Last One

Really. The Last Day. And much shorter. I swear.

( Wewelsburg 2004, Day Six, or Lyra and the Half-brain Prince )

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The first two films are developped and online; I've put them into livingshapes, in case anyone is interested.

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So, das ist jetzt der letzte Tag. Wirklich. Und ganz kurz. Versprochen.

( Wewelsburg 2004, Tag Sechs, oder Lyra und der Halbhirn-Prinz )

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Die ersten beiden Filme sind entwickelt und online; ich habe sie in livingshapes gestellt, falls jemand neugierig sein sollte.

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... but 'hope' and 'history' don't rhyme...

Overheard today:
In the queue at Snogard, a computer store. Tall blonde guy apparently wants to impress pretty young woman. He tells her all sorts of stuff about computers, and she just says "Yes" and "Right" and "Interesting". Later, picking up our purchases, we meet them again. Just as we enter:
Tall Blonde Guy (TBG): What date is it today, anyway?
Pretty Young Woman (PYW): *scornfully* September 11th. I don't think I could forget September 11th.
At that point, TBG already had lost. But lo, he drives it even further:
TBG: Why? What's wrong with that?
PYW: *very scornfully* World Trade Center?
TBG: Really? When did that happen? Today?

D'oh. D'oh and more d'oh. So much for memory spans of fourty years.

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Interior Monologue

Lyra: Dumdidum *typing*
Aegnor*: So, how's the term paper coming along?
Lyra: Um well, I have the front page and the table of contents?
Aegnor: Do you know what day we have?
Lyra: If you're alluding to 9/11, I'm not going to write a long thoughtful journal entry about that again. I did that last year, and all the replies I got were about faulty LJ tags. Besides, it's not as if events have changed much within this year. I mean, I'm terribly sorry, but I'm not making anything better by writing the same stuff as last year. [I might write about the Battle of Dunbar, though... thanks to conuly.]
Aegnor: That's not what I meant. What I meant was that if it's September 11th and you have to turn in the term paper by September 30th, maybe you should do some more about it than just the front page and the table of contents.
Lyra: Why? 19 days. It's not like it'll take that long.
Aegnor: Whatever. What are you writing about, anyway?
Lyra: The identity and character of Victorian novel heroines, comparing whether there are any differences in how they're depicted and characterized by men and/ or women.
Aegnor: Lovely. Whom are you going to take?
Lyra: Jane Eyre, Elizabeth Bennet, Rebecca Sharp and Amelia Sedley.
Aegnor: That's two women, but just one man.
Lyra: Yes, and Vanity Fair is about four times as long as both Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice. Period.
Aegnor: And you think you can write about that.
Lyra: I'll see.
Aegnor: And if it doesn't work?
Lyra: I've got a problem. Which is why it's got to work.
Aegnor: Your funeral. And the Mission?
Lyra: Sorta undecided. I don't want to be a woman, though.
Aegnor: Why not? You are one.
Lyra: Because no one will recognize a Silmarillion woman, except Lúthien, and I'm neither beautiful enough nor dark-haired.
Aegnor: You could do Haleth.
Lyra: Everyone thinks Haleth is Háma's son.
Aegnor: I thought the point of the Mission was being someone cryptical only the select few recognize.
Lyra: And how would you recognize Haleth?
Aegnor: Well, blonde, and some sort of leather and fur outfit.
Lyra: Which would make me look like a Warcraft babe, or that Ukrainian singer at the Euro Song Contest.
Aegnor: You're not being helpful. So you don't want to play a woman? I see two problems.
Lyra: Namely, my boobs. I might hide them under some armour, or something.
Aegnor: Armour? So you'll be a warrior, of course? And a Noldo, probably.
Lyra: You got that right.
Aegnor: Finarfin?
Lyra: Boring.
Aegnor: Don't say 'boring' about my dad!
Lyra: But he was.
Aegnor: Finrod, then.
Lyra: And how would you recognize him?
Aegnor: Ring.
Lyra: The one that Beren has?
Aegnor: ... Me?
Lyra: I'm sorry, dear, but people don't even know you half the time. And they mix your name up with Angainor the other half*.
Aegnor: Fine. Be that way.
Lyra: Nah, I'd rather be something Fëanorian.
Aegnor: Figures. That's what you are, aren't you, a dirty little kinslayer.
Lyra: Only in my thoughts.
Aegnor: ...
Lyra: I might steal my brother's three crystal thingies, and be Fëanor, but there's the hair problem again.
Aegnor: I'm not having this discussion.
Lyra: I mean, I might colour my hair black, but I have no idea how I look with black hair.
Aegnor: Vanitas vanitatis.
Lyra: Then again, I know I don't look any worse with red hair...
Aegnor: Shall I cut off your hand, then?
Lyra: Sod off, that's Fingon's job. I'll just hide that, too.
Aegnor: This is a lot about hiding things. I wonder what Freud would say about that.
Lyra: Oh shut up.
...


*Long story. Don't ask.

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( Denkt euch gefälligst selbst irgendeinen intelligenten Titel aus. )

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