Since it's almost the end of the year (yay), i though i'd talk about my favorite part of any story. the ending!
A story can be mediocre, but if it has a great ending, there is a very good possibility that it can redeem itself. at least, in my mind. there are several types of endings that come to mind. note that they are not all necessarily good.
Happy ending - Typically how romance stories end. Nobody dies, nobody gets hurt (well, maybe except the bitchy ex-girlfriend, but she's so one-dimensional that nobody cares about her anyway). Your typical kiss-in-the-sunset fade-to-black. Initially, this type of ending might give you the warm fuzzies, but once the high wears off, you'll discover your skeptical cynical side. The Japanese drama Hana Yori Dango ended both seasons with a shadowy kiss. It should come as no surprise that they're planning to make a third (a movie), after the two leads have just gotten engaged by the end of the second season. What's next, Makino and Domiyouji deal with marital woes? Who does the taxes? Obviously, their lovely kiss didn't resolve anything. Just room for more money. At least I get to see the lovely Rui again. If I even plan to watch it.
Tragic ending - My favorite! But of course, it has to be pulled off with a good balance of plausibility and drama. Take Romeo and Juliet for example: it's the classic tragedy in literature.
Me: pffft!
Sure, it's a tragedy. It's the tragic story of two idiotic children who fall in love and wreck havoc in Verona. The whole tragedy could have been avoided. It doesn't help that I absolutely abhor Romeo, who moaned about his unreciprocated love for Rosaline and then proclaimed his undying love to Juliet that very night. Rather than getting all teary-eyed over his death, I was pounding my fists, thinking, "YES! GOODBYE!" I felt more sorry for Juliet than anyone - it wasn't her fault she was heaven-matched with a melodramatic Romeo. In today's world, he would totally be one of those emo boys saying "If life is so fair, why do roses have thorns?"
I think the trick is, if it manages to trigger catharsis, then it's probably a good ending.
Cliffhanger ending - The most famous of this category would be the Sopranos final, which I have not watched (unfortunately or fortunately). These bug the hell out of everyone, but they really are effective endings when done correctly. These are more common outside of American stories - Americans have been hand-fed "happily ever after" since they were children. Sometimes, I prefer these endings instead of having everything wrapped up. You really start thinking about the story even after you finish the movie or the book.
Plot-twist ending - So the story's moving along idyllically like the It's a Small World ride at DIsneyland. You can pretty much spot the ending in the distance, where the ride finally ends. Then BAM! The exit slams shut and some crazy vortex sucks your happy little boat off to another direction.
These really pack a punch, but again, if the twist tries too hard, the entire thing falls flat. If I'm watching a movie on the life story of an incredibly unlucky homeless man, and all of a sudden, the multi-millionaire reveals he's the homeless man's long lost half brother and they all live happily ever after, I am not going to be impressed. And I might be a sucker for a tragic ending, but if a romantic comedy suddenly ends with the two leads being run over by a garbage truck... well, you see what I mean.
Now I will talk about a particular series' ending.
PARADISE KISS by Ai Yazawa
Ai Yazawa is the mangaka for Nana, so naturally, I decided to pick up Paradise Kiss. Nana hasn't ended yet, so I can't really make a judgement on the series yet, but Paradise Kiss was an easy five volume series.
Initially, I was not particularly fond of the series for a few reasons. One, the male lead, George, pissed me off royally. He was arrogant and didn't seem to care about the female lead, Yukari, at all. Heartless would be an appropriate word. Two, Yukari, on the other hand, also seemed rather bitchy and self-absorbed. When she ran away from home, I nearly put down the book because I couldn't stand her childishness. Miwako's immaturity and Arashi's jealousy didn't appeal to me either. The only character I was really rooting for was Hiro, who looked like he was doomed to suffer unreciprocated loves for the rest of his life.
But, of course, the ending completely redeemed the series for me.
Based on Yukari and George's personalities, it was plainly obvious that those two would not work out together at all. They were both too stubborn - they clashed rather than complimented each other. I've read stories on fictionpress featuring these type of pairs - unfortunately, those writers make the mistake of forcing the two together. it completely undermines the story's credibility.
What I liked so much about Paradise Kiss's ending was its realistic quality. George and Yukari parted ways on bittersweet terms. Both knew their lives were at crossroads, but it was still a sad parting. The scene where Yukari finds the clothes George made for her was sorrowful but beautifully done.
The story ends with Yukari engaged to Hiro, who I always thought was a better match for Yukari. She talks about how their honeymoon will be in New York, and they received two tickets to a Broadway musical in which the costumes were designed by George. The last line is probably one of my favorite lines of all time:
"Apparently it's a comedy... but I'll probably cry."
December 30, 2007
December 25, 2007
December 12, 2007
Onion Mythology
By Zeus King Of The Gods
April 14, 1999 Issue 35•14
You know, back in the old days, I really had a way with the ladies. Back then, if I wanted to pick up a woman, all I had to do was approach her in my aspect as a bull or swan, and she'd be all mine, helpless to resist. The move was pure gold. It never failed—even on goddesses.
But these modern women, that's a whole other story. For some reason, they just don't go for it at all.
Take this past weekend. I was at a bar, and I saw this sexy little number sitting all alone at a table in the corner. Hoping to get lucky, I put my best moves on her, coming to her in the guise of a grand bull with eyes of fire. But when she gazed upon me in all my turgid majesty, instead of eagerly mounting me for a ride back to my place on Mt. Olympus, she just screamed and ran away in terror. What gives?
A few days earlier, I was strolling along the river when I saw a comely blonde maiden in a nice tight miniskirt sitting all alone on a bench. Remembering how well it had worked with Leda, from which union did fair and fabled Helen spring, I appeared to her as a great white swan imbued with a golden nimbus and bearing an oversized, inviting phallus. But unlike Leda, the blonde didn't get all hot for me. Instead, she just sort of sat there for a few seconds, looking completely weirded out, and then walked away.
It never used to be like this. I can still remember the time I came upon Europa as a bull as she bathed in flowering fields by the sea. When she looked up from laving her lithe, ivory limbs and beheld a strong white bull garlanded with hyacinths and violet, she was ready to go. Without any hesitation, she jumped up on me, put her feet upon my shoulders and rode me hot and hard all the way to the Isle of Crete. Literally. I ran right across the waves the whole way. Nereids on dolphins cheered us on, and Tritons blew their horns. And the sex was incredible. That Europa was mortal, but she sure knew her Eros from her Agape.
Recently, I tried the same move on another woman, but my efforts met with far different results. Her name was Jennifer Of Winnetka, and I spied her bathing as dawn broke and heralded the time when true dreams most often visit mortals. It was a little awkward, because she wasn't bathing in the usual sea or mountain rivulet, and I had to sort of use my bulls' horns to nudge her shower curtain out of my way. She looked up from washing her hair and, like so many of these women today, shrieked in sheer terror. When I tried to speak to her in seductive tones, she squirted a whole bottle of Aveda shampoo in my eyes. Needless to say, I begot no demigods with Jennifer Of Winnetka on that day.
I don't get it. Have I lost my touch? I'm Zeus, but I can't score for the life of me. And we're not even talking goddesses here. These are plain old mortal chicks I'm striking out with.
Sure, I realize you can't win over every woman instantly. I mean, when I first tried to pick up Hera, mother to gods and men alike, she wouldn't give me the time of day. But then I came to her as a cuckoo and, well, let's just say she warmed up real quick.
I also realize that not every woman goes for the same creature. Take, for example, Antiope. Bulls do nothing for her. But come to her as an man-goatish satyr, and she's a complete nympho. Then there was Aegina. The only thing that got her motor running was when I assumed the countenance of an all-consuming pillar of fire. Weird.
With these modern women, though, no manifestation seems to work. Even my awe-inspiring shower of gold, the aspect in which I fathered Perseus by the fair Danaë, is a total bust. There are some contemporary women who claim to enjoy golden showers, but they are not fit consorts for Zeus.
Apparently, if I want to shake the old golden bough, I'll have to use the trick I played on Alcmena, mother to that ungrateful little bastard Heracles, and come upon my chosen woman as her husband's double. It still works sometimes. But I do wish today's women were a bit more open-minded about bulls and swans and the like. After thousands of years on the dating scene, I've become rather set in my ways.
December 5, 2007
One Mushpot of Gossip
Recipe for Gossip Mushpot
1. Bring one pot of water to a boil.
2. Add the peeled and diced assortment of rumors - violence, sex, drugs, alcohol, etc. - to your own preference
3. Allow stew to simmer for hours until you are nauseated by the revelation that these stories are actually true.
.....
The Yinnster kindly commented today that the majority of my posts are utterly depressing. She has also noted that I do not appear the least bit "emo" in person.
I suppose I do have a fascination with "morbidity." I like reading Poe's works (although I can't say "The Fall of the House of Usher" was extraordinarly outstanding; I still prefer "A Tell-tale Heart"). But the Yinnster did have a good point - this entire whatchamacallit is dripping with the figurative blood "emo" poets want to write their poetry with. I like to poke fun at those cheery artists, but that just proves how hypocritical I can be.
So just for the Yinnster, I will attempt to dehabiller my black asthma-induced Darth Vader costume. (on second thought, Vader was not particularly depressing. villians, with their cacophonous evil laughter, always seem to be having more fun than the good guys.)
.......
naturally, as journalists, the kids in journalism enjoy gossip.
okay, the "kids" i am referring to consist of only three specific individuals, including moi, but i'm sure the others are just as inclined to poke their noses around. there is nothing as captivating as the scent of a juicy piece of leverag- i mean, a juicy story. scent of a woman? psh. scent of a clandestine secret that could wipe said woman's public dignity off the face of the earth? bring it!
i will not name specific people or divulge what i have learned today. i will say, however, that the three of us pretty much pooled all our kills into one big mush pot of rumors. in general, our culmulative newfound knowledge could be divided into Light and Dark, thus proving Forrest Gump's theory that life is like a box of chocolates. Light included the good-natured, harmless pieces. Dark, on the otherhand, would have made a blackmailer giddy with pleasure. the dark stories described the vices of various other students - if each one wore their sins on their chests, we would have the whole alphabet in scarlet letters.
the three of us each added our own ingredients to the nauseating stew, and we took new stories from out of the pot as well. some, i discovered, were more shocking than the others. the one about people i'd already suspected came as no surprise. then there were the ones that had the effect of the electric fly-swatter my piano teacher would flail around wildly whenever a buzzing fly sounded. as in shocking.
i've been stewing over (haha) my newfound knowledge for a while now, and i still cannot understand why these people decided to commit themselves to such ridiculous decisions. Common Sense has all but packed its bags and booked the nearest flight to Tahiti.
WHY?
as far as i can tell, all of it is motivated by the desire to be "cool", so they can brag about their excursions to anyone who cares to listen. can you imagine starting a conversation with the guy next to you on the plane with that sort of story? now THAT's an icebreaker.
i don't know why, and now, i don't really care why they decided to do those things. it is beyond me why anyone would want to be addicted to anything or to fool around with someone and leave their heart on a silver platter. c'est la vie, i suppose. but c'est ta vie fucked-up, not mine.
1. Bring one pot of water to a boil.
2. Add the peeled and diced assortment of rumors - violence, sex, drugs, alcohol, etc. - to your own preference
3. Allow stew to simmer for hours until you are nauseated by the revelation that these stories are actually true.
.....
The Yinnster kindly commented today that the majority of my posts are utterly depressing. She has also noted that I do not appear the least bit "emo" in person.
I suppose I do have a fascination with "morbidity." I like reading Poe's works (although I can't say "The Fall of the House of Usher" was extraordinarly outstanding; I still prefer "A Tell-tale Heart"). But the Yinnster did have a good point - this entire whatchamacallit is dripping with the figurative blood "emo" poets want to write their poetry with. I like to poke fun at those cheery artists, but that just proves how hypocritical I can be.
So just for the Yinnster, I will attempt to dehabiller my black asthma-induced Darth Vader costume. (on second thought, Vader was not particularly depressing. villians, with their cacophonous evil laughter, always seem to be having more fun than the good guys.)
.......
naturally, as journalists, the kids in journalism enjoy gossip.
okay, the "kids" i am referring to consist of only three specific individuals, including moi, but i'm sure the others are just as inclined to poke their noses around. there is nothing as captivating as the scent of a juicy piece of leverag- i mean, a juicy story. scent of a woman? psh. scent of a clandestine secret that could wipe said woman's public dignity off the face of the earth? bring it!
i will not name specific people or divulge what i have learned today. i will say, however, that the three of us pretty much pooled all our kills into one big mush pot of rumors. in general, our culmulative newfound knowledge could be divided into Light and Dark, thus proving Forrest Gump's theory that life is like a box of chocolates. Light included the good-natured, harmless pieces. Dark, on the otherhand, would have made a blackmailer giddy with pleasure. the dark stories described the vices of various other students - if each one wore their sins on their chests, we would have the whole alphabet in scarlet letters.
the three of us each added our own ingredients to the nauseating stew, and we took new stories from out of the pot as well. some, i discovered, were more shocking than the others. the one about people i'd already suspected came as no surprise. then there were the ones that had the effect of the electric fly-swatter my piano teacher would flail around wildly whenever a buzzing fly sounded. as in shocking.
i've been stewing over (haha) my newfound knowledge for a while now, and i still cannot understand why these people decided to commit themselves to such ridiculous decisions. Common Sense has all but packed its bags and booked the nearest flight to Tahiti.
WHY?
as far as i can tell, all of it is motivated by the desire to be "cool", so they can brag about their excursions to anyone who cares to listen. can you imagine starting a conversation with the guy next to you on the plane with that sort of story? now THAT's an icebreaker.
i don't know why, and now, i don't really care why they decided to do those things. it is beyond me why anyone would want to be addicted to anything or to fool around with someone and leave their heart on a silver platter. c'est la vie, i suppose. but c'est ta vie fucked-up, not mine.
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