Just So You Know

Hey y'all.
I probably won't be updating this stuff much anymore, because I've got a new blog that I want to try out. So if you want to read those, go ahead. But let me warn you, my style's gonna be a little different. Mainly stories I wrote. So If you want those, go ahead too.
(They're mainly Harry Potter fanfiction.)
Okay. The link is right there in my link stuff. My New Blog. Go ahead, check it out! *hint hint nudge nudge wink wink*
And leave a comment! *blatant hint cough cough*

Smiling

He was always laughing. No matter what he did, there was always that hint of a smile dancing around his face, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. With every subtle joke he played on you, every comic prank, the gleam would grow until it was no longer a gleam but a hint and then an outburst of laughter, both infectious and hateful to your ears. You hated him for it. He would never be serious, never sober. You could be crying, sobbing, hysterical and he would just stand there with his enigmatic, charming, hateful smile on his face. I never saw anything that could wipe it off. Mercurial, solid, so self-confident that you wanted to smack him, flitting from person to person, always with that ghost of a smile on his face. You always wondered if he took you seriously, or if he was laughing at you from behind his smile. And then he would smile at you, differently, a long, slow smile that spread across his face and you knew it was as serious as he had ever been in his life, and you discovered that you liked him after all, and the world stopped on his smiling as he smiled, just for you. Legend has it that he was smiling as he died. I believe it. Death would not be a bogey monster to him, just another adventure for him to conquer, for him to explore. And he would be laughing as he did it.

Pain

On a more serious note than my last post, I was just wondering about the sadder side of life. Like the time when you thought nothing would ever be all right again, or when you just broke up with your boyfriend/girlfriend and you thought the world would come to and end? Only it didn't, did it? The world went on. And in some ways that's kinda annoying. Just found out the world doesn't revolve around you after all. But without pain, is there really much meaning to life? I mean, if you've never tasted lemon juice, how would you know how sweet chocolate is? If all you've ever listened to is classical music, how would you know how sweet it sounds until you hear the honking of a truck? Doesn't pain just make you savor the sweet moments of life all the more? On the other, darker side, some people never really do recover from pain. Suicides, murders, all these things you hear about in the news--isn't pain what drove them to it? Depression, for one thing. I found these pictures on the Internet, and they just made me wonder, what kind of person would make these photos? Depressed? Angry? Suicidal? Crazy? (If you're looking at this post, creater-of-these-photos, then no offense.) So...there's no real point to this post, except just to hear myself talk....and that is the point of this blog....right?

Video Games

	You ever notice how much like a video game life is nowadays? Here we go. We wake up in the morning to the beep, beep of the alarm clock. You jump up and glance at it—whoops, five minutes late! Grabbed for the controller a little too late; first crash of the day, first life lost. Run to get dressed and all, navigate here and there, right! Narrowly avoid the baby, left! Veer away from that wall, stop! Almost run into your little sister with a bowl of cereal in her hands, go! Gear into action to wolf down your own bowl of cereal and run out, late for wherever you’re going today. Sprint into the car, glance at your wristwatch, shoot, fifteen minutes late. Everyone else is whizzing past you now, you’re fifth and last place. Poor Mario! You start a chant of “Mom! Hurry up! Mom! Hurry up!” Mario’s little trademark insane cackly thing. So goes the rest of the day. Ring ring! Oh, that’s the sign for an extra bonus! You veer right to grab it just in time, a call from your best friend. Bzzz bzzz! Bad sign, but can’t veer fast away, grab the call from your mom telling you that you forgot to clean your room. Crash! You just crashed into Peach’s car! Shoot, you just loudmouthed the clique queen of the entire school/church/work area. Uh oh….you’re in trouble. Fifteen minutes later, definitely last place now, struggling to keep ahead, bruised and battered…veer over to the left and battle with other cars for fuel, otherwise known as lunch and dinner. Finally, whew! You limp into the finish line. Not first place, not even second place, but a dismal third……aw, maybe you’ll do better tomorrow. But you know what? You wouldn’t give this up—not for a quiet life in the countryside, not for a long vacation. Hey, you’d miss the excitement! The sharp turns left and right, the adrenaline pumping through your veins, the way everything is touch and go? Just like you’re addicted to your PS2, it’s brain-washing you, and all you can think about is Mario. Or whatever video game character kids are playing with these days. Mario’s the only one I know about….hehehe, out of touch, aren’t I?

The Felling of a Tree

So at last it is time. Beneath me I can feel them. So tiny, so insignificant And yet in their hands they hold the power To destroy A lifetime of memories. My branches quiver as they Shouting their meaningless talk Shove into my roots Their sharp needles of pain. Do they know Do they care That they are carelessly Leveling All that I contain? My memories of darkness, under the rich warm soil Then struggling, a struggle that no man could ever comprehend, To reach up, out, Into what I had never seen but wanted? Then at last, blessed sunshine, Warm Full of life And all I needed to survive. That feeling of joy Of that intense exhilaration Lost. And more. I remember seeing children play at my feet When I was but a sapling. Their bare feet Shinnying up my trunk Fast as any squirrel. Soft laughter in my branches Children laughing, children playing Among my new leaves. Bouncing, giggling, romping In a wondrous pile of color At my feet When the first breaths of autumn Chilled the air. Then they grew up And went away. They are dead now, Long in their graves. And only my memories remain. Till these too are taken. It will not be long now. I rid myself of all worries And strive To remember. The countless squirrels who made their home here The sparrows that flitted around my twigs The insects that bored into my trunk That tap-tap of the woodpeckers after them The fire that raged through my forest But left me intact. So many memories to see So little time to see them. The lightning that struck my neighbor spruce The hurricane that uprooted half my forest The war that continued on and on Within a nation. The assassination of a great man Who stopped the war With his life. A brave and wonderful woman Risking her life to win freedom For so many others. And more. The man who had polio but went on to be A great president. He came and sat under my branches. Great artists Who painted in shapes and vivid colors All have passed away Nothing remains but their legacy And my memories. These too are being ripped away now. Below me the men are almost through With their cruel saws Their harnesses. They back away. One more man still at his job Till he too, runs back. A creaking A groaning A whistling in my branches A straining in my roots Until at last I fall.

Lost

My friend Bubbling with life And energy Sparkling eyes and a quick tongue Too quick. Butterfly flitting For beauty not for use Laughing or Crying Never in between. Trying yearning To be what she cannot Wanting the light The rush The glamour Of the stars To be older Than she really is. Fashion Lipstick Jewelry Smother her Not realizing The slow suffocation Of her inner being. Only seeing the thin veneer Never the inside Of those already lost In it all.

Lullaby

Lullaby

Stars dancing over you
Moonbeams soft and blue
Shine in the gathering twilight
Shine in your drowsy clouding sight
Lift up all your sorrow
Save it for tomorrow
Close your eyes and rest
May your sleep be blessed.

Desert

	On the wild open plain, Wind blows. Wind blows. On the wild open plain, Sun shines. Sun shines. And on the wild open plain, Horses thunder. Horses thunder. Galloping footfalls Tear through the empty silence, Creating a noise That can shake the high and lonely hills. Yee-ai-ai-ai-ee The calls of cowboys Galloping on their horses, Echo through the canyon, A chorus of the desert. The desert.

Pitter-patter

.........

Pitter-patter Pitter-patter Little feet go tink-wink Tink-wink Hush hush hush! Look! There goes a shadow There goes a flicker Pitter-patter Pitter-patter Feet pad flap-flap Flap-flap In the dark. Who’s that? Who goes there? Nobody knows, But the goblins, Swish-wish Swish-wish Oh yes, they know. Swish-wish Swish-wish Oh yes, they know. !

Questions

Mommy, why is the grass green? Why are the roses red? Why is the sky blue? Why does the world go ‘round And not in a square? Momma, why do the kids tease? Why do they laugh at me? Why can’t I get good grades? Why can’t I play sports like Everyone else can do? Mom, why am I so ugly? Why can’t I wear better clothes? Why doesn’t that boy like me? Why am I the person who I am And not someone else? Mother, why can’t I have a model house? Why is it so hard to run a home? Why can’t I get along with my husband? Why can’t I be a good mom Like all the other moms? Mommy, why am I growing old? Why won’t my body behave the way it should? Why can’t I look pretty anymore? Why does my life look so pointless Just when it should look so good? Mommy, why is the grass green?

Cat and Mouse

Cat and Mouse Meow… Meow… Meow… Green curious eyes In a little black face Pointy ears And whiskers that go twitch-twitch-twitch. Squeak… Squeak… Squeak… Black beady eyes In a little grey face Round ears And a tail that goes whisk-whisk-whisk. A scurry of paws, And a squeak-squeak-squeak, Hurry hurry hurry To the mousehole. A flurry of claws And a yowl-yowl-yowl Hurry hurry hurry To the mouse-tail. A whirlwind of fur And one last squeak. Purr… Purr… Purr…

Shhh!

	Shhh! Listen, and you will hear. Who? Who? Who? Hush, and listen. Who? Who? Who? There. See? There goes he goes again. Who? Who? Who? Ghosting along in the moonlight His feathers changed to silver, His talons bronze, Who? Who? Who? Softly in the night Quietly as light Who? Who? Who? Goes the owl.

On the Matter of Cats

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CATS One thing I do not understand is this whole thing about cats being sassy, dumb, or feral. There is a huge controversy about cats. Some people claim that they are feral and never truly trained. Well, I beg to differ. Some cats, I’m sure, are feral, uncontrollable, and have behavior problems. So, I may add, do some people. I mean, when’s the last time you’ve ever heard of a cat being a serial killer? Well, unless you count mice. Some people claim that cats are dumb. That also depends on the cat. I’m sure that somewhere in the world there is a cat who is really, incontrovertibly stupid. However, nine cases out of ten, the cat in question doesn’t not understand whatever it is the owner is trying to get it to do. It understands quite well; it simply doesn’t feel like doing it and thus refuses. To my way of thinking, this is quite smarter than a dog, who will do just about anything for its owner without thinking its way through. I’m sure that somewhere in the world there is a dog who isn’t an abject slave. Just because I’ve never seen or even heard of one doesn’t mean there isn’t one. Some people claim that cats are sassy. Just one question—since when is sassy bad? I’d rather have a funny cat with an attitude than a blindly obedient dog with no sense of humor. I admit I’m rather stereotyping dogs here. Still, right now, I’m addressing the stereo-typers, so when in Rome… Some people claim that cats are willful, disobedient, and independent. Yes, I suppose they are at times. And I also suppose that those claimants are angelic, obedient, and dependant to their parents as well. Of course I’m sure that they wouldn’t dream of saying no to someone who wanted them to sit up and beg for their supper. Let he without sin cast the first stone… Personally, I love cats. I also love dogs for their demonstrative nature and their innate loyalty, but whoever says that cats are not loyal are either lying through their teeth, misinformed, or ignorant. True, there are millions of cases where dogs have saved their owners. It is much harder for a cat to create a loving and close bond with its owner, but when it does, cats are known to have traveled for hundreds of miles to rejoin their owners, and to have rescued them from burning houses. So. Dogs are all nice and good. I have nothing against them, and in fact would love to have them as a pet. However, in terms of character and basic stereotypes, I must say that I would prefer to have a cat. Wait…no offense to dogs! *tries again, desperately * I mean no offense to dogs or dog-love… *is chased and torn apart by angry mob of dog-lovers*

Five Ways to Drive Your Parents Mad

	Hello! I’m back!!!!!!!!!! I’m feeling really hyper today… Let’s see…what should I do? I know! Five Ways to Drive Your Parents Mad, coming up! 1. Squash your little sister in the trash can and tell your angry parents that all you did was ‘throw away the trash.’ 2. When you’re in time out, make a loud racket, banging off the walls and everything, and when your parents come up to find out what’s going on, tell them you’re just ‘thinking, and this helps me to think.’ 3. When you’re mom is slapping you, hum a little ditty that you know your mother can’t stand, like ‘Toxic’ by Britney Spears and laugh uncontrollably. 4. When he grounds you, claim you have to use the computer for your homework and then blast music throughout the house at full volume, preferably something your father can’t stand, like, ‘Tipsy’ by J-Kwon. 5. When you’re thrown out into the cold, paint your house a brilliant rainbow, then report your parents to the police station for abandoning a minor. There you go! By now your parents have got to be frothing at the mouth. Wait...*angry mob chasing after you* I... take... no... responsibility... for... any... children... damaged... in... the... making... of... this... scientific... experiment... help.... *angry mob reaches me*

Good Books

Good books are like jewels—hard to come by, and harder still to find one that is truly great instead of pretty good. When I do find one, I sit down for a while to muse about it. The feeling that comes over me at these times is hard to describe—a source of warmth, or light, or maybe satisfaction simply welling up in me, filling my whole being with a sense of fullness, of the joy of simple being. There is something exquisite about reading, some sense of being yourself. You are caught up in the book so wholly, so completely that in a sense you are that girl, that boy. You lose the self-interest, the self-absorption that is common nature to all humans and thus paradoxically become more yourself than you can ever be otherwise. At the moment when you are the most engrossed in the story is when you are most yourself. Perhaps it is because your self is a never-ending resource. Everytime you read a good book, it gives you something of itself to carry with you wherever you go. Memories, certainly—I often dwell on one particular page, recreating its texture, color, even its font with loving detail, and listen to its words in my head—but something more, something of its innermost self that humans are unwilling to relinquish. And everytime you read a good book, some part of yourself goes into it. Though people say that new books are so much better than old books, I prefer old books, copies that I have pored over a million times. Because each time I did so, something of myself went into those pages, and everytime I open it again, I see that myself years earlier, even as I put in something of myself now.

Secret Journal of Aragorn Elessar during the Fellowship of the Ring

Secret Journal of Aragorn Elessar during the Fellowship of the Ring Dear Journal, Gandalf has asked me to go help the hobbits—a certain Mr. Underhill and his companions. I’ve never cared much for the name Underhill myself, but we can’t all have names like Aragorn. I don’t mind much because he asked me to wait at the Prancing Pony. That inn rocks! I love its ale, and it’s a wonderful place to blow smoke rings. Gandalf says I don’t pay enough attention to serious matters when I’m there. Who’s he to talk? I know for a fact that the reason he let Gollum escape that first time was because he was busy blowing smoke rings! Dear Journal, So I found the hobbits. They weren’t too bad, I forget their names. Yikes, I’ll have to try to remember before they find out I failed my history class because I mixed up the name Sauron with Elrond. Hey, it was a perfectly excusable mistake. Anyone could have made it. Elrond, however, overreacted beyond all reason. I wonder why. Meh, anyway, we made it to Rivendell. It wasn’t so bad, except for that one tricky bit where what was his name again—Fraudo?—slipped on the One Ring. He got hit by a knife, and for some reason he isn’t getting better. The little one, the one who keeps messing things up, I think his name is pipsqueak, asked me why. I can’t let them know I failed my medicine class too! I looked wise and muttered some nonsense about magic and weird blades, and he swallowed it. Sucker. Now I’m so tired, I could…zzz… Dear Journal, Guess what? Turns out I was right about that blade business! Yeah, go me! Elrond was really surprised and impressed. It’s a little insulting how he was so shocked I’d gotten it right for once… Anyway, there was this council business. They all wanted to know what to do, and for some reason they all looked at me! Why me, for cripes’ sake? So I just looked wise and mysterious and blurted out something about destroying the One Ring, and they all immediately congratulated me on my genius and began making plans! Sometimes I fear for the fate of Middle-earth… Dear Journal, That’s it. We’re on this journey, and there’s absolutely no way I can back out now. Great, just great… The weather sucks; it’s absolutely freezing, and the snow! Gandalf came up with some half-brained notion about trying Moria. Gak! He knows I’m afraid of the dark! I immediately said to try Mount Caradhros instead. Now I’m up to my waist in snow and wondering why I didn’t take up a nice peaceful occupation like lawyering or something. Wait, I failed English too, didn’t I? The cooking stinks. I’d complain, but I can’t for fear that they’ll ask me to do the cooking. Of the party, only Gandalf knows that I failed home ec too, and I intend to keep it that way. Yikes, the number of Elrond’s classes I failed is rather embarrassing. I’ll have to see if I can get him to erase the record; they might be a little inconvenient to my plans to take over Middle-earth…must remember to erase that last line. Dear Journal, Caradhros didn’t work, and now Gandalf is taking us to Moria. I can’t say a word, since he let me try my way and it didn’t work. It usually doesn’t…sigh… It’s really dark, and Frodo—I finally got his name right, go me!—almost got taken by the Watcher. Not only that, I’m at the way back! Gak…. I think I hear something behind us. Must remember to take medicine or something, I’m obviously hallucinating. Wonder if I can ask Gandalf to fix me something…on second thought, the last time I drank one of his concoctions, I turned into a snail. Never mind. Dear Journal, Gandalf is dead! He fell off a bridge into Moria! I knew there was something wrong with it! Now we’re at Lorien. The queen Galadriel is really pretty, and really very nice. Plus she’s the grandmother of Arwen! So I tread rather carefully around her—I mean, hey, she could be my future grandmother-in-law! Boromir was really annoying, making rude remarks about her and so on. He’s really getting in my hair, the way he acts. You’d think Minas Tirith belongs to him! It may be stuffy and people there may be overly melodramatic, but it is mine! Plus he keeps making jokes about the way I forgot about Frodo and Sam back there. Okay, so maybe it slipped my mind that they were wounded. So what? Anyone could forget that, they’re so small! It’s no excuse to call me Aragorn the mentally challenged! Dear Journal, Someone slipped a bunch of spiders into Boromir’s bedroll. ( No, I will not admit that it was me, not even to you, O Journal of mine.) He screamed like a girl—not that you need to tell Arwen that. She’s really strong. We left Lorien, and now we’re at some kind of weird river called the Anduin. How embarrassing! Frodo discovered that Gollum has been trailing us all the way from Moria, the nasty sneak! I’m supposed to be the high and mighty tracker, so I murmured something about having known all along. He took it hook, line, and sinker. Go me! Dear Journal, Boromir tried to make off with the Ring! I knew there was something fishy about him! He’s dead now, the orcs finished him off. Now Frodo and Sam have gone and taken a boat and supplies and are off to Mordor, and Merry and that annoying pipsqueak have gotten themselves captured! I opted to follow Merry. For one thing, they’re going to Rohan, and I absolutely love their horses! For another, I can’t stand Mordor. It’s creepy and so dark! Thanks to nimras23 for story idea.

Just Another Normal Day for the Only Sane Member of an Insane Family

	Just Another Normal Day for the Only Sane Member of an Insane Familiy It was a quiet day. My mother and I were lounging on the porch, my mother with an Agatha Christie novel, her latest in a long series,which she is totally obsessed with, and I with a David Eddings. Across from our comfortable positions on the porch swing seat shone the sun, its blazing yellow rays shining directly in our eyes with all the strength of the sun at its zenith. The light made my eyes sting, but I felt too relaxed to care; it was a typically lazy summer day, with all the goodwill and agreeableness that comes with it. Near us came the somnolent droning of the bees as they busily gathered pollen from our flowers, heedless of the heat that beat down on us humans and drained us of the energy to act. My long hair fell across my face as a result of my slumped position, but, just at an exciting part where the hero was in a perilous fight with a far older and skilled man that he was, I ignored it. Naturally it was just at that instant that an ear-splitting yowl echoed through our house, shattering the soporific silence that had previously pervaded the air. My book dropped from my fingers to land face-down on the porch at the sheer volume of it; I am still firmly convinced that the penguins on Antarctica looked up and asked one another, ‘What was that?’ Irritated in a languid sort of way, I looked up slowly. My sleepiness was broken at once as out from our door hurtled a wild-eyed, panic-stricken creature. Its fur stood up on end all around it, creating the impression of a hedgehog in the middle of a thunderstorm, or perhaps something that washed up in the tide. Large green eyes were slitted with fear and surprise, and its face was frozen in a hideous expression of anger. Hissing and spitting in the truly vicious manner that only a righteously indignant cat can achieve, it clawed its way up a tree in a record two seconds. It took two whole minutes for this scenario to register in my mind, my foggy mind reacting more slowly than usual. By the time I had worked my brain to coherence and it occurred to me to wonder what our usually demure cat Mmrr was doing in such a feral state, my sister was at the door, laughing quietly. “I wonder whatever got into her?” she murmured, then collapsed on the floor, laughing uncontrollably. My eyes narrowed. Her voice had been studiedly innocent, but there was a certain intonation in her voice, a peculiar inflection in her tone that I had learned to recognize and beware of. “Okay, Ce’Nedra,” I said sternly. “What did you do?” “Me?” she asked innocently, her eyes overflowing with hurt that I had suspected her, which I knew perfectly well was mostly feigned. Despite myself, however, I felt my heart melting and my knees go weak in the wake of that wide-eyed gaze that had defeated many far more hard-hearted than I. Years of exposure to it, however, had given me some degree of immunity. With an effort I pulled my eyes away and said, “Yes, you,” though it didn’t come out as harshly as I would have liked. “Nothing,” she protested. “Oh, really?” “Well…” she hesitated. “Let’s just say, for the sake of hypothesis, that I was really bored, and I opened the fridge. Now, if I did that, I might have found some hypothetical jalapeno peppers—if I hypothetically opened the fridge—and I might have wondered what Mmrr would do if I fed her the hypothetically found jalapeno peppers. This is all purely speculation, you understand. All hypothesis. No basis in real fact.” “Of course,” I said, my voice absolutely dripping with sarcasm. “Of course,” she said, happy now that everything had been settled her way. Don’t get me wrong, my sister is very bright, and very devious indeed, but sometimes sarcasm can go right over her head. This does not mean she is stupid, just insane. If anybody doubts that, I invite him or her to try to bargain with little Ce’Nedra. What could I do? I just sighed, shook my head, and went to look for and soothe my shivering pet, giving up all hope of finishing my book before lunchtime. Just another normal day for the only sane member of an insane family. P.S. This is all entirely fake! My sister, who resembles Ce’Nedra a little bit, fortunately has a great sense of humor, so she will not try to kill me. What? You don’t? Well, that’s just too bad, because I say you do, and you’re not going to embarrass me by contradicting me after I’ve just posted it on the Internet!

Thoughts

Thoughts I wonder what raindrops are. Science says that they are a form of precipitation, from clouds. Science doesn't know everything. Maybe they're all the tears of those who have died, weeping for the ones they left behind. Maybe they're the drops that spill from the Big Dipper in the heavens. Maybe they're the sprinkles of water from the child-gods' water fights. I wonder about dreams. Where do they come from? Perhaps the moon goddess drops them from her silver chariot as she courses along the sky. Perhaps they're the scattered fragments of the fairies' laughter. What are stars? They could be laughing sprites, dancing forever and ever in the skies. Or maybe what we see are the bits of light from the sky goddess's lamp. The aurora borealis, the northern lights, those sprites that flicker along the sky, what are those? They're the spirits of all the true lovers that were, that are, and that ever will be, swirling up to meet one another in a dance of love. Each violet was once a person's soul, each rose, a person's heart. The rainbow is a pathway for those who can find it. It leads to your heart's desire, if only you listen to the laughter of the clouds. Star_song

Whassup?!

Whassup? I'm Star_song, and this is my um...fun post! Let's see... Today was my first day of CHAP, otherwise known as Co-op. CHAP is a homeschooling association that stands for...oh, I forget. Homeschooling kids get together, ostensibly to learn, but really just to have fun. Oh, and it's a great defense against the public schoolers' accusations that we don't socialize enough. I have two classes: Phoblography and Painting with Acrylics. I like both, but this assignment is for Phoblography, so if I do decide to talk about CHAP, I'll probably talk about that class. Sorry, Mrs. Jones. Phoblography is taught by Mr. Cranky, who is our hilarious and schizophrenic teacher. Gak, here he comes! Excuse me, if you need me, I'll be right over there, running for my life...

Pirates of the Caribbean

Hi! This is my Pirates of the Caribbean post. I'll never forget the first time I watched it. I was hooked. See, my family doesn't believe in watching movies. Now, I have nothing against books. In fact, my friends call me everything from bookworm to encyclopedia, and even *shudder* Discovery Channel. But once in a while, I run across a really good movie. And that's The Curse of the Black Pearl. Wow, it was a meeting of adults in a friend's house. We were bored, so a guy named Eric asked the guy who lived in the house to set up a movie on the laptop. We chose aforementioned movie. Huddled in that dark small room, with the lights off, we watched that movie. It kept taking too much time to download, but I just got impatient for it to go on; in no way did it break the spell of the movie. In fact, I liked it so much that I borrowed it from the library and watched it at home with the whole of my family. It wasn't just me. My mother and father loved it. My sister, if possible, was even more hooked than I was, and went around for days quoting funny sayings from the movie. I personally love this movie and hope to watch it again several times. The second one really let me down. It wasn't that bad, but after the first... I am looking forward to the third and maybe final one, though there are hints of a fourth, Pirates of the Caribbean movie sometime around April or May. I will be there to watch it in the theaters to watch it when it rolls around, even if I have to nag my parents for a week straight. Signing off, Star_song