Today, while looking at the screen cap below for medicinal purposes, I started musing about Marian and trying to understand the story line through her point of view. To my surprise, it wasn’t that hard to do.
Here Marian bravely sallies forth to discuss a detente with the ex-fiance/evil henchman, only to find him trying on armor and half naked by firelight. It’s bad enough that a maiden must swallow her pride and venture out alone clandestinely to a single man’s house at night, but to be faced with this too? Has he no SHAME?
Here the black-hearted villain is hardly the chivalrous knight, nevermind that he was punched and literally left lying at the altar with a scar on his face to remind him for the rest of his life. Principle is principle and chivalry is chivalry!
Here the rotten blackguard stands imperiously, muscles rippling, nipples perking, lips slightly pouting, clearly the image of brute force and intimidation. No wonder poor Marian stammers. With somebody like this standing over me, my mouth would go dry too.
Here Marian courageously presents the Fingers of Friendship, made even more sincere by being especially reachy.
Here the dirty rascal grasps Marian’s Fingers of Friendship a little too long, riveting Marian to the spot, and thereby constituting false imprisonment. She’s forced against her will to inhale the aroma of leather, horse and 100% man. Will this devil stop at nothing?
Luckily for our intrepid heroine, the proximity of Robin Hood’s goodness breaks the bond, thus releasing her from her unwitting entrapment. The dirty, rotten scoundrel is foiled again, and lives to scheme another day. (No, there is no screen cap of Robin Hood because HaHAHAHAhaha this isn’t about him.)
So, you’re right Fitzg, I really get a better feel for Marian now. I ought to rewatch the series; clearly I’ve completely misjudged her.
All screen caps courtesy of RichardArmitageNet.com
There was a lot of chatter last night in chat. At the end of the evening, the following song popped up which I think is appropriate for today. So in instead of the Hallelujah Chorus, I present something a bit groovier. Here is Reach Out, by the Four Tops from 1967.
Again, there’s nothing surreal here except my state of mind. I’ve been mulling the past few hours how my friends never fail to amaze me.
My family was too dysfunctional to be examples of healthy relationships. They were too consumed by their own issues to consider any effects on me. I grew up with a sense that love was conditional; if I put a foot wrong, it would be withheld. Dissenting opinion wasn’t acceptable. I felt mostly inconsequential, when I wasn’t literally and figuratively preventing them from going off the deep end. When I left that environment, I didn’t leave these examples behind, so I attracted more of the same people because that’s all I knew. You can imagine how those relationships turned out. You can also imagine it all left me chronically depressed.
Naturally I assumed there it was all my fault to be treated to poorly. I recall sobbing to my first therapist for the umpteenth time, “what’s wrong with me?” Finally her professional mask dropped and she leaned forward, clearly angry. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You need better friends!” Of course, needing to pay out $75 a hour then for therapy didn’t convince me that I was poster girl for mental health. It took a long a time to separate me as a person from the disorder. Then I worried how people accept me and my depression. How do keep friends with this?
Some of the therapy must have sunk in because I did find a different kind of friend. My worries are not an issue for two best friends I’ve known since 1996. Over the years, they’ve seen me sad, reclusive, grumpy, and simply not functioning. They’ve listened to my silences. For the last eight months, they’ve been quietly supportive through this latest struggle. They descended on my place this past weekend from out of state. For my birthday they expensively stocked my refrigerator with home cooked meals, sorted through my piles of clutter, ran errands, got me out of the house, talked to me, and listened. I see evidence of what real love and caring means every time I open the fridge, eat the candy, walk down the neat hall, look into the clean closet, open my checkbook, and I’m in awe. Once I asked why they bothered all these years. “We like the not-depressed Judi much, it’s worth it, ” they said. I was so stunned, I didn’t know what to say. They chattered about what we will do during the summer when I’m hopefully okay, as if I were back after a hiatus.
I just finished a call with another friend. He and his wife called to take my pulse, as it were. He’d already phoned earlier in the week to wish me a happy birthday, but wanted to double check I would be able to attend Easter dinner with them. He’d bought my favorite wine; they wanted me to come. He chatted as if there has been only short pause in socializing, instead of months. I didn’t have to search for my place in their lives again; our friendship was still there, waiting for me to return.
I’m amazed by online friends who have sent me supportive private emails and humored me on blog, in chat, on Twitter and Facebook, gently nudging, letting know they care. I laughed when Sally Field gushed “you like me, you really like me!” but I understand the shock and surprise at feeling validated.
After all these years, I still haven’t gotten used to this yet. Part of me is still that child fearing rejection while wanted to be accepted. Maybe it’s good I’m amazed by my friends every single time. Then I won’t fail to be appreciative or take any of them for granted.
The following songs have been floating through my head. I think they say it all.
I’m wide awake and groggy at the same time. My personality’s id, superego and ego, Jodi, Jada and Quiet One are still asleep, leaving me to mindlessly buy coffee across the street and pick up the morning mail. There’s a big stack reminding me that once a month collection is probably not a good thing. I trudge back to my place, handing the Psychology Today magazine to Winston, my black dog of depression. He curls up on the sofa, happily drooling over an article on the potential for involuntary hypnosis. Hmm. When did I get him a subscription? Oh well, it keeps him occupied. I give the current Doggy Fancy mag to my pomeranian, Patty. We sit at the dining table companionably; I mutter about therapist bills and fantasy figures while Patty crunches on organic doggy shredded wheat.
I’m in the midst of a 32 page insurance invoice when the crunching suddenly stops.
Patty stares riveted at a glossy Dog of the Month centerfold while emitting curious noises sounding suspiciously like squees. I’m curious to see what she’s on about. After a brief tug of war, I peruse the article:
“ANCHORAGE, ALASKA. A tall, lean, fit malamute is reclining on a pillow, resting from the morning’s filming. He is called Rex Ames and he is the new rising talent in the canine world. Formerly an actor in British TV shows and Disney films, Rex is now poised on the edge of stardom. He has been cast in the big budget film, Iditarod: The Beginning, as a miniature Siberian Husky, the lead dog of an undersized sled team competing in the famous annual race. This film premieres in December. The sequel, Iditarod: The End, debuts the next year.
Rex photo from Iditarod: The Beginning, courtesy of TailChase Worldwide
How does he feel to be taking part? Rex turns his startling blue eyes towards me and reveals a gleaming white smile. It’s easy to see why he’s become such a heartthrob. “It’s been the most amazing experience,” says Rex. “The things I’ve marked, the places I’ve howled … this will stay with me always.” He pauses to re-settle his tail. ” I’ve done well in the UK, but an actor always hopes to go to Hollywood. It turns out that the producers were not really familiar with my work, but hired me based on my audition. I’m rrrreally chuffed about that.”
Rex, 7, originally hails from northern England but now resides in London with his human companion. He refuses to name his human, saying that he’s shy and very private. (Insider sources say the human is a celebrity.) Rex has come a long way to play this dream part. “I knew I wanted to be in the arts. My first job was working as ball holder for a circus act. One day I realized that wasn’t for me and enrolled in advanced obedience school. There I was discovered and that led to work in television.”
Rex is bashful when asked about his new stud status. He barks with laughter. “I was a gangly puppy, all big paws and a long nose. It seems so strange to hear that now. I’ve never felt like an alpha.” Rex’s fan club, the Ames Alliance, feels differently. Rex smiles. “They have been a great boost to my career. They are a lovely group of older, educated, supportive bitches.” —
I look down as ecstatic Patty grabs her doggy laptop, probably to Google Rex and the AA. I wonder for a second if I’m spoiling her. “Hold on Patty, there’s more.”
—“Has his success affected his love life? Rex dips his head shyly. “I’m not sniffing anybody right now. I’ve been so focused on my career, there’s been no time for a relationship.” But what about the future? “Sure, I’d like to find a mate and have puppies. My friends are having litters every year. I’m envious.” —
Patty yips and squees. Oh no, she’s composing a fan letter. Why again did I teach her to type?
—“Rex’s future promises to be busier. He’s been cast as the lead in the live action remake of Lady and the Tramp, a light role Rex welcomes after starring in a series of broody roles. “I just don’t have one of those cute cuddly faces,” he laments. Rumors are circulating that he’s on tap to star in Rin Tin Tin. It appears that Rex’s star is truly on the rise.”
I frown to the sound of little paws furiously clacking away. All of this feels so familiar, like deja vu. They say dogs are a lot like their owners. Could it be –? Naaaaah. Just one more odd musing to discuss with Dr. G.
Publicity photo, courtesy of RichardArmitageNet.com
Remember when you were in school and you had a close friend who was into a certain guy? She would do special things for him, fret over his slightest woe, talk and think about him incessantly and think the sun rose and set on his head. But she would tell you confidentially that nor matter how much she adored him, he never wrote, rarely called and seemed so well… inattentive and busy with his own life. Remember when you had to pull her aside and tell her the brutal truth: “He’s just not that into you.”
There has been much debate over on Servetus‘ blog about discussing sexual fantasies and Richard Armitage. (Frenz makes a statement about fans who don’t fantasize about him here.) Discussion has been thought provoking. Some commentators gave me pause with their noteworthy points. However, on the way to sorting out my own thoughts, I noticed a pattern in the replies of some of the more skittish fans, that in some way, some how, no matter how remote, RA will be hurt and therefore it’s best not to do X, Y and Z. Attached is a corollary that somehow one can control what other people think, say and do.
Is that really true? I mean, seriously? Let’s take the corollary first. Richard Armitage is an actor, a public figure who is aware he has a fandom and status as a heartthrob. Given some of his roles, he must also be aware that some fans sexually fantasize about him. Fans talk amongst themselves privately and publicly. Would he actively solicit it? I don’t think he’ll ask whether we fantasized about him last night, but he knows his heartthrob status is integral to his image as a leading man, which is how he’s currently being marketed. So, yes, he is indirectly acquiescing. I’m sure he’s savvy enough to realize there is no way he can control what his fans think, say or do. The reality is that he can’t really give a damn what fans say about their fantasies as long as we keep them away from him; anything else is crazy-making. We must stay in our world, and he stays in his.
What about the possibility of harm by what fans say? As one of his much less ardent fans listening to more ardent ones fret over this question, I have to suggest that any “harm” sounds interesting on paper but doesn’t work that way in real life. When RA first garnered attention, he was thrilled to have fans. In the flush of newness, he became quite involved by sending relatively frequent chatty messages. It was all quite naive and sweet but he quickly learned that such closeness brought expectations from fans, and so he distanced himself. He realized he had to stay in his world. He stopped visiting forums and reading about himself. He stated this. He’s kept his word. He’s now a very busy actor, totally immersed in his roles and career. He’s disinclined and has no time to sit in front of his computer googling himself, fretting about what fans think. As a friend recently pointed out, he’s happy not to think about his fans now, aside from feeling very appreciative and knowing he is beholden. Hence, he doesn’t call and he rarely writes, as it were.
I’ve noticed, especially during this drought, that fans have taken on the role of the adoring girlfriend who thinks her beloved is as obsessed about her and she is about him. From what I’ve observed about RA, that’s just not so. Also, the uber-protectiveness advocated by some fans is misplaced. He knows where he wants to stand in relation to his fans; he can protect himself. That’s not to say he doesn’t care; it just means he’s busy with his own life, and it’s not his fandom.