To a certain extent, it is what it is, embrace or reject, it remains the same... unless someone had the means of retroactively altering their own heritage.
I still want gills and retractile claws. Evolution has failed me.
Did you ever read a Dr. Seuss book called I Wish That I Had Duck Feet? By the end of the book, the protagonist had decided that he really doesn't want duck feet, a blowhole, antlers, a prehensile tail, he's happy just being himself. Which while this is a valuable lesson to teach small children, I always thought was a bit of a cop-out from a transformative point of view.
He's made it through most of Phantom Menace, but when he looked at Clones I think he just started crying.
Oh, God. Last night I watched the first forty-five minutes of The Fall of the Roman Empire (1964), lately remade as Gladiator (2000). It's a great film whenever the supporting cast—Alec Guinness, James Mason, Christopher Plummer, Sophia Loren—are onscreen. Unfortunately, Stephen Boyd cannot act his way out of a grocery bag. And being the protagonist, he's onscreen a lot more than they are. My disbelief finally suspended to the point of snap when the dying Marcus Aurelius betrothes his daughter Lucilla (Sophia Loren) to the King of Armenia (Omar Sharif) and we're meant to take this as cause for grieving, because she's in love with our hero Livius (Stephen Boyd), the plain commonsense general, veteran of a hundred campaigns, whom Marcus Aurelius would rather see govern the empire after him than his own unstable son, etc., etc., and all I could think was: Come on. This is Omar Sharif. I've just seen you and Stephen Boyd play a love scene that gave Attack of the Clones a run for its money, which I didn't think was physically possible. You'd throw over Omar Sharif for a man who can be out-acted by a toaster? I despair of humanity.
See I had this dream where I was looking at an advance copy of a novel I wrote, entitled Jukebox Hero with the cover art being a person with a long coat and guitar, in sillhouette, jumping between two buildings, against a midnight blue sky.
no subject
I still want gills and retractile claws. Evolution has failed me.
Did you ever read a Dr. Seuss book called I Wish That I Had Duck Feet? By the end of the book, the protagonist had decided that he really doesn't want duck feet, a blowhole, antlers, a prehensile tail, he's happy just being himself. Which while this is a valuable lesson to teach small children, I always thought was a bit of a cop-out from a transformative point of view.
He's made it through most of Phantom Menace, but when he looked at Clones I think he just started crying.
Oh, God. Last night I watched the first forty-five minutes of The Fall of the Roman Empire (1964), lately remade as Gladiator (2000). It's a great film whenever the supporting cast—Alec Guinness, James Mason, Christopher Plummer, Sophia Loren—are onscreen. Unfortunately, Stephen Boyd cannot act his way out of a grocery bag. And being the protagonist, he's onscreen a lot more than they are. My disbelief finally suspended to the point of snap when the dying Marcus Aurelius betrothes his daughter Lucilla (Sophia Loren) to the King of Armenia (Omar Sharif) and we're meant to take this as cause for grieving, because she's in love with our hero Livius (Stephen Boyd), the plain commonsense general, veteran of a hundred campaigns, whom Marcus Aurelius would rather see govern the empire after him than his own unstable son, etc., etc., and all I could think was: Come on. This is Omar Sharif. I've just seen you and Stephen Boyd play a love scene that gave Attack of the Clones a run for its money, which I didn't think was physically possible. You'd throw over Omar Sharif for a man who can be out-acted by a toaster? I despair of humanity.
See I had this dream where I was looking at an advance copy of a novel I wrote, entitled Jukebox Hero with the cover art being a person with a long coat and guitar, in sillhouette, jumping between two buildings, against a midnight blue sky.
Your dreams have the best publisher.