Drinkin: lime-flavoured mineral water
Listening to: Diggable Planets
Today at a well-known drugstore I said, "I'm looking for an inexpensive hand cream that isn't tested on animals." There was none to be found, inexpensive or otherwise. The death and misery that clogs these places, the scent of it leaping off of coins and bills and strips of plastic and carts and garish elevator music! Out, I say: I want out. This half has no clue how the other half is too miserable even to perish.
Yesterday at a kiosk in the sub I bought a bright orange skirt that was made by a family in India, using the fabric of three different saris. It is one of the most beautiful things I have ever owned -- shadowed, of course, by the price I paid (a steal -- guilt) and also: will wearing it subject me to the character and mishaps/delights of the women who owned the saris, similar to moving into a new house in which a murder happened, or a famous novel was written?
I have a hot-water bottle covered in flannel that was given to me by my mother about a decade ago, and I think everybody should have one: better than aspirin.
Day 20 of no alcohol; Day 18 of St. John's Wort. Peacefulness.
A woman in the US has harvested a mango as large as a human head!
A child on the bus yesterday kept whining, "But Mumma, I want to sit here; but Mumma, I want to sit there," and it irked me to the point of clawing my fingernails into my arm. Should I ever have children, they shall address me as Mother or Ma'am, and Joy in private. The first Mumma and it's off with their heads.
1. What colour is your hair?
Light brown. Was once naturally blonde. Will lighten in the summer.
2. When is the last time you accepted a dare?
I don't think strip poker with S, C, and M was actually a dare, but it felt like it ...
3. Do you think you could have an affair?
No. I'm a Virgo: we mate for life. (A part of Matt is pleased; another wants to gnaw his own leg out of the trap!)
4. How often do you feel like walking on air?
Never. I would get vertigo. I would feel as though I were doomed to live out the Hitchcock movie Vertigo. I would feel like I was the sort of person who still partied at Vertigo Nightclub, if Vertigo Nightclub still existed. Which it never will. It is now a 'study area.'
5. How about despair?
Often, but less in the past couple of weeks.
**************************************
1. When is the last time you became unraveled?
About three weeks ago.
2. What's the longest trip you've taken?
Driving up the Pacific Coast from southern California to BC, when I was 12, with Ma, Pa, and Jeordyn.
3. Who is the biggest distraction in your life?
Matt and books. The problem is neither of these things ("I am not a thing, Joy") are negative and I refuse to give them up, but they do represent an alternative to writing -- a much safer one -- and I often succumb.
4. Do people notice you when you walk into a room?
It depends if I'm yelling or not. I'm not usually yelling.
5. Describe the last time you disappointed someone:
Myself, yesterday, when I didn't write. Also, and this is somewhat related: the dryer disappointed me, today, when it completed a full cycle and my clothes were still wet (not damp: wet) and I was out of loonies.
And now I really must get to Uvic.
- Picasso: Creator and Destroyer by Arianna Stassinopoulos Huffington (I'm fascinated by this universal truth of creative genius as cad)
- Edgar Cayce: You Can Remember Your Past Lives by Robert C. Smith ('nuff said)
- V for Vendetta I of X by Alan Moore and David Lloyd (stunning)
- Locked up for Eating Too Much: The Diary of a Food Addict in Rehab by Debbie Danowski, Ph.D. (my addiction to diaries continues ....)
- Adrian Mole and the Weapons of Mass Destruction by Sue Townsend (and continues ....)
- The Half-Empty Heart: A Supportive Guide to Breaking Free from Chronic Discontent by Alan Downs, Ph.D. (self-help kick)
- Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides (excellent; I highly recommend; this book may have been what caused my hermaphrodite stripper dream)
- Last Love in Constantinople: A Tarot novel for divination by Milorad Pavic (a Serbian book!)
- Tall Blondes: A Book About Giraffes by Lynn Sherr (research and pleasure all rolled into one)
- How to Practice: The Way to a Meaningful Life by his holiness the Dalai Lama (excellent)
- Ecstasy and Me: My Life as a Woman by Hedy Lamarr (a gift from Ben -- quite scandalous -- tons of sex)
- Auntie Mame by Patrick Dennis (from the inside cover: "These were but a few of the males who were lucky enough to step into the female hurricane that was AUNTIE MAME!")
- Blindness by Jose Saramago (lent to me by a co-worker: now the pressure to finish, to like it -- shouldn't be too hard as it's quite good, if poorly translated)
- Strangers in Paradise: I Dream of You by Terry Moore (another comic book -- great, but I think I prefer V for Vendetta)
There's some more, a pulp fiction thing about a nun that Ben gave me and a few novels, but I can't find them.
*Update for the grammar nazis (you know who you are): Ben gave me the book, not the nun.
Drinkin: coffee
Listening to: William Shatner
Plans for day:
1) Laundry (half-done)
2) More coffee (working on it)
3) Breakfast (eggs and tomato on toast)
4) The purchase of functional socks
5) UVic: Union Egg Muffin
6) UVic: pick up two letters of rec
7) Write: Four Ways to Paint Carl, comic book script for Pippa and Jay
8) Construct a chore list for M and I (ha!)
9) Perhaps walk to the Dallas Road Beach? If it gets sunny.
10) Write a letter to Jian Ghomeshi at the National Playlist, as there are only two more episodes and then it's over, it's gone, and not only will I never hear my favourite show again I'll also never have an opportunity to win a mug or an ITunes download or whatever the weekly prizes are.
Note: Thanks Darren for this William Shatner album! It's hot!
| You Should Be a Science Fiction Writer |
 And while you may have some problems being "normal," you'll have no problems writing sci-fi. Whether it's epic films, important novels, or vivid comics... Your own little universe could leave an important mark on the world! |
Listening to: Ani diFranco
Drinkin: orange juice and mineral water (fake mimosa)
I had a horrible dream last night that I was a hermaphrodite stripper. It was quite detailed.
Progress has been made on the body-as-canvas story, tentatively titled Four Ways to Paint Carl. I worked on it at the Japanese deli over grapefruit juice and green tea mouse, while Ben fretted over a sex scene in his fairy tale story. There was excellent music playing, some kind of jazz-folk-barbershop-quartet thing .... Will work on it some more tonight, probably at Serious Coffee, after going out for dinner with Matt.
I'm reading millions of books and sort of floating though my job. It's beginning to occur to me that I should be more assertive in the workplace, demand more responsibilities, take initiative and rise through the ranks or something. But it's preferable to daydream. This is the problem I had with driving, too.
Today I sat on a co-worker's scooter and pretended it was mine.
Things to write:
- letter to Leonard Cohen
- fetus comic book script
- an erotic novella set in 10th century Japan (pillow book catastrophe)
- letter to Paul Martin
- letter to my parents
- the body as canvas short-short
- a love poem
- lyrics for Matt's song
- the pulp-sex-kitchen short
- letter to my grandparents
- 1940s-style pornography
- 10-minute film script: poss. introduction to Magnificent Bastards?
- another giraffe postcard
Drinkin: coffee
Listening to: Roberta Flack
A social outing with the girls from work on Tuesday, bowling. 14-pound balls! As if my lack of athleticism and aim weren't bad enough: I drop one of the balls mid-swing and it rolls backwards at a terrific speed, terrifying and delighting my assembled teammates ...
Complimentary tickets to a preview screening of The World's Fastest Indian on Wednesday. A good movie, Anthony Hopkins as old coot. Very feel-good, which is fortunate, as my soft spot for old men causes me to over-react if anything bad happens to them. I would recommend watching this movie with your dad, particularly if he is mechanical-minded -- there are lots of scenes involving the rebuilding of a 1920s moterbike.
Which I am going to do next month, as my parents are coming to see me at Easter! I haven't seen them since July, and I'm most anxious for them to notice that I don't live in a hovel anymore, but rather a pre-war character home. Also just really want to see those guys. The usual rules shall apply -- no engaging my mother in political or religious discussions, no guilt-tripping my dad for eating meat -- but I have decided to smoke in front of them. It was too exhausting to hide it from them last time, particularly when I'm sure I wasn't fooling anyone.
Today marks Day 13 without a drink -- not even a sip, lads -- which I honestly don't think has happened since I was 19. Feels marvelous. Though watching the Family Guy episode where Peter gets the silver scroll and visits the beer factory was a little difficult ... ;)
Blimey! I lent someone my library card, and he proceeded to rack up $38 in fines. I went to the library today to sort it all out, and was handed a water-damaged book of verse by Bob Dylan. "It's yours!" chirped the librarian. I paid up, checked out my other books, and tried to leave, but walking through the turnstile led to a blaring klaxon that permeated every corner of the library. I am, deep down, far too shy a person to have this happen to me regularly, but it does .... So, about twenty people are gawping at me: I go back in and the librarians totally ignore me. I figure the alarm went off due to the book I just "bought," so I tentatively left again, blaring klaxon again, only this time a horrible soccer-mom type starts bleating, "Come back! Come back!" only she times it so that her bleats take place behind my back and there is no way to smile suavely and make gestures of explanation -- by the way, why should I? Soccer mom who isn't! Soccer mom who isn't! -- without turning around, thus admitting guilt! I ignored her, ignored the klaxon, fled with the book. Was so upset and at a loss. Sat on some bricks. Why are there bricks in Victoria? Went to Matt's deli to give him the book.
It took me almost an hour to lose myself in Peter Jackson's 2005 remake of the classic 1933 megahit King Kong. Although blinded by the beauty that is Adrien Brody, the emotional flimsiness of the characters and their one-dimensional interactions with each other left me frustrated and irritable, a kind of venomous bat skittering around crash test dummies trying so very desperately to suck blood without realizing they are made out of foam. I finally realized that was the point when Ann Darrow (effectively played by Naomi Watts) was being sacrificed on Skull Island. Dressed in a shimmering camisol and screaming through virgin/whore lips as she struggled for footing on a bamboo catapult, it finally clicked that this was a remake of a B-movie, so honestly done that to create realistic characters would have been almost blasphemous.
The following two hours of action/horror/romance were thus fully enjoyed, even relished. Supporting characters were slain or eaten as special effects montrosities swooped from foreground to background; giant worms with three sets of teeth oozed into nightmare; slashes of lightening and giant craggy rocks created an atmosphere of doom and sorrow: a tempting bowl of dead-calorie bon-bons that this film studies minor eagerly accepted.
Except: through all of the highly satisfying pulp, there emerged a love story that was bigger than, or to the left of, a typical B-movie romance. The love between Kong and Ann is not sexual, and perhaps not even equal: ape regards girl as prized doll or kitten; girl looks to ape as protector or big brother. Because they communicate not through words but actions (ape kills and defends; girl entertains and provides affection), the love is essentially ill-defined while remaining the driving force of the movie. I will spare you the film's cheezy last line, but it was a true one, and its truth was perhaps more ominous than all the monsters and killings put together.
Listening to: Cat Power
Drinkin: limeade
I don't know if it's sobriety for seven days, St. John's Wort for six days, the sunlight, or a combination of all three, but I haven't felt as peaceful and normal as I do right now in months. It's intensely good and almost foreign.
Matt is making a wonderful surprise dinner as I speak, then off to the Roxy for King Kong! I have high, high hopes.
Also: wrestling with some lyrics to go with a new song Matt's writing, and Pippa reminded me that she asked me for a comic book script two years ago, and she still wants it. So I may adapt my fetus play .... I think J and P would get a kick out of womb-as-atmosphere. :) Also, needless to say, there is time travel ...
I have been to Serious Coffee three times in the last week:
1) With Matt. Raspberry Snapple. To plan Japan-things.
2) With Nora. Evening Jazz tea. To catch up on a couple year's worth. Note: to those of you who have not met Nora, she is very petite, and one of those genuinely sweet people who can pull off hugging strangers (there are pix) etc. Now: picture her walking beside moi in a rough section of town, surrounded on all sides by drug dealers and meth-heads, screaming at the top of her lungs Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! to voice an evil ex-boss in her life. !!! All the dregs were shocked. Moral of the story: it was great to see her; wish it happened more.
3) With Matt. Evening Jazz tea. To write and play Scrabble. I won by one point (vicious bickering ensues) ...
Nora: Hurrah! Just got your message. Shall call as soon as phone re-charges. I rarely use the phone, and then whenever I want to, it is buried under books or bathroom towels, dead.
God! Why do I make a fool of myself every time I go to a health food store? Went to buy herbal anti-depressants today. Shook a bottle of St. John's Wort at a sales associate and asked innocently, "Is it advisbale to abstain from alcohol if I intend to take this three times a day?" Got a very long gape and an "Alcohol is a depressant" reply. Anyway, I bought it. Also some b-12 vitamins. And then nearly trampled the sales associate, twice, when trying to decipher the complicated cash desk line-up system. God God God!
Had a super-fun weekend, highlight of which was Clint, Elisa, and Darren sweeping into town. A whole slew of people came by for Chinese take-out and Family Guy, then off to see World's Fattest Racehorse perform at a house party. There was a rebounder on the smoking patio with a strange design painted onto it, planets maybe or a palmed beach, and Ben and I were convinced it was a time travelling portal. Drunk quickly: off home to read Elisa her tarot in a most appalling way, totally disorganized and incoherent. Ugh. Floyd's the next day, Beacon Hill Park, Slacker, pizza, more Family Guy, raspberry mini-pies.
I miss having family around, especially family I super get along with, a la Clint and Elisa. Spent a lot of time subtly maligning Calgary in an effort to make them move here, and it seems to be taking seed, especially as they blatantly malign Calgary themselves as it is. :P
Matt and I went to Serious Coffee last night and made detailed plans -- with deadlines and checklists -- that will enable us to be out of the country and off to Japan by June at the earliest, August at the latest. Once we get all the preliminary paperwork out of the way -- letters of rec, passports, official transcripts, proof of graduation, updated ID, the applications themselves -- it looks as though it will be a cinch to get hired, and quickly: my only concern is that we find a company willing to hire both of us, at the same time. I don't know if this is a reasonable expectation or not, but fingers crossed ...
Depressing things afoot. American peace activist Tom Fox, 54, murdered in Baghdad after being kidnapped (along with two Canadians, one quite hot, and a Briton) on 26 November of last year. A "friendly killer whale" sucked into a propellor. Abused dogs with head wounds on the evening news.
I don't believe that Earth is Hell because it's too mythological for my taste, but I read somewhere (Sylvia Browne?) that few souls reincarnate to Earth as it's said to be the most doomed and dangerous planet. All bets are off, as it were. All my lists seem like vapid, optimistic ideas (eg entire cities in which white houses are banned; all exteriors must be vivid purples or oranges etc). It's difficult enough being depressed by your own middle-class mental state, never mind actual global problems. I feel as though I'm 14 and about to break out in bad poetry. Note that this entry is all about me. What does a dead 54-year-old peace activist have to do with me? Nothing. It's almost cliched to be upset by it. Anyhow, words can't say. Looked at my tattered copy of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas today and found This is Joy's Book scrawled across the publication page in Mike Little's drunken hand, from when he borrowed it from me and was living with people who were selling his furniture for crack money, I presume. Or was that a story I made up? Must pull myself together. Matt's mum arriving any minute. Phone just rang twice and I must check messages. Off to the pub in a couple of hours. Wish Canadians said chips in place of fries, also words like flat and loo and bleedin.
| Who Should Paint You: Andy Warhol |
 You don't need any fancy paint techniques to stand out from the crowd! |
Finished reading The Truth About Diamonds by Nicole Ritchie. Most of it was quite awful and a true waste of time, but I liked that although it was memoir pantomiming as a "novel," she included herself as a character, thus tricking the reader into believing her alter-ego, Chloe, was fictional. I thought it rather dashingly meta.
Steph: got your message. You're on the guest list tonight. Matt doesn't know where you can buy more tickets in advance, but I would guess Steamer's.
Still no letter of acceptance or rejection from The Malahat Review at 6 1/2 months. I have a horrible feeling that they did not receive the new SASE I sent them after we moved in October, and may have sent their response to the old place in Fairfield. This is bad news because the old housemates are not redirecting our mail, as they claimed when I called them last week. I never recieved a single re-directed bank statement although there should have been at least six. This means I will have to email The Malahat to make inquiries, but I'd rather wait for a letter .... Perhaps will leave it for eight months.
Drinkin: coffee
Listening to: Nina Simone
It's snowing! Unusual weather for Victoria in March. The daffodils in the flower patch next door look disgusted.
Got some important emails out of the way and cleaned one room of the house. Had 7-layer dip slathered on french bread for breakfast. Read the first three stories in Margaret Atwood's latest, The Tent, borrowed from Ben. It's quite good, though I think so far I prefer her Good Bones, a similar book. Also read about half of Deepak Chopra's The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success and it's great and intelligent, but so abstract. A biography of John Lennon lies in wait on the washroom counter, and I'm off to the library in a bit to pick up an unknown hold. Must start putting a focus on my obsessive reading. To that end, I acquired a complete collection of Flannery O'Connor's short stories, and they're dead brilliant, but for some reason it's the kind of book I find easy to forget about when there's other books screaming for my attention. Philistine comments, I'm sure.
Listening to: Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan
Mood: erratic
A totally random day at work in which the weather changed dramatically every five minutes (hurricane/bright-bright-sunshiny-day) and I fluctuated between loving and hating my job. Dichotomy is unfair. Be one or the other. It's like that two-faced bitch in elementary school who pretended to enjoy swapping sandwiches and later was caught mocking them, and you. Get over it. Get. Over. It.
Ben, Steph and I are hanging out on Friday with the stipulation that we must do something "new." So getting drunk, pretending to write, and/or window-shopping are out. I really, really wanted to do a downtown scavengar hunt -- I am qualified to both plan and implement such endeavors -- and B and S (ha) were in, until we realized we'd have to split up to do it effectively, and as such wouldn't be "hanging out." Never mind the partisan judging. Fuck damn and blast. Ideas?
(Contest: I had to look up two words in this entry on dictionary.com. What were they? There is no prize.)
Drinkin: a beer
Listening to: Leonard Cohen
I have this horrible feeling that if I was a character on Futurama it would be Hermes. I've taken scientific tests that indicate I would be Bender, and friends (bless them) insist I would be Leela, but I feel very Hermes-ish at the moment. I ... I love making lists. Beyond the kind of love that results from doing something useful -- I actually get off on it. Gross. Also I like columns and straight lines of facts, and checklists. I am a Virgo top to bottom.
On Saturday I witnessed a rabid elderly man verbally assault a girl my age for wearing fur. It was awesome.
Okay, you know who I don't get? Is Jeff Buckley. What gives. I think his music sucks. SUCKS. I do not believe him to be a star, or a legend, or what-have-you. He's like a male Sarah MacLachlan: very pretty voice, good command of pitch or whatever it means when you can sing onkey and with a good (okay above-average) range, but underneath it all conventional and expected. YES, JEFF BUCKLEY. I BELIEVE YOUR MUSIC TO BE BOTH CONVENTIONAL AND EXPECTED. Of course, he's dead. So there's a little stardom there. But.
Drinkin: coffee
Listening to: Sufjan Stevens
Hey, a fantastic night yesterday! Some beers on the ol' Felicita's patio, a few familiar faces and the same old vibe, but the swaying lines of bamboo were gone and I had a powerful and extended Missing of Jess. I drank honeybrown lager. Then we skipped across campus, and climbed the flat-topped pyramid to smoke weed and picture generations marching on. To the Phoenix: about an hour early for the play. Convinced someone to let us into the Fine Arts Building, which was closed -- as Matt put it: "We're alumni. We desire a 'trip down memory lane.'" It was granted. We did a lap of the upper floor and I had a gripping, difficult-to-ignore urge to steal something. I particularly wanted one of the ancient Egyptian clay pots in a glass display case at the end of the hall. Perhaps there were security cameras? I'd never work in this town again? Kept my hands to myself. Downstairs I looked at paintings while Matt peed, then I followed him in and saw an automatic urinal-flusher for the first time. So sanitary! So space-age! We made out in front of the mirrors, me perched on the sink. Would have had sex, but no condom. Concession stand in Phoenix was not liscensed so we drank lots of tea. Saw Russ's play. Missed the last #14 although we were at the required stop seven minutes early. Caught the #4, walked the extra. Coast to Coast AM. Sleep ...
I'm going out tonight! Fuck it! First Felicita's (for a wee drink), then off to the Phoenix to see Russ's new play. (Russ has a business card, by the way: it says "writer" on it. I'm getting one.) Basically, I budgetted out the entire month and what with the bills and my cut hours I would be left with exactly $5/day to pay for food, cigarettes, other necessities, and entertainment. This, ominously, is not even counting the phone bill; I decided it wasn't a "real" bill ... Anyhow $5 a day, just not possible. No. Plus I don't feel like it. Yesterday I spent $45 on food, cigarettes, flowers, coffee, and kitty litter alone. So: I'm going to stop paying my student loan.* I'll just stop. And I'll do the "responsible" thing and call them up and tell them why, and I don't see how they can refuse me that heavenly six-months grace I'm hearing so much about. Gah! This was not an easy decision (actually it was) but I feel good about it. Fuck poverty. Fuck the bank I don't even work for.
*This worked for Matt.
Guess whose boyfriend won an M Award? MINE! Via Semi-Louise, for "Most Promising Local Group." Rawr. Runners-up are the hugely talented Hank and Lilly who rock and who we saw on Valentine's Day at Logan's: Lilly tap-danced! Bottom line: I strongly recommend both of these bands.
- shots for breakfast (X4)
- escarpment blues words (X2)
- how many calories in a sambuca shot
- apple in breakfast poetry
- harper lee's favorite food
- breakfast poems
- www.cum shots
- powerful cum shots
- teenage cum shots
- cum shots waterfall
- what sounds do giraffes make? soundbite
- your eggs lover is dead stars
- "skating gossip" 2006
- Weird alcoholic shots dead toe
- where to buy Sangria
(My favourite is definitely the toe one, but check out two of Ben's: "girls with sweaty ass" and "some days even my lucky rocketship underwear doesn't help"! And from Matt: "dane cook giant indians"!)
1. What is your favourite fruit?
Raspberries for the taste, apples for the texture, mangoes for the beauty.
2. What is the last book you read?
At the moment I'm reading Toller Cranston's When Hell Freezes Over Should I Bring My Skates? and Stuart McLean's Welcome Home: Travels in Smalltown Canada at the same time. Both are excellent.
3. Do you like any of your school photos?
My grade 11 one is interesting. I look trendy. I'm wearing light make-up and a shiny shirt, which I later wore to Legends.
4. Do you ever blowdry your armpits to get the deodorant to dry quicker?
I've never done this, or even imagined in my wildest dreams that someone would actually arrange that group of words together to form such a question.
5. What was the last film you watched?
Fun with Dick and Jane. It was horrible. I actually like Jim Carrey quite a lot, and have enjoyed all his movies despite the damning social ridicule I've endured, but Dick was unfunny and relentlessly boring.
Hobo-chic again! I've got half a loaf of French bread, a cup of soup, some peanut butter, one free-range egg, seventeen cigarettes, and lots of coffee to last me till Friday. It's kind of a neat experience -- I'm paying brutally for my student loan, but the five years I lived on it without a care in the world, plenty of money for dinners out, mid-range gin, and expensive cigarettes, were totally worth it. Oh, yeah, and my education.
Something I forgot to mention about The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe: in it, Lucy wears an argyle cardigan! I desire one greatly.
My work hours are fluctuating, which is difficult for a lover-of-routine such as myself to cope with. On Tuesday I was informed that my hours had been cut to 8 (from 40) per week. I didn't stop shaking until 5 pm, even when, five minutes after that bombshell, my supervisor told me it was a mistake, they were actually cut to only 30. Still major stress: 30 isn't enough. Then today I was told there's a chance I can nab an extra 8, which would be ideal and I'll look into it tomorrow, but even if it works out this is just too much stress, and I'm looking into some freelance stuff to do in the evenings as back-up. To wit: might pick up some esl students to tutor, and there's this online research agency that looks promising. Stay tuned.
Well, Steph panned it and Ben sniffed that it was "so-so," but I absolutely loved The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. It wasn't perfect -- the pace was too slow at times, and by the midway point there had already been too many hugs -- but overall it evoked the same magical wonder the books did when I was six. Whatever special effects they used to create the fauns, centaurs, etc. was astonishing, for its realism as much as its ability to stay in the background and allow the focus to remain on the four human characters and their plot. The Witch and Lucy were supremely well-acted; all the others were above-average. (Though Peter looked far too much like Prince William -- just hire Prince William already, we get it.) I thought the religious symbolism was well-done, particularly considering the absolute terror on behalf of the producers that too much of it would alienate a secular audience (for fuck's sake it's CS Lewis what do you expect). What made the film for me was the authenticity and kiddishness of all the magic: the scene when Lucy brushes past the fur coats for the first time and finds herself in the woods; the box of turkish delight appearing from a drop of liquid from the Witch's vial; the various Narnia creatures being turned to stone and then brought to life again. It was as if the filmmaker cherished these moments so much that, despite the temptation to go overboard with the special effects or show off in some way, he simply delivered them in as simple and captivating a way as he knew how.
