture. The hour flew by and then time was up.
"Thanks for hitting," Sophelia said with one of those cheesy polite smiles plastered over her face. "I've got to go now."
"Thank you, Sophelia," he said. Shit, he remembers my name! she thought to herself angrily, wondering why she was stupid enough to give a stranger her real name. She quickly packed her racket into her bag, but unfortunately, not fast enough.
"Don't forget what I told you about the government plots, you hear me? You know, I tried to warn the Mountain View school district about the whole fraud that's going on, but they wouldn't listen to me! And you know what happened? The next day these eight policemen come to arrest me! You know about the black guy that was attacked? ["No, I don't know."] Well these guys do the same thing, they knock me out on the side the head, and then they....."
"Thanks for hitting, but I really have to go. Bye!"
And Sophelia sprints off to the parking lot where her family is waiting, and she doesn't dare look back.
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| My Kid Named Xanga I haven't written an entry on xanga for about five months. A record? I don't really care anymore, because I'd have to say I've been a little disappointed in xanga recently. ...well it's not like anybody really reads my blog, because my posts are usually absurdly strange or morbid. Then again, the people that do read them (oh about two or three people I'm assuming) are probably morbid and strange as well. Ahem. Backtracking to what I said in the first paragraph; I'm sure you're all thinking, "What can you be disappointed about? xanga's so cool now! they've got those little 'friends' and 'messages' and all those little goodies and-" AND THAT'S MY POINT! Honestly, does anyone really use all those friends and messages and whatever functions? come on, if you wanted that, you'd use Myspace! You'd make more friends on Myspace regardless of whether you know "Plz b mai friend!" or not. to be fair, maybe if I was Miss Socialite with 5000 friends, I probably wouldn't have this opinion. After all, this is the person with a grand total of three "Friends" talking. .... wow. re-reading what i just wrote, i sound like some disappointed parent or something. ~Interlude~ Lydia: Xanga, come over here! We need a one-on-one talk. Xanga: what do you want Lydia: I am disappointed in you, son. how many times have i told you to choose your friends wisely? look at you now! You've got "Friends" piercings and "Footprints" tattoos all over your body! I told you Myspace would be a bad influence on you. Do you think a girl like her who listens to rock music all day and only cares about making friends is going to be successful in life? Xanga: what do you mean? she's going to be very successful! She's only 5012 friends short of her goal of 1000000! Lydia: Is that what you want? To be Myspace? Your name is XANGA!!!! you have got to be YOURSELF! no one else can be Xanga, just like no matter how many wannabe myspaces are out there, they're never going to BE myspace!!!! Xanga: what if I want to be popular? You're only young once, okay?! Someday I'll be an adult working at Blogspot or wherever, but I want to live my youth while I can! Lydia: Fine! Go and make friends! I give up! ~end of Interlude~ .... I don't intend on quitting xanga. I'll just continue to read other people's and check the footprints, which I find very creepy/fascinating and maybe i'll update every five months. in the meantime, I'll just write on my blog at blogspot. it's at heartcrossbone if you really care. We shall see how this goes. | | |
| too soon. too late.
"Where to run...?"
he walks the razor's edge. no turning back now. he fingers the lock around his neck. she held the key once but lost it somewhere in that damn clutter of lies.
the ocean breathes below his feet, it ripples and exhales in eternal rhythm. he's on the thread of gold, the golden gates stretched across blue regret. no regrets now. nowhere to run anymore. he is safe now see come here it's all over the waves call and scream. sing like sirens. why did he need to feel for so long?
jump.
her finger traces the lotus on her arm. his flower. his symbol. he's gone. crushed. she closes her eyes and takes the plunge.
complete strangers.
boy and girl jump
eyes lock
chemistry clicks
and realize they are soulmates.
three feet above the water.
nowhere.
no where.
now here.
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