Fast Fish--or--a Brief History.

It was a slow burn. Steven Spielberg reached into my head and tugged a beaded chain inside my brain when I was four years old. I was watching "Jaws" and my mind lit up so fast and hard that my ears burned. I wasn't afraid of his black eyes or his giant teeth which were bigger than my hands at the time. I kept taking baths and I learned how to swim with the other kids who were scared of being eaten. I learned the scientific name--Carcharadon Carcarius. I learned about the great white shark with the fervor of a mad scientist ten times my age. And then I learned about other sharks.

Two years later my ears still burned. I was six years old and I would still beg my mother to rent a different movie from the "Jaws" series every time she took my big brother and sister to the video store. There were no other movies. My reality was Mr. Quint's crassness and Chief Brody's reluctant heroism. I had thought Hooper was cute. He may have been one of the first celebrities that I was attracted to. Richard Dreyfuss. Strange, I know. But I knew the characters and I loved them. I knew every single line without exception. And there's nothing more precious than hearing a six-year-old little girl say, "Smile, you son of a bitch!" at family gatherings. I'm sure I had no idea what I was saying.

When I was ten I was still actively immersed in an obsessive world of shark-mania. I wanted to be a marine biologist. I participated in the Swim for Diabetes event every year and swam 200 laps each time so I could obtain a free pass to Sea World of Aurora. That Sea World is closed now but while it was here, I anxiously awaited its spring opening every year.

I liked boys but I wasn't the kind of girl who needed to like boys. I didn't matter. I was unattractive and awkward and I cared too much about strange things like sharks so that I scared most of the boys my age away. Older men thought it was cute that I was so clever and precocious. So I developed an interest in them as well but without the same enthusiasm that I gave to my finned friends of the sea.

It was during those years that I could feel most like myself in this one particular place. Each summer I would take trips to the Cleveland Metroparks Zoo with my family or with my cousins or with the boys next door and their mother. And each time I would look forward to the sweaty climb up the twisted wooden ramps that led to the Primate, Cat, and Aquatic Building at the zoo's highest point, and my favorite place on Earth. I would start slowly, then begin to skip, and then I would sprint up in the shade of the towering trees, feeling my young calves burn while my hands flailed around in nervous anticipation. I was on my way to the shark building.

I always waited to see the sharks. I'd save them for last. And each time I would plop down on the carpeted stairs to catch my breath and watch them swim around their deep, circular tank in the green glow of the saltwater. The tank was special, but nothing too spectacular. The walls were brown and ancient-looking and there wasn't a whole lot of room to swim, compared to other tanks I'd seen. Still, this place was sacred. I was attracted to it, enamored even.

There was a huge ugly purple grouper, bigger than me for most of my youth. And there were the sharks. Always two blacktip reef sharks, smooth and fierce-looking with intense, wide white eyes and catlike black slits. The whitetip reef shark was the king of the tank, long and fast, prone to napping on the bottom and then being stirred by the movement of the large nurse shark, a docile, monk-like bottom-feeder. There was always that stout-looking horn shark with his beady starless eyes and rounded fins.

Sometimes I would step forward and lean against the glass, trying to think myself into the tank, tracing their straight and sleek, wakeless paths with my fingers. I saw the water spiraling steadily above them and dreamed of diving in. Sometimes to get a closer look I would kneel beside the tank and peer at them through one or all of the four portholes, about a foot and a half in diameter, cut in the sides for viewing from different angles.

During my adolescence I started feeling lonely. At times I was depressed. I gained weight, I grew more awkward and uncomfortable in my own skin. And while the other girls were getting their first kisses and more, I felt unworthy of such affection. And I felt unlikely too. It was unlikely that I would be kissed or hugged or accepted by the boys my age.

So I sat, alone, and dreamed in front of the shark tank, of a boy who might come up to me right there and kiss me. In front of the blacktips, the whitetip, the nurse shark, the horn shark. He'd pull me close and I'd feel safe. I wasn't afraid of the sharks, of course, but he'd still protect me.

I came close a few years ago. I was in love with my best friend and I had an opportunity. We were standing there, stupidly, parallel. And I didn't kiss him. I feared that the fantasy had built up dangerously in my mind and that I would be disappointed. So much depended on this kiss because it would be our first. So I waited. I waited for another two years.

I often dreamed after that day that I was being proposed to in front of the sharks. I dreamed that a faceless lover of mine was diving with me at the bottom, stroking the nurse shark. I dreamed that this same lover might actually want to stroke me. The fantasies grew more lascivious and seemed less attainable.

Could I really find a man who would love me and want to touch me and want to kiss me and still know about this bizarre obsession that grew in my mind from childhood? Would he know to hold me in front of the shark tank?

And he did.

He let me wait a little longer, even. We walked around the building, casually observing the other lesser animals. The rising tension within me bubbled and burned within my ears. I felt varied degrees of frustration as we took circuitous routes around my shark tank. There were moments when I could see it from the corner of my eye but I averted my gaze. It was a game. A sexy, quiet little game within me. And it felt good to share with this man--this perfect, indescribably wonderful man.

We finally approached the sharks and I was struck by how changeless the tank seemed. There was another female blacktip shark. The grouper's once bright purple color was faded. But he was just as large--maybe larger, because usually these things seem bigger when you're younger, but he looked the same to me. My lover asked me to tell him about the sharks and I did. I don't remember what I said. I was hypnotized again by the glow of the tank, the serenity that overtook my body. I was reconnecting. I was dreaming a little too.

When he grabbed my hand and led me around the corner, my heart sank. I feared that I wouldn't get my kiss. I couldn't understand why he hadn't done it. My feet felt heavy and I was scared until I had the nerve to ask him where he was taking me. He thought there were more sharks. I wish there were, dear, but there weren't.

I led him back to the other side of the tank to look through the portholes and he knelt down beside me to peer into the clear green water. I knelt down and saw the nurse shark and the horn shark and the whitetip reef shark. I projected myself along with him into the water. I felt light. I felt as if I was floating until I became aware again of the weight I was placing on the toes of my tennis shoes. I turned to see him looking at me and I felt instantly as if the ground beneath me dissolved--as if the intensity of his gaze were suspending me over a dangerous abyss beneath my feet. We were breathing underwater. And then he kissed me. And I felt everything. I had eight senses.

After the kiss we stared at each other and I felt faint. I imagine that this is what it might feel like to time-travel or to fall suddenly in an anti-gravity chamber at the pull of a lever, or to break the sound barrier. I did not know where I was in relation to the universe anymore. Because this was a new universe. It consumed me. It wasn't until two days later that I wondered if the kids on the other side of the tank could see us through the glass of the portholes on the opposite side.

I don't know what I did to deserve this. I sustained that dream for so long. I thought it might have gone the way of everything else from childhood--I would never be a marine biologist, Sea World closed, I stopped talking to the boys next door. This one lingered though.

And it will linger in my memory. The best kiss of my life. The only lasting dream of mine that finally found fruition. I'm still glowing. It's as though the green water is surrounding me, glistening and wetting my eyes so that I must blink to rid them of the tears, to make sure that I am not merely dreaming once again. When I close my eyes at night the inside of my eyelids remind me to keep my waking reverie alive. It's real, they say. It's real. It's real.

Later in the evening he nibbled on my neck and I woke up this morning with the mark that he left. I smiled at myself in the mirror, imagining the scar story I'd tell to Quint and Brody and Hooper in the belly of the Orca. I hummed "Show Me the Way to Go Home" as I brushed my teeth, smirking all the while.

The Golden Age of Musical Chupacabra

"Chupacabra"
Sing to the tune of "Oklahoma" from the Broadway show, "Oklahoma."

Chuuuuu-pacabra, see the blood go seeping from the vein!
When you use your teeth you bite so sweet
That your victim can scarcely feel the paaaain.
Chuuuuu-pacabra, Every hombre down in Mexico
Has a pitchfork set in case you get
a craving for sangre or for bone!

There aren't any goats in the land
So now it's human blood you demand
And when we say, "¡Ojó! ¡Qué lástima y mál!"
We're only sayin'
You're pretty mean, chupacabra! ¿Chupacabra, qué tál?

Chuuuuuu-pacabra he's got wings so he can fly up high
And then swoop down low just when he knows
there's a victim who's caught his rabid eye.
Chuuuuu-pacabra doesn't care if you're type A or B
And if you have AIDS it's a-okay
because the cells inside his bones are t!

There aren't any sheep in the land
So now it's human blood you demand
And when we say, "¡Ojó! ¡Qué lástima y mál!"
We're only sayin'
You're pretty mean, chupacabra. ¿Chupacabra, qué tál?

A Cow Tale

I wasn't feeling well today so I closed my blinds and retreated into a heap of blankets with some looseleaf paper and a pen in the fashion of a true poet. I put on a pair of sweatpants which is notable because I never wear sweatpants. If you've seen me in sweatpants, then you know me on a very intimate level. Then I put on one of my favorite t-shirts. It's brown and it has a Rubik's Cube on it and it says "ADDICT" in bold letters next to the Cube. Anyway, nobody cares what I was wearing.

I wrote a letter to my boyfriend because I couldn't think about doing anything else at the time. Then I found a poem that I wanted to share with him so I crossed the street to buy a stamp and make a photocopy. While I was there I grabbed a bottle of grapefruit juice which I've never had in my life, and an apple. I figured I could use some vitamin c since I'm pretty sure I'm getting a cold.

When I came up to the copier, an attractive young man was standing at the candy counter across from me and he said to the lady:

"Do you have any Cow Tails? For some reason I really feel like eating a Cow Tail." The lady told him that they were sold out. Poor kid. However, being the great observer that I am, I was able to help this young man get some Tail.

Earlier in the day I passed a table where some students were selling tickets to a campus concert. The musician who is coming is named Josh Gracin. So needless to say, I won't be attending. Still, I noticed on my way past the table that there were three Cow Tales lined up along the edge of it along with some flyers advertising the concert.

"There are some Cow Tales on that table over there. They aren't tied down. You should just take one." I suggested to the kid, nodding in the direction of the three individually wrapped chewy, milky caramel treats. At first he seemed reluctant. "I don't want to steal somebody's Cow Tales," he said.

That's when the lady behind the counter stepped things up. She trotted right up to the table and picked up the three treats, reading a little label that was printed on the back of one. It was an advertisement for the concert!

"See? They want us to take the Cow Tales!" I exclaimed excitedly. So I sat down with the kid and we ate Cow Tales together. So did the lady from the candy counter. Eventually, the young lad introduced himself to me. I told him that I had seen him around and he said something like, "Yea, I have a tendency to hobble around here," and gestured towards his left leg.

Now, of course I noticed this man's walk. I notice everything. I knew that he always wore a leather jacket and that he had those glasses that turn to sunglasses in the light. He also had blonde hair that he slicked back in spite of its natural curl. This isn't creepy. I just see things. A lot of things. Still, I told him that I hadn't noticed his hobble. I wanted to see what he would say. "Well, I'm glad I pointed it out then," he said in a self-deprecating tone.

We talked for a bit longer and then bid each other good evening. And it was a good evening.

Now his hand is on your shoulder

This day is inspired. It's positively stimulating.

At first I was unsure about the possibility of today being a good day. I woke up with my face about an inch away from the wall and I freaked out because all I could see was beige for a few seconds and I had no idea where I was. I took some cold medicine last night and it knocked me out quite effectively so I was probably in a really deep sleep.

The weather made today. I actually had to play the Electric Light Orchestra's "Mr. Blue Sky" after I got back from my first class.

Earlier this week one of the boys in my class made sushi for everyone which was delicious. He made three kinds which he wrapped in nori (seaweed.) I opted for the veggie, which is usually my style. Tuna and crabmeat were the other choices. The stuff was actually quite good. It was a little weird eating sushi and soy sauce at 10:40 in the morning but it was a delightful treat. Today a girl brought in homemade samosas. That was a lot more unusual in the morning than the sushi. Indian spices aren't really good during the breakfast hours. Just so you know. But it was still very good.

I generally prefer Middle Eastern cuisine to Indian cuisine. I tend to appreciate the subtlety of their spices moreso than the taste bud blitz that a lot of Indian food is known for. Earlier today I had an intense craving for kofta. I'd never think to season ground beef with cinnamon but I'm very grateful that someone did.

Right now I'm heading out to meet with one of my actors for the film I'm working on. We're shooting his scene tonight and I have to get him to fill out a consent form and make sure his wardrobe is good and stuff.

I'm wearing my boyfriend's shirt right now. It's very comforting.

The circle of warmth

This year's senior class gift at my college is called The Circle of Warmth.

It's essentially a massive firepit lined with bricks that members of the senior class are currently purchasing. It's a shady way to get the project done--coercing poor college students into handing over their cash in the name of a false promise of some sort of brick-lined firepit legacy. These kids are vulnerable. They don't know where they're gonna be next year or the year after that. They need to hold onto something *ahem* concrete here on campus. Might as well be a glorified chunk of clay at the edge of a hole in the ground.

The location of the Circle of Warmth (which actually sounds like an embarrassing stain on the front of a young boy's pants on the first day of school) is right in the middle of this beautiful section of lawn that I cut through daily to avoid the haste of the sidewalk. They're breaking up my lawn.

I like fire as much as the next girl. Actually, I really like fire a lot. Some might say that I like fire to a fault. But I can't imagine having a good time around a fire that's smack in the middle of the lawn facing the grease dumpsters behind the student union, the tennis courts, the student activity center (which looks like Auschwitz!), and one of the freshman dormitories. The whole point of having a bonfire is to escape into the mystery and seduction of the night sans apprehension. So how am I supposed to travel forth into a parallel nighttime universe of fire-inspired wantonness and lust while a bunch of haggard cafeteria workers stare across the lawn at me during their smoke breaks?

I want my bonfires to be in the woods in secret. I want to feel free to throw random items into the raging flames just to see what colors they make. I want to make out and carry on. I want to dance like those chicks from "The Crucible." I want to make out with John Proctor from "The Crucible." I mean, I understand that he's a fictional character but hypothetically speaking, that's the kind of thing that I would do around my bonfire.

And I certainly wouldn't engrave inspirational messages on a bunch of overpriced bricks around the pit. If I did they would say things like "Devo RULES!" or "I like rice cakes!"

My point is, this Circle of Warmth (or COW) completely goes against everything a good firepit stands for. And I don't want to take any part in it. And I will ardently oppose any event that takes place in this future firepit.

I hope that my senior class gift is a bookcase or a sapling.

U-Haul My Heart

The other day I was snuggling with my sweetie and I began to tell him that he was like one of those rentable storage units. He interrupted me before I could justify the statement. And to be honest, at the moment I didn't really know where I was going with it. I just wanted to talk my way out of it. But now that I've had some time, I've really found ten ways that my partner in love is like a storage unit. I am changing his name to a pet name that I have given him to protect his identity. Becuase who wants to be linked to the creepy blog girl who compares her boyfriend to a storage unit?

1. When I'm with him I invest a lot of myself in him--my time, my energy, my own physical being. In this way, I store a large part of myself within the confines of Puma's heart. I would similarly store large quantities of my belongings in a storage unit.

2. When I am with Puma--that is to say when I invest these parts of myself in the storage unit that is Puma--I feel safe and secure. I feel like I can store anything in him. I can tell him everything and give him everything that I have and it will all remain completely unassailable. If I were to store my belongings with a reputable storage unit company, they would also be secure in this way (in a much more physical, literal sense of course.)

3. There is plenty of space in my relationship with Puma. Not only do we have much space between us, but we also respect one another's independence. Many storage units offer lots of cubic feet for spacious and comfortable storage. They are also often found in long strips, side by side, separated only by thin walls. In this way they share a close connection and an architecturally sound bond but they are still separate entities. Puma and I are related in a similar fashion.

4. Sometimes you only get to visit your storage center once in a long while. Maybe you have nowhere to put the stuff and then you find room or you buy a new place with more space to fill. And then you open up the metal storage unit door and you see all of the incredible things that you forgot that you had. And you're overcome by this wave of happiness and nostalgia for the things that you loved so much that you haven't seen for such a long time. I love Puma in this way. I only see him once in a while and when I do I am instantly reminded of how much I live for his touch and all of the wonderful ways that he loves me and I forget how I ever lived without these things in my presence for so long.

5. Often there are discounts for longer stays in storage centers. If you put your stuff in them for a long time, you save money. When Puma stays with me for an extended period of time, or I with him, we save money on gas and tolls.

6. A storage unit is not lactose intolerant. Coincidentally, Puma is also not lactose intolerant. I am. In this way, I am not like a storage unit.

7. When you get your own storage center, you get a matching key and nobody else has that key. It's yours, especially for you. I have given Puma the key to my heart for him to use at his discretion and I feel like I have the key to his. I'm not sharing with anybody. I don't want anyone stealing my stuff.

8. Squirrels often keep their nuts in storage units. Not necessarily in the big industrial ones that people pay for, but they actually do a fair amount of accumulation in special spaces. Squirrels also like nuts. I am nuts about Puma.

9. Many storage units offer optional temperature control so that the items inside can be safe from the elements. Again, we're dealing with an issue of safety and security here. When Puma is around, everything feels safe. Additionally, however, Puma does have the ability to control my temperature. If I were a vinyl record being stored within Puma the storage unit, I'd probably be in danger of melting because he is an incredibly dishy storage unit and I would likely be feeling a little hot and bothered inside him. (Provided that vinyl records have to deal with the raw aching heat of human sexuality.) When I am not with Puma I feel a little bit cold. His voice is my thermostat though. And when he speaks to me on the phone my temperature rises and I feel comfortable again. Sometimes even a little bit balmy.

10. The doors on storage units are often made of jointed strips of metal that curve and roll up slowly when they are opened. Sometimes they take a lot of time and strength to get into. My courtship with Puma was like this slowly rising storage unit gate. The promise of good stuff on the inside was gradually revealed each time I made contact with him. And as I got to know him, everything inside of him that makes him the incredible man that he is became increasingly apparent to me. Eventually the door was completely open and I saw everything that he had to offer and I passed through the threshold that the storage gate allowed me and I immersed myself in his love...or the sundry items that were stored beyond his door. There might have been an antiquated green sofa in one corner or an old rocking horse and a crib. Or just a bunch of comic books and action figures.

I feel like there is so much in store for me and my fellow. There will definitely be more awful puns too.

The best band of the world

I just found a blog on blogspot that is dedicated to Evanescence. It's in Spanish but my spanish skills are somewhat limited, especially when it comes to translating the excited and probably nonsensical rantings of an Amy Lee-obsessed Los Angeles teen blogger.

So for now I'm waiting on some friends from Notre Dame.

Yesterday I revisited "Reality Bites" and I feel like at this point in my life I'm ready to evaluate it for what it really is. When the movie came out, I was eight years old. I saw it a few months after it came out on video--my sister got it for her birthday and we watched it together. What I remember most about seeing it for the first time was that everyone in the movie reminded me of my sister--especially Winona Ryder's character. I didn't get anything they were talking about but I fell in love with it because the characters reminded me of the cool people that my sister hung out with. And I thought Ethan Hawke was cute.

I've watched this movie several times since and now it carries extra weight with me. Especially now that I get what's happening. But mostly I feel like this movie is really important to me and to other people for the same reason it was important to me when I was a kid. The characters captured the essence of Generation X (which is a term that I am reluctant to use, but oh well) and the film itself speaks really strongly of a particular time in history.

"Reality Bites" is different than a film like "American Graffiti" which profiles a specific pocket of time in retrospect. Ben Stiller made "Reality Bites" about a group of grungy college graduates in 1994...in 1994. If the film were to be made next week, it would be completely different because we'd have the ability to objectively evaluate culture in the early nineties. Ben Stiller took what he knew about himself and the members of his generation and exploited that information. It works.

I guess this is why I like films like "Reality Bites" and "Swingers" and "Slacker"--even "American Beauty" is one of these films in many ways. It always fascinates me when directors and writers are able to step back and realize certain aspects of their own humanity at a specific and current point in time. "Swingers" has been dismissed as a cult film because of the way it looks at the short-lived swing revival of the nineties. But it also explores some pretty timeless stuff. There will always be guys picking up girls in bars, trying to make names for themselves, and attempting (with difficulty) to move on from failed relationships. All of this stuff just happens to occur in the underground bars of LA in 1996. So maybe there's swing dancing and shameless homages to Quentin Tarantino. It happens.

Isn't it good...

Sometimes I need days like this:

I woke up today a half an hour before my alarm was set to buzz, completely alert and ready to attack the day. Of course, I took advantage of the extra thirty minutes of sleep that I was awarded. And even though I would have slept to the alarm had I not woken up, it felt like a special treat to get that "extra" half hour.

I read about the economy in China. The numbers and the acronyms that assaulted me in Chapter 5 of "Understanding Contemporary China" were almost as numerous as bicycles in Beijing.

Before class I had a scare about a particular assignment that caused me to buckle down and get to work on it and a bunch of other things. So fear was the driving force behind my accomplishments this afternoon but at least things got done.

Everything else that happened today is secondary to the way the weather is making me feel. I jumped on picnic tables today. I skipped on the sidewalk. I hopscotched over the engraved bricks at the side of the Union. I'd never read those bricks before and some of them are quite amusing. My personal favorite was "GOD BLESS AMERICA AND BW!" There was one brick that said "Carpe Diem!" so I jumped up onto this new shiny picnic table that they put up over break and began to recite "O Captain! My Captain!"

The breeze is so refreshing. The ground is wet but the sun is shining. Even now it still feels like the sun is shining.

I mailed a letter today. If you've never mailed a letter before, do it. As soon as I dropped it in the box I got nostalgic for a time that I never really got to experience. I've never known days without phone calls. I lived more than half of my life without e-mail but now I don't know if I'll be able to function normally in society without it. My grandma used to send me letters. They'd be printed on these little sheets of white paper--just a few inches up and down. They were always eight and ten pages long and she wrote in this great pointed script that slanted at such an extreme angle across the page. I felt like I was on some great adventure, just moving my eyes along the text.

Those were the only letters I ever got. My cousin Meryl and I wrote to one another a few times but those were rare occasions. So this year I've sent more letters than I have in my entire life. I think I sent four to Kevin last semester and I got a few back. It's really cool to open your mailbox and to see something personal. I hand-wrote this particular letter. Hopefully the recipient will be able to read my handwriting. I'm kind of a slob but I tried to be neat.

Anyway, I have to see a lady about some sweatpants. How archaic is that?

Moments in the Woods

I traveled to the West Side Market with my mom today. Basically it's a year-round outdoor produce market in downtown Cleveland. I hadn't been there since I was a kid. I remembered getting stepped on amongst aisles of shouting vendors and mountains of strange fruits. I remembered the piles of pink meat under glass, the vacant eyes of the speckled silvery fish on ice. I remembered getting lost and feeling scared.

Not much has changed. In fact, nothing has changed. I'm aware of more now I guess. Today when I passed the bloody piles of meat I didn't think to myself that I didn't want to eat meat ever again. I thought that I would try to dismiss the image so I could keep enjoying ribs and burgers without remorse. Of course, later at Half Price Books my cashier proudly sported a hat that said "VEGAN" across it so I immediately flashed back to those awful slaughterhouse images of my afternoon at the market.

Anyway, I had a moment with one of the vendors. He was relatively young I guess--maybe twenty-some years old. He was Puerto Rican and he had a really suprising smile. It kind of caught me off guard as I passed. So I smiled back and caught myself lingering there in that moment. So a few seconds later when I broke my gaze I turned back to see that he was still watching me. For some reason I winked. I don't ever wink. It felt good to do it. I knew I'd never see him again. I wasn't that attracted to him. I wasn't going to buy fruit at his stand so it's not like I would have gotten a discount for flirting. I told my mom about what happened and she made fun of me.

So my mom bought some cabbage, I suppose for St. Patrick's Day. I got some mangos and encouraged my mom to get some garlic because it was decently priced and looked delicious. And really, garlic is one of those things that you just need to have around the kitchen at all times.

I wanted some pomegranates but they were really expensive. I hate that! People keep saying how good they are for you and how awesome the juice is but who wants to spend three dollars on a piece of fruit? Not me! But the seeds are so good! Garr! A lady heard me get excited about the delicious-looking starfruit and she asked me what it was like. So I described it to her. I felt cool. Ask me about fruit! Ha.

So back to Half Price Books. I'd never been there before but we passed it so we went in. This place is my toy store. I seriously had so much fun. It's all used books and a few new ones and they're so amazingly priced. I bought a novel called "The Last Cigarette" for 89 cents. It's pretty good so far. I'm only about40 pages in. I'll report back later. I looked at the store for a few items for my sweetie but nothing was good enough. And no Jackson Caine! I was angry.

They also had vinyl at this place and used CDs and tapes. I was thisclose to buying a Color Me Badd CD but for some reason I didn't think it was worth two dollars. Color me crazy...

My mom said that some kid was macking on me in the bookstore and following me around. I usually don't notice if men are showing interest in me. I wish I would have seen what he looked like because I always think it's funny when guys notice me. I guess I looked available today? Who knows.

Strike on the tinder, ho!

Then I'm a Philistine.

Tonight I saw the Violent Femmes at the House of Blues in Cleveland.

I like the Femmes but I don't know a lot of their music--just a small sampling. And they have a pretty big repertoire so I guess I sort of expected to feel a little alienated at their show tonight. A friend of mine has a connection at the House of Blues and he offered tickets to me, my roommate, and another mutual friend of ours.

The Femmes were really polished. The middle of their set lagged terribly though. It wasn't until the end of the show that they really kicked it into gear and at that point my mind was in a completely different place.

I've never felt more isolated at a concert in my life. Usually I get really lost in the music and I can ignore the crowd around me and just enjoy the art. But tonight I was distracted by every little thing. I was constantly aggravated my the traffic patterns of the surrounding crowd. I got shoved in every direction by people who couldn't just have a drink at the bar--they had to keep milling in and out of the standing section. At least nothing got spilled on me. Eventually I just moved to the back of the venue against the wall. I couldn't see a thing from there so I got even more distracted and I began to observe specific people in the crowd.

There was a young couple to my left. The woman had dark knotted hair and bushy eyebrows and she hung dangerously from her lover's shoulders, totally drunk and oblivious to the fact that he was looking through her the entire evening. He kept his hands on her waist which gyrated obscenely against the natural rhythm of the music. I think he was trying to hold her in one place.

There were two young girls behind me who kept stepping on the toes of my Chucks. This was unfortunate because my feet were already uncomfortable to start with--don't ever wear Chucks for extended periods of time. I'm pretty sure they were a couple as well. I didn't get a good look at them but they were both fairly attractive indie girls which made me think that they were genuine for some reason. One of them had loosely braided blonde hair tied back haphazardly into a ponytail. I didn't see much more. At least I don't remember much more.

Another couple stood in front of me. I'm think that the man is a sociology professor at my college. He kept smiling at me which I'm sure his date appreciated. The two of them swayed a lot which didn't make much sense, given the genre and general driving pace of the music. I guess certain things slow down when you're in love or something. Or you want them to. So they swayed. I caught myself swaying with them a few times. He kept heading over to the bar and bringing her more drinks. Honestly I can't imagine how much he spent on alcohol that night.

I guess I just focused on the couples in the crowd tonight because I was feeling jealous of them. It's really funny actually. When I didn't have anyone I was always jealous of couples I saw together in public. Then for a while I got over that and I was jealous of people with iPods in public. Now I have an incredible man in my life and I'm back to my old ways again.

I'll take what I can get for now. I'll revel in the nightly phone calls, the delightfully irrelevant (and often irreverent!) voicemail messages, the occasional e-mails that get filed into a folder called "Sap." I'll wait a week or so between visits. I can do that. It's getting harder though. Spending those two nights and odd hours with him made me realize just how much I love being around him.

I'm happy though. I'm so happy. I don't know what to do with myself. I danced earlier tonight. So maybe I'll start dancing more now.

Still thirsty!

List of the day's beverages:

9:00 AM: One Diet Coke--I started my day with a cool can of my favorite soda.

12:25 PM: One glass of water, one smoothie--I enjoyed a smoothie alongside a hummus Pita Wrap at Aladdin's Eatery after a day of scouting locations. I scheduled a day of shooting at Record Revolution in Coventry. (Yay for first choices!)

3:00 PM: One cup Guatemala--I actually have a Starbucks gift card (eesh!) so I asked Sam to meet me at our local shop for a cup. I treated. She had caramel apple cider. I tried the Guatemala. I noted a woody aroma and taste in what was a surprisingly elegant and bold cup of coffee. Later I found out that Guatemalan is known for that woody presence. Yay for my sensitive palette! Also yay for being with Sam. She rules.

5:00 PM: One Canada Dry--I came back to the casa and played through some of my songs. I like drinking Canada Dry when I sing because it is refreshing and it leaves a nice coat of syrup on my throat--diet drinks don't do that. I played through "Mad World" (the Gary Jules version), "Such Great Heights" (the Iron & Wine version), and one of the songs I wrote for my guy.

7:00 PM: One cup Caruso's Jazzy Java--I saw a coffeehouse-style play tonight. My friend Mike was in it. I went by myself and so I felt hip and important. I rocked pinstripes and tucked in my designer blouse. I felt totally artsy and intelligent. I even took notes in my program. Well, actually it was mostly prose that had nothing to do with the production. I had this drink before the show.

7:30 PM: One cup Caruso's Columbian--Since I love Columbian, I tried a cup of this before the show as well. Yes, I am a caffeine junkie. Bite my face. This one was rich and playful just like I like my Columbian to be. Kudos!

9:00 PM: One cup Caruso's Hylander Creme--Mmm. I had this at intermission between the two plays. Both plays were stage adaptations from old radio shows. ("Sorry, Wrong Number" and "The Hitch Hiker.") This cup was flavored with toffee and butterscotch or something I think. Delicious, and a perfect compliment to the slice of carrot cake that I ordered.

11:00 PM: One glass Shiraz--Since my mother was an usher at the theater where I saw the plays, I went with her to the theater. She works with a kid named Rob who is in a band called Return of Simple and they were playing at Wilburt's downtown tonight. So we went there. Rob graduated from BW and the other kids in the band go to BW. So there were a lot of folks from school there. My friend is the band's photographer so I rapped with her for a while when she wasn't shooting. Two of my really good guy friends were there and I spoke with them. The wine was good. I'm a big fan of shiraz.

So I've measured my day in beverages. Tomorrow it might be snacks. Or songs. I don't know.

PSH!

March is my favorite month for film. We've got the promise of the Oscars, the Independent Spirit Awards, the death of the February movie lull, and the Cleveland International Film Festival. That being said, here are my Oscar predictions for this year. This is truly a crazy year for the Oscars--lots of underdogs and huge discrepancies between movies that should win, and movies that probably will. (Thanks a lot, Ang Lee.) So I may not do as well this year with my picks. My record was set last year with 14 predictions out of the 20-some major ones. The year before it was 13. This year I've seen all of the nominated movies except for Transamerica and Munich. And of course I haven't seen some of the documentary shorts and foreign shorts and whatnot because I live in Cleveland and those movies usually take about a year to get here.

Best Motion Picture--Brokeback Mountain (But Crash should win)

Best Actor--Philip Seymour Hoffman, Capote

Best Actress--Reese Witherspoon, Walk the Line

Best Supporting Actor--George Clooney, Syriana (But I believe that Paul Giamatti should win)

Best Supporting Actress--Rachel Weisz, The Constant Gardener

Best Director--Ang Lee, Brokeback Mountain

Best Adapted Screenplay--Larry McMurty & Diana Ossana, Brokeback Mountain

Best Original Screenplay--Paul Haggis and Bobby Moresco, Crash (But it would be so kickass if The Squid and the Whale won)

Animated Feature--Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit

Art Direction--Memoirs of a Geisha

Cinematography--Brokeback Mountain (But Good Night and Good Luck should win)

Costumes--Memoirs of a Geisha (All those kimonos!)

Documentary Feature--March of the Penguins

Documentary Short Subject--God Sleeps in Rwanda (total shot in the dark)

Film Editing--The Constant Gardener (A total underdog but I'm sticking by it. Crash will probably win.)

Foreign Language Film--Tsotsi (South Africa)

Make-Up--Chronicles of Narnia

Original Score--John Williams, Memoirs of a Geisha (If Gustavo Santaolalla wins I will hit someone. And it might be you. Or Ang Lee.)

Original Song--It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp, Hustle & Flow

Short Film (Animated)--The Moon & the Son: An Imagined Conversation

Short Film (Live Action)--Six Shooter

Sound Editing--King Kong

Sound Mixing--Walk the Line

Visual Effects--King Kong

Better Than the Dentist

The day was long. I made it a point today to be where there were people but for the most part I felt isolated and anxious, even when I came across good company.

I've been spending a lot of money on coffee lately. This is foolish because I could easily get a coffee maker for my room and get free coffee from my mom. But I've become so comfortable heading down into the basement of the union with my little punch card. I wait impatiently in line behind a few of the same sorority girls and philosophy majors who feel the need to order tedious custom drinks with names like "Mocha Monkey Meltdown" and "Orange Mango Paradise Smoothie." (The sorority girls are always sincere. The philosophy majors order to be ironic and take delight in giving their silly orders condescendingly to the barista behind the counter.)

My barista is tall and sturdy. He's got thick black glasses like mine and a chin that sort of curves upward at the tip which makes him look like he's smiling even when I know he's not. His green apron clings to his belly and when he leans forward I see it tighten around him.

I order a 16 oz cup of Columbian when I can. Sometimes they don't brew Columbian so I have Irish Creme or Costa Rican. On Tuesday they were out of Columbian so I waited nervously in a chair trying to concentrate on Lawrence Ferlinghetti while my hands shook unsteadily for their next caffeine fix. When the pot was finally brewed it was too hot to enjoy. So I waited some more. My barista fills it to the top every day. He stopped asking "Room for cream?" about two weeks ago. It was a big step for us.

Anyway enough about coffee. Tonight I had a Lifetime movie marathon. People lied about coming but we still had a decent turnout. The dialogue in those movies is priceless. I would love to have a job writing Lifetime Original screenplays.

In a few short days the roommate and I are going to be heading down to Beaver County. I'm overwhelmed with anticipatory excitement. I always feel amazingly clean and happy after a good road trip and this one is particularly special. Roommate, the open road, and two incredible gentlemen lie just beyond the horizon. Then there is the Violent Femmes concert this Thursday night with Mr. Green and roommate.

I'm having difficulty going to sleep. I don't think my heart wants to stop racing for anything right now. And it's not the caffeine. I'm sure of it. It's got to be the Devil's Sting.

Una Mezcla

One day I'll record my system for making mixes. It's a complicated process but I think it has the potential to blow minds.

Right now I've got my CDs laid out in front of me on the floor. Windows Media Player and iTunes are both open. There's a spiral notebook to my right and it's filling up quickly with little notes and question marks and sloppily scrawled arrows and stars.

The mix CD is a perfect way for me to express myself. I have an incredibly eclectic collection of music that I love sharing with/imposing on other people. As much as I enjoy knowing that other people are listening to music that I love, I also think that I'm a pretty generous and considerate mixer. The reason it takes me so long to mix is because I spend a large amount of time thinking about which songs the recipient of the mix would truly appreciate.

I once got a mix from a friend who didn't get it. I took two days flipping through my collection and creating a compilation of stuff that I knew he would really enjoy. And in return I got a generic disc full of current radio sap with a few of those "obscure" songs that everyone knows. And then I found out that he gave the same mix to his girlfriend the next day. So I still haven't listened to it. He, on the other hand, thanks me over and over again for introducing him to new music that he'd never heard of and that he really appreciates. I will never recycle a mix.

I always wonder if I take it too seriously but then I just tell myself that it's a hobby and people have a tendency to get really into their hobbies so it's okay. And usually the receivers of my mixes are happy with them.

The mix that I'm working on right now is tricky.

Crazy Love

A List of Today's Better Stuff:

1. Excellent cup of Columbian. I went to the Cyber Cafe to hang out with Kirsten, Mia, and Dan and I conceded to what I thought would be a mediocre cup of coffee. It was actually delicious--a medium roast with a rich presence and a charming (and weirdly nutty) aftertaste.

2. Room Decor. I decided earlier today that I'd like to hang some imported burlap coffee sacks around my half of the room. I'm working on getting some from Costa Rica and some from Columbia, my favorites. Figuring out where to hang them will be an issue. But they will make our room look so much more worldly. We already have a creased National Geographic map behind our futon. Let's kick it up a notch.

3. I wash my hands of "The Laramie Project." After an entire year, I am finally finished with this play. Unfortunately I misplaced the script before I had the opportunity to cite it at the end of my paper. Eesh. I didn't even get to say goodbye!

4. Hearing his voice. Little Bunny got a phone call from her Puma today. We talked about ham cubes at Ponderosa and Poison t-shirts and whatnot. Nothin' but a good time.

5. Quality time with Ellis. I finally have my guitar back at school after a terrible musical dry spell. I played through some of my old songs and it felt so great. I'm in love again. I just moistened a washcloth and rolled it up in the case to keep it from drying out. Such a drought in this room. I'm reminded of the song that I wrote from a translation from this Indian text: "The monsoon had come and was gone for a song/The rivers are dry as these hours are long." Just a little excerpt. The original text was about a woman waiting for her lover to return after the monsoon season. I adapted it to describe my creative drought. I think that was the lyric--it looks wrong logistically or something. Whatever. I pay my own bills.

6. Having a party. Roommate, Mia and I are planning a party for this Thursday night. At the library today we found a Lifetime DVD combo pack--"Mom at 16" and "Too Young to be a Dad" so we're going to borrow a projector from our hall and show them in one of our lounges on a big screen this Thursday night. We're making everyone wear pajamas and we'll probably carry on like a bunch of idiots. I'm excited:

Christine: I'll bring the nailpolish!
Me: I'll bring Tiger Beat!
Adam: I'll bring...testosterone!

And alas, I have discovered the missing sleepover ingredient that I was lacking in my youth.

7. Toxic B-Movie Meltdown! I bought two awful B-movies today at Marc's. One of them is called "The Bat" starring Vincent Price and Agnes Moorehead (I know, right!). The tagline is "When it flies, someone dies!" Then I got "Jekyll & Hyde: The Musical" starring David Hasselhoff on DVD. Wicked awesome.


I need to find the two books that I misplaced. This is really strange. What's my problem?

Wrapped Up in Books

I had one of those perfect mornings today. My alarm sounded at 9:00 but I was still feeling lethargic so I turned it off and slept for exactly five more minutes. It was great. Then I rolled over and grabbed Rita Dove from my bookshelf. I spent about a half an hour turning her pages under my heavy down comforter with my cat nestled beside me in one of its thick white billows. The introduction that Ms. Dove wrote for her anthology was a sort of childhood recollection that reminded me so much of myself when I was younger. Shy and precocious and fuelled by literature. She did all of the same things I did--memorizing all of the titles on the shelves and being able to spot the new additions every week, beaming excitedly over a stack of books "chin-high" at the circulation desk.

I was so inspired that I felt motivated to head over to my library. I took a very nice, quick shower (I usually try to stay under seven minutes--water conservation and all) and had a cup of fresh black coffee. Then I threw on a sweater vest and my sister's old Airwalks and headed off to be a bookish little nerd.

There was a Friends of the Library Sale today so I headed in there first and looked through all the titles for some gems. I actually found a lot of great stuff but I didn't feel like spending too much money today because my funds are kind of tight lately since I don't have regular income at the moment. I found "Love Liza" on VHS for fifty cents. Since I'm in love with Philip Seymour Hoffman, I bought it. The movie actually is very well done but completely depressing. Still, it was fifty cents! And it's Philly! Then I took a chance on a novel called "Death Rat!" by Mike Nelson. It looks completely hysterical. The cover looks like an old 60's b-movie poster and the inside of the jacket described what could be a truly delightful literary romp. The prize that I found was a copy of "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius" by Dave Eggers which I've been meaning to read for some time now. So now I have this giant list of books that I need to get through. I think this summer I'm going to try to read one or two a week--I'll make a calendar or something.

There was a big case with a bunch of the classics in it and I was paging through Ptolemy and Aquinas and then I really wanted to crack open Plato so I did and there were about three little cards tucked inside the front cover. So I started to read them. They were these really personal love notes from this guy named Paul to his lady, Deb. Some of the things he wrote made me blush. Actually, it sounds like they had quite a tumultuous relationship. Two of the cards said things like "Deb, I love you I love you I love you I love you. I never ever ever meant to hurt you that way. Please keep me" and he also quoted a song--I'm sure of it--but I couldn't place which song it was. I just knew that the words sounded way too familiar to be original. Then in one of them (a valentine) Paul said "I can't want to see you in that new teddie that you've been telling me about. You're so beautiful. Please wear it tonight." It was crazy! I kind of wanted to take the cards out of the book and carry them around and maybe use them in a poem or something. But I felt like a creep reading them in the first place so I just tucked them back in. I don't know how you could give away a book (especially Plato) without leafing through it or anything. Maybe Paul and Deb broke up and the books were a gift from Paul so Deb wanted to throw them out so she wouldn't have to think about him when she looked at her bookshelf. After all, the cards were addressed to her and they were obviously very comfortably tucked in that gathering place inside the cover.

So anyway I went into the library after that and picked up a few things:

Southern Culture on the Skids "Mojo Box." A guy I was in a play with recommended this band to me. I couldn't remember how I'd heard of them when I saw this CD on the rack but now I remember that it was him. I kind of miss him so I picked it up. He has a folk radio show now. They probably don't ever play Southern Culture on the Skids.

R.E.M "Automatic for the People." My sister had this CD growing up and I used to steal it. So now I'm gonna burn my own copy.

Rocket From the Crypt "Group Sounds." I'm actually revisiting this album. It's fresh. Good summer music--they definitely sound like a bunch of hard rocking Californians.

R.E.M. "In Time: The Best of R.E.M. 1988-2003." What can I say? Michael Stipe's voice makes me feel human.

Sam Cooke "Portrait of a Legend 1951-1964." Anyone who doesn't like Sam Cooke doesn't know what it feels like to love.

Then I picked up a giant book called "In Style: Weddings" upon my mother's request because of my sister's wedding. I felt really weird carrying it around. Usually when I'm at the library I try to give off an "I'm a young intelligent single woman" vibe just in case a charming gentleman wishes to discuss the finer points of whatever CD or book or film I have tucked under my arm. So today I have this HUGE coffee-table-sized book with WEDDINGS in giant letters onthe front cover. I can't hide it. Actually I can't even tuck it under my arm because it's so big. So for a while I feel like a bride-to-be which is pretty funny because all I'm doing is floating in and out of rows of bookshelves with little conviction in my step and frankly with nothing important on my mind. I'm sure that in a couple of months I'll be a little less carefree when my duties as Maid of Honor start to stack up. But for now I guess it's kind of cool to casually tote a book about weddings without worrying about how napkins are going to be folded and which flowers are going to be in season and which gifts are appropriate to give to the wedding party.

For now, I am going to settle in and get some studying done. Then I think I'd like to go thrifting. I feel so calm today.

On the Fly

I'm going to try writing a song in this blog--I've got my guitar in front of me and I feel some stuff rising up so here it is:

I don't believe that you are real
Most of the time
The sincerity in your eyes
convinces me otherwise

We meet in streetlit parking lots
Most of the time
But it never feels temporary when I'm with you
My fingers close the door and yours lock mine

And we're not wasting time
We're not wasting time

This kind of thing happens in the movies
All of the time
The two of us make a slow motion montage
sweeping across the screen in black and white

We share a jawline and pulse
When we've got time
Kissing at stoplights, studying friction
Making the truth more real than fiction

And we're not wasting time
No, we're not wasting time

Way Over Yonder in the Minor Key

Every now and then I run across a poem that speaks so strongly to me in a certain moment. The poem that I am posting today arrived into my life this afternoon as I was leafing through books of poetry at Parma Regional Library. There was a middle-aged bespectacled man with kind eyes standing on the other side of the shelf and we smiled at one another over the stacks and when I looked down this was staring up at me:

His shirt

does not show his
true colors. Ice-

blue and of stuff
so common

anyone
could have bought it,

his shirt
is known only

to me, and only
at certain times

of the day.
At dawn

it is a flag
in the middle

of a square
waiting to catch

chill light.
Unbuttoned, it's

a sail suprised
by boundless joy.

In candlelight at turns
a penitent's

scarf or beggar's
fleece, his shirt is

inapproachable.
It is the very shape

and tint
of desire

and could be mistaken
for something quite

fragile and
ordinary.

-Rita Dove


I had the opportunity to meet Rita Dove two weeks ago and I missed it. I was completely heartbroken for a while and I picked up this book today as a kind of sweet penance. But after reading this poem, I feel like I've already met her and like she knows me and what I think every second of every day. Especially lately.

I think I'm going to be alright this weekend.

Our Own Personal Hailstorm

Christine and I made a run for Borders today. I was pissed off because I checked online for all of the stuff I wanted and they only had one of the three items I went there for. And last night on the website they said that they had all three in stock! Bastards.

So I got the Awards Edition of "American Beauty" which is the one thing I really asked for for my birthday and the one thing I didn't get. They didn't have "Raise the Red Lantern" or "The 40-Year-Old Virgin"--well, actually they had the latter but it was $29.99 and that's rubbish. My gift card was for $30 and there was no way I was spending it on one DVD that I could get at Best Buy for $16.00. At least buying the one DVD got me a coupon for 30% off my next purchase. So now I can go to another Borders and save more money. I rule!

Anyway, the reason for this post is not to discuss my frugality or my frustration with chain bookstores. Nay, this post is significant for another reason.

On the way home, me and Christine were on the highway and I was just chilling in the passenger seat, rockin' to Kanye West and all of a sudden this slew of tiny little rock things poured down on us from above. It was coming off the top of this big ugly dirty semi that was chugging along in front of us. So we accelerated and tried to pass on the left and as we were passing I looked up to see the idiot who was driving the giant jalopy of spewage and it was this disgusting trucker who happened to be looking right at me. Like, his head was turned and he was staring me in the face. So what could I do? I looked up at him and smiled. Then he pulled on that chain thing and honked his horn.

The dude was disgusting and creepy. He had a terrible long, dark, unkempt beard ala ZZ Top and these giant aviator sunglasses. And his smile. Oh, his creepy, creepy smile. So I waved as we went past. And then I cowered into the soft grey fibers of my seat and wept softly as Kanye spit the second verse of "Golddigger."

I Make Myself Soar (and Sore.)

I'm on quite a high right now. I actually got to sleep in today for a change. I had some trippy dreams last night which is bizarre because I don't usually remember my dreams and I hate dreaming to begin with. Oh well. I woke up and everything was cool--I definitely sat up in bed though to see if the dude who tried to kill my parents was still bleeding on the floor after I had cut the tendons behind his knees. That was seriously one of my dreams.

A friend of mine once told me that there are still countries in the world where they make "yes or no" decisions by slashing the tendons behind the knees of one of the village peasants and if he falls forward the answer is yes and if he falls backwards the answer is no. Granted, this girl who told me this is the same girl who said that you can rearrange the letters in Michael Eisner's name to spell "Lucifer" but I still thought it was an interesting concept.

So anyway I had a bit of a sore throat this morning but I still had a lot of energy. I finally wrote a new song last night which was a good note to fall asleep on. I'm quite proud of the song really. I think he wants to be played slow. I'm not 100% sure yet though. Maybe I should slice through a peasant's tendons to decide.

I actually "worked-out" today. I wanted to listen to records and figured since I had all of this pent-up energy that I should burn some of it. So I jogged for a while on this small trampoline that we have at home (or the Urban Trainer as my mom and I call it) and worked with a few small weights and then I did a lot of yogic stuff for my muscles. I made it through two records before I quit. I could have gone longer I think but I have a short attention span I guess. I listened to NIN's "With Teeth" and the Police's "Outlandos D'Amour" which are excellent work-out albums. It's a hell of a lot better than sweating to the oldies.

That reminds me. Yesterday in the cars I was in at different times I randomly checked the radio to see if they were in fact still playing crap, and I ran into three Beach Boys songs. This was in a span of about six hours. And it wasn't like "Don't Worry Baby" or "God Only Knows." They were playing "California Girls" and "Surfin' USA" and "Kokomo." And I got so pissed. Because it's Cleveland. And I don't want to think about Kokomo. And they never play the Beach Boys this much during other times of the year when it's actually appropriate. I don't want to think about bodies in the sand and tropical drinks melting in my hand. It's depressing.

Right now I'm absorbing some new music. Yesterday I grabbed some stuff at the library again. In case anyone is curious, here's the list:

Common- "Be." I'm a big fan of Common. I was really into his one album "Like Water for Chocolate" a few years ago. This one is great as well. Not as good as the aforementioned though. Kanye stepped in and changed things around a bit.

Misfits- "Walk Among Us." I've been casually involved with the Misfits for awhile and last year my cousin's band opened a show for them and I got excited about them again, even though they are just way too old right now. Aging punks are depressing. They should all die young. Anyway, it was pretty shameful that I didn't have this album. So now I do.

The Concretes- "The Concretes." I was physically attracted to this CD because of its cover art, which reminded me of the art on the liner notes of the Wilco album "A Ghost is Born." I don't think they're connected since Wilco is on Nonesuch and the Concretes are on Astralwerks. Although Brian Eno did do some work with David Byrne on Nonesuch...and stop the dorkiness. Anyway, I made a good choice. The album is really easy and smart--a cool surf-beat on the drums and some tasteful guitar work. And the lead vocalist sounds tasty. Sometimes you can tell just by looking at a person..er, album.

Over the Rhine- "Ohio." My friend James recommended this album to me over a year ago. I really do enjoy Over the Rhine. They're one of those bands that I get cravings for. And this album is just superb. It's so much more powerful and packs a much more artistic punch than "Drunkard's Prayer." I'm in love.

Iron & Wine- "The Sea & the Rhythm." Greatest ever. This one's just an EP and after I brought it home I realized that I'd already heard all of the songs on it. But really it's good. And beards are good too.

And now some really great stuff that's written in the liner notes from Over the Rhine's "Ohio:"

"Like love, a voice can flood a life with possibility, the mouth of a river flowing from somewhere faraway yet familiar."

"We don't listen much to our own records after they get made, but we find ourselves replaying again and again many of the conversations that take place underneath and around those songs. We talked abotu Bob Dylan Starter-Kits and Tom Waits Finishing School. Sweaty hickey parties and haunted pianos with broken hearts. Shock and awe, oil and joy. We talked about how we're often more interesting when we're misunderstood. And about God, and meditation, and the waitress at the Greek restaurant. We talked about the fact that we had 21 new songs and not one damn hit."

And now I want to get back into the studio.

Start Me Up

I should have named my car. I feel like I'm trapped in the final moments of some terrible Lifetime movie called "She's Too Young to Die" or something. And I'm standing over my 2000 Seafoam Blue Toyota Echo with a fistful of black and with a furrowed brow and just one tear creeping down my cheek and settling on my quivering lip.

So I lay the flowers down on the frosted hood and I turn around and bite my lip and curse at the sky. "I never even knew her name. I never even knew her name!"

Alright so maybe it's not over yet. The truth of the matter is that I've been trying all day to start my car and all she's giving me are these pathetic churning sounds and little ejaculatory revs that hiss dejectedly when I turn my key and remove it from the ignition.

Thankfully, I'm at home tonight. So my dad was just able to do man tricks on it or something a few minutes ago and get it into the garage. I'm concerned though. I love this car. Yea, she's little but she's all I've known. And I've been through a lot in her. And let's not forget--she's only six years old! She's a baby! And a Japanese baby at that! The Japanese don't age! Look at Ken Watanabe for Pete's sake.

Maybe I should name my car Watanabe. Or Akira. Akira would be a cool name for a car. I hope it's not too late to give it a name. I'm gonna do better this time. I'm gonna do like Queen Latifah in "Last Holiday." I'm gonna dress Akira up in a white faux fur pimp coat and take her out to eat at really great restaurants and I'm gonna let her pick the music for once because frankly, I do tend to bogart the radio. And I'm gonna clean out her trunk and get rid of all those old copies of Scene Magazine and all of those blankets and empty bottles that have been festering up in there for so long.

And I'm gonna tell her I love her. Dammit I'm gonna tell her I love her.

Shaking in the Wind

It sounds so violent outside right now. The wind is just assaulting. I actually feel a little nervous and frightened, which sounds silly, but I guess all the horror movies I've seen since I was a kid have conditioned me to expect bad things to rise up with the wind.

I didn't have the greatest of mornings today. And it's strange because I think in the back of my mind I knew it was going to be that way when I went to bed last night. I listened to the Smiths and the last song I heard before bed was "Heroin" by the Velvet Underground. As much as I love that song for what it is, I just don't think it's a good one to fall asleep to. I woke up and dressed myself in black from head to toe. Then I cracked the blinds and saw the rain.

I don't feel the need to talk about why my morning was so poor or why I fell asleep this afternoon in the dark with the stereo on and then again with the television on. I woke up from a really bizarre dream and ended up feeling even worse than I did when I first lied down.

Katy and I finished up the screenplay that we're working on this afternoon. It's funny. I'm proud of it. I can't wait to produce it. After that we walked together to the Book & Bean and skipped over puddles and acted like wee school girls. She's really an awesome girl. So I made a purchase at the B&B and then we scurried back to the hall.

I don't have much to say really. Nothing of consequence. I am floating over and through things right now. I feel as though I am lying belly up in a warm swimming pool in late summer. At night when the streetlights surround me this sensation is heightened. And with the wind blowing against my back and pushing me forward I feel light. I feel a stronger connection with nature in this type of weather. I want to cling to the wet grass and stand in the puddles of rain on the sidewalk until the stagnant water soaks through the canvas of my tennis shoes. I think it's because everything feels so temporary at this time of year. The sun, the rain, the snow--it's all so fleeting. You can't count on it. So when you get it, you make the most of it.

When something special comes around you make the most of it and you never take it for granted. And it's always completely worth the wait. I think I learned that more than once this week.

Schmalentine's Day

February 13th, 2004: "Tomorrow is Valentine's Day/Singles Awareness Day. It's interesting to see how Valentine's Day has become such a parody of itself. If you're not making fun of Valentine's Day, you're taking it too seriously.

February 14th, 2005: "I probably shouldn't say this but I have three "valentines" this year. I don't know which one of my gentleman callers I'd like to eat barbecue with first...Yea not really. I mean, I do and I don't, but not really. Follow? Me either. It's a shame that even though I have three valentines, I'll probably be stuck in my room tonight alone watching movies. What a waste of a night off. Oh well. It's a day. A DAY for Pete's sake. I'm cooler/better/awesomer than any day."

Those are quotes from my old blog. I felt the need to comment on Valentine's Day since it happens tomorrow. I'm sure most people I know expect me to maintain my cynical perspective and to continue my tradition of bashing the day with firey resentment. Things are a little different this year though.

Normally I would live the day as any other day and only acknowledge its existence if one of my friends spontaneously asked me to rap on it. And I'd say how ridiculous the whole thing is. Because it really is. If there's one thing I can't stand more it's something that's been fabricated solely to evoke false sentimentality. It's why I can't stand Nicholas Sparks. Everything he writes is written to force his reader to feel a certain way. I hate being forced to feel. I hate things that are "touching." So to me Valentine's Day has always been deplorable.

This year I can't hate February 14th because I actually have some special plans that I'm very excited about. They're sort of vague at the moment but the important thing is that I'm going to spend time with a dynamite fellow. I still hate Valentine's Day--don't worry. But now it's more of a streamlined hatred that allows for me to actually enjoy myself in the face of all of that blatant pink and red and lacey adversity.

There are a few things that I enjoy about Valentine's Day. For one, I really do like those Necco Brand Conversation Hearts although I'm finding that anymore they are bending over backwards a bit too far to accomodate for my generation's flash-in-the-pan slang. When I pull out a powdery little purple heart and see "TEXT ME" stamped on it, I cringe a little bit. I think this year Necco has a Neil Young fan because I ate one the other day that said "♥ OF GOLD." No complaints about that one.

I think I'm going to lie down on roomie's futon and watch a movie. We've had it folded down in its "bed-mode" for about a week now and it's great. Very Austin Powers, only without the shagging. Mostly it's just cool to sprawl out and read in a giant pile of pillows and blankets.

I'm 99% sure that roomie and I are getting an apartment next year. I'm excited. We're soul mates.

I need a haircut in a major way. I barely have curls anymore and I look really shaggy. I have to wait until Saturday though for my appointment. Bummer!

It's so cold outside. My face hurts.

I Love the Hades

A truly excellent birthday so far and it's not even 5:00 yet.

I think the Maelstrom meeting was my favorite part of the day. I've really found my niche with these folks. Last year I knew I wanted to be a part of their elite little group of exclusivists the day I was forced to attend the Student Activities Fair and I saw them all sitting cross-legged in a corner with a guitar and a case full of satire. I naturally gravitated towards them and we've been orbiting happily together ever since.

It doesn't bother me anymore that we don't get funding. I'm so happy with this publication and I can't believe that in a short year I went from the youngest staff writer in history to the co-editor-in-chief. I'm so happy. Maelstrom is the best thing that's happened to me at school.

Now I've got to run out. I'll edit later.

EDIT:
I won second place!
My previously posted essay on being in love with the pudgy choir boy ended up winning second place in the Cleveland Free Times Valentine's Day essay contest. I didn't win anything concrete, but it's pretty cool to be printed, especially in one of my favorite publications.

Right now Pumpkin and Honey Bunny are talking about robbery! I love "Pulp Fiction" a lot.

I got the cake I wanted. My dad went to my favorite local bakery and picked up a small cassata cake and had it written on for me. So sweet of him. I think tonight is going to be a movie/cake night. I think I feel like watching "Seven Samurai." Although ABC Family is showing "Cruel Intentions" tonight which I just can't even begin to comprehend. That movie is such smut--it's the kind of movie that tries so hard to be overtly sexual that it becomes laughable. Maybe I'll watch it.

For now, I'm gonna clean my area and have a nap. Keep on rockin' in the free world.

No other label will do...

Today I got a call from a politician friend of mine. It was about 10:30. The roomie and I were just having a good time watching "Swingers" in honor of my birthday next week. (It's the tenth anniversary of the first time I saw that film--it's a film that had a profound effect on the way that I watch movies.)

So anyway this fella called and asked if I wanted to "wander around" with him. He was in the Giant Eagle at the time, holding a loaf of Italian bread he said. And he wanted me to meet him there so we could sit outside and eat the bread. He even described his attire, apparently trying to seduce me from my comfy lair. A cowboy hat, a pair of Nike sweatpants, and a Thundercats t-shirt. (The sad thing is, it almost worked.)

Seriously though. Weird call. "Come out and wander around with me and eat this loaf of dry bread." I love it. I love imagining what it would have been like if I'd actually gone. I see us sitting on a tree lawn watching a bunch of drunken idiots swaggering and howling around Beech Street. And we'd eat about three slices of the bread and then get tired of it and go to Coe Lake and throw it in for the sunfish and the ducks. Although I don't think there are many ducks at Coe Lake this time of year.

I'm thrilled that my apartment next year is going to be near the lake. Like, right on the lake. And the Berea library is just a mere fifty paces past the steps to the bank. I cannot wait to revel in my geeky glory. Usually I have to walk a while to get there and the weather is so bizarre that there have been times when it starts raining just as I reach the boardwalk. I need to stop writing about this. I'll get cabin fever.

I actually have plans on my birthday this year. Usually I stay in, watch a movie, and lay low until someone calls and rousts me out. I'm a bit of a hermit I guess and birthdays are never very different. This year it's off to dinner and to see "Rent." I think my eighteenth was the lamest birthday ever. I dressed up and waited for someone to call and then when nobody did I locked myself in the basement and watched "Lost in Translation" in the dark...in FULLSCREEN. Eewwww.

I'm so tempted to head out for a walk right now. Campus is scary on Thursday nights though. Don't want to be found all swollen and strangled underneath the fountain in Coe Lake.

Yea, sorta like her...

This week at our Maelstrom meeting we agreed on whoring ourselves out for a special "Blind Date" issue. Readers who are interested in dating any of our staff writers are supposed to send e-mails to us with 75 words on why they want to get with us. Then we have to go on dates with these people and report on it. Completely bizarre, eh? Instead of putting our pictures in Maelstrom, we're all submitting photos of "look-alike" celebrities. I've narrowed down my search to three, based on the suggestions of my staff:

Lisa Loeb. I can see it I guess. We both have glasses and we wear scarves and yes, there was a time when I found the film "Reality Bites" to be completely life-changing, on a more pathetic level than Loeb who basically owes her face to Ethan Hawke for giving "Stay" a shot. I think she was 19 at that time or something and she didn't have a recording contract or anything. That was a total digression. Anyway we're both folk/pop musicians. I don't straighten my hair or anything so cool like that but I think I'm sweeter than her because I'm not obsessed with Hello Kitty trinkets.

Tina Fey. I get this one the most--people have actually told me, unprompted, that I remind them of Tina Fey. I take this as a pretty high compliment because she's pretty kickass. We both rock the satirical humor thing,we have a similar smirk, and of course the trademark specs help. This picture is a total glamour shot but her hair is more like mine in it so I chose this one. Her dress is so friggin' shiny!

Daria Morgendorffer. I get this one a lot too, mostly from this chick at work. I'd like to think that I vary the inflection of my unusually husky voice a little bit more than her, but I like the whole "think fast, talk slow" vibe. And I own that green jacket--really I do. I'll have to get a picture of myself in it to freak people out. That show was great until Daria started dating. Daria's not supposed to have a boyfriend. Maybe I should stop comparing myself to Daria.

I really do love writing for Maelstrom because I can do ridiculous stuff like this every week. Plus I can meet my "one-date-a-semester" quota. It's too bad we don't have funding though because I'll probably have to go dutch and it's probably not going to be worth it at all. Or maybe I should just start worrying about people actually responding to our contest ad...hmm.

Swoon

I've got weaknesses. Driving with the windows down, per my last entry, is one of them. You know what? I'm gonna make a list. So now all you evil-doers can easily thwart me/seduce me/make me cry at will. Any of this stuff will bring me to my knees:
1. The Cure
2. Rosati's Frozen Custard (particularly Key Lime Pie, Birthday Cake, and Apple Pie
3. Farinacci's pizza
4. Pineapple (the food, the smell.)
5. The following colors: Grey, green, black, brown, and pumpkin.
6. Hands
7. Flannel shirts
8. Guitars
9. Hot tea
10. Chai
11. Black Coffee
12. Being underneath anything
13. Dinner & Play (Instead of a movie)
14. Ellis Paul's music
15. Good lyrics
16. Poetry
17. Board games! (Even though I'm good at them, I can't say no!)
18. Being asked to do anything. I love to be ordered around.
19. Teachers and professors
20. Tweed jackets with elbow patches
21. Scarves
22. Baseball movies
23. Dimmer switches
24. Sitting in the two seats at Cinemark or wherever where you can look over the railing at the people coming in. I don't know what it is about that spot but I get soft when I sit there.
25. The following voices: Adam Duritz, Ben Lesh, Ellis Paul, Sting (especially early stuff), Dane Castle (can sing my clothes off), Elvis Costello, Chris Robinson, Peter Gabriel, Fiona Apple, Simon & Garfunkel
26. Vinyl
27. Movie soundtracks
28. Sno-Caps
29. Swedish Fish
30. Any Ed Norton movie (even "Death to Smoochy")
31. Film Noir
32. Trivia of any kind. I won't stop until I find the answer.
33. Saturday Night Live re-runs. (Especially from the Belushi era.)
34. Beards
35. Natural bodies of water
36. The library
37. Mix tapes
38. Midnight walks
39. Road trips
40. Evenings in quiet, independent coffee houses
41. Live music
42. Challenging conversation
43. Argyle (sweaters, socks, whatever.)
44. Corduroy
45. The lingering smell of stale cigarettes
46. Autumn (especially late September)
47. Snow
48. Bumper stickers
49. Cult films
50. The jukebox.

Pop suture

It's not particularly warm outside. In fact, there is a tiny little bite in the air today. This is good because I can wear my trademark plaid scarf and my brown skully. Still, it's warm enough for me to drive with my windows down and breathe everything in. I think if the temperature were five degrees higher, I'd feel perfect today.

I sense a lot of potential growing everywhere. Call it a side-effect of February, the melted snow, the wet lawn, Philip Seymour Hoffman's SAG Award...but I feel like things are waiting to get fresh.

I don't have much material for an entry today. But I did want to document the weather today because it feels notable. I sang in my car on the way to the library with my windows down today and I think I was smirking the whole way there. A few of the strangers that I passed where actually responsive--mostly men, but a few women as well.

I have been getting miffed at old people lately when I drive. I have bad ears so I usually have my music up at a moderate-to-loud level. I don't pump my bass or anything and I'm usually considerate at stop lights by turning down the stereo until I'm moving again. But I get some really dirty looks from older people who pass by in cars or on sidewalks. It pisses me off because I feel like I'm being judged. Like maybe they think I'm some hoodlum druggie chick or something. Even when I'm cranking Dean Martin I get weird looks. So today I unapologetically listened to "Sexx Laws" by Beck and then "Fit But You Know It" by the Streets at a decent volume and it felt great. I don't need to surrender my musical pleasure to a bunch of narrow, sour people.

I picked up some stuff at the library today:

Tom Petty: The Last DJ. I've been meaning to listen to this album in its entirety for a long while now. I was feeling pretty hippie-ish today so this is a testimony to that.

Lisa Loeb: The Way it Really Is. Lisa is my girl. I hope this album is as sweet as its cover.

Queen Latifah: The Dana Owens Album. I'm in love with Queen Latifah. Seriously I want to eat scones with her or something. She sings some standards on this one which should be a little bit of a departure from the days of "Unity." Ha.

Allison Moorer: The Duel. I've never heard of her. Her album cover intrigued me and that's pretty much all it takes to get me interested. I've been known to buy movies and CDs just because looking at them makes me feel good. I've got skills when it comes to snap-judgements. The first two tracks on this are so real.

Bamboozled. I enjoy this movie. Yesterday I watched 25th Hour again and I remembered how much I think Spike Lee is boss. I represent Tarantino too. I'll keep this movie away from Pulp Fiction on my bookshelf. Just like I put dividers between my Van Halen/Van Hagar albums.

The Cooler. I've wanted to see this movie since it was in our local art theater. Mmm Bill Macy.

Walker Percy's The Moviegoer. I've been looking for a follow-up novel to Sex, Drugs, & Cocoa Puffs. I wanted something different so this seemed like a good way to go.

I think if there were a movie made about my life, I'd want one of the following people to play me:
-Tina Fey
-Lisa Loeb
-Scarlett Johansson
-Thora Birch
-Miranda July
-Haley Joel Osment (because he really needs the work right now.)
Of course by the time I actually do something sweet that might warrant a biopic, most of these people will be too old. Hollywood sucks.

No sleeves.

Last night I acted like I was in college and it was probably the best night I've had during my college social career. Really.

I like thinking of my life as a series of completely trivial individual moments that create a larger and much more enlightented product.

I'm being careful about saying that I wasn't "myself" last night. Because really, I was absolutely the same person that I've always been. But there were a few small changes that I must have made--intentionally or unintentionally. I was a different version of myself and I wish I could have seen what happened from the outside.

I wanted to project myself everywhere in that basement. I wanted to hang from the wooden rafters and the dusty rusted pipes and I wanted to crouch beneath the bar and look from below and see what my feet were doing while the rest of me was completely surrendered to something so incredibly visceral. I wanted to know if I could see my toes curling through the tops of my shoes and I wanted to see the shape that his jawline took.

What an excellent and truly surprising series of events. And I don't mind not knowing which part of the bigger picture this fits into. It was a fantastic series of moments and I look forward to making more of them, however unconnected or trivial they may seem.

Guess who?

Here's my entry for the Cleveland Free Times "Worst Valentine's Day Ever" Essay Contest:

He wasn’t classically attractive. Not in that heavy-lidded James Dean in a worn leather jacket sense. He was chubby and his wardrobe consisted of a seven-sweater rotation that he teamed with the same baggy jeans and suede flat-soled tennis shoes every day of the week. As far as I knew he’d never had a girlfriend. He wasn’t a Prom king or a quarterback or the honor society president—he was accessible. I’ll call him Dominic Fabrizzi to protect his name and to ensure that there are no questions regarding his heritage.
Dominic stood a few people to my left on the second riser up in our high school’s highest-level choir. I was an alto and he was a tenor with a rock star’s timbre—think of a portly Steve Perry with better hair and, again, only slightly looser fitting jeans. That’s what he sounded like. If you closed your eyes and listened closely during our choir’s take on Handel’s Messiah, every one of Dominic’s lines sounded like they could be alternate verses to “Open Arms.”
The other girls would giggle in appreciation when Dom belted out melody with those magic pipes but the thing that really made me swoon was his sense of humor. I loved him for his self-deprecation and his impeccable comic timing that breathed life into every theatrical production our school ever put on. He was just good. I imagined my sense of humor blending with his and how we would jive together if I could ever get the courage to speak to him. I foresaw both of our mental pop culture reference libraries blinking back and forth like little green lights on a network hub—and believe me, I wanted to interface. We’d be like Belushi and Radner: a perfect mix of husky frat-boy foolery and dweeby schoolgirl giddiness.
The trouble with this whole situation was a complete lack of communication. Mostly I stared pathetically out of the corner of my eye while we did our solfege exercises so I could see the fleeting but marvelous pout that his lips took on when they made a smooth transition from singing “mi” to “fa.” On days when I was feeling a little bolder, I would smirk innocently at him as we reached for our music folders before the bell rang. Some might say I was being coy. These people were wrong. I was being a total wuss.
I’ve always been a wuss when it comes to men. I still am. Maybe it has something to do with the way I’ve always seen myself as the smart, funny girl. I’ve never thought of myself as being pretty or attractive—I still don’t, even now that I’ve escaped the cruel conformist clutches of public high school. It was my senior year in that high school when I first realized my feelings for Dominic. If I was going to get him to notice the quirky girl to his right on the second riser up in choir, I was going to have to get brazen.
I asked around and friends of Dominic said that he always appreciates personality and creativity in a girl. I had both of those things so all I needed was a modus operandi to get him to realize that I was everything he wanted in a woman and maybe even more. (After all, this was the same year that I learned how to make homemade pie crust!) So one evening as I was putting my clothes away and noticed a blank t-shirt at the bottom of a drawer, it occurred to me that I should just go for it and wear my heart on my sleeve…in the most literal sense.
I immediately took a thick black sharpie to the clean untouched fiber of the straggler of a white t-shirt that I had earlier spotted in my drawer and feverishly scrawled the first thing that I thought of on the front of it: “Gee, I really wish Dominic Fabrizzi would ask me for a date.” I grabbed a red sharpie and drew a comic-inspired thought bubble around the text with an arrow pointing up towards my face. Then I added a few little red hearts, just in case the message itself was too subtle. I stared at the shirt from an arm’s length away and it looked creepily professional for how fast I had created it. I didn’t consider the possibility of Dominic thinking that it might be creepy; I was so determined that I was being creative and showing my true personality that I stuffed the thing in my backpack with all of my other homework and zipped the thing shut. I slept with a smile on my face and with little specs of sharpie littering my fingernails like tobacco stains.
The next morning at school I wore the shirt under a sweater that I pulled off as I entered the choir room. I sat down on the riser and waited for his eyes to meet mine. And they did. And then they met with the text on my shirt. I pulled the loose tendrils of hair behind my ears and felt my face get hot. I smiled a little bit and I think I started to squint as I tried to read him. He laughed nervously and climbed up the riser, fiddling with his choir folder. We spoke about it the next day. Then we never spoke again. I was completely heartbroken. I’ve since decided that actual conversation is a better foundation for a relationship than a homemade t-shirt. I kept watching him out of the corner of my eye in choir for the rest of my senior year and I came back to high school a year later to watch him sing “Open Arms” at the senior choir show. I think Dominic got over the whole t-shirt thing. I hope he has anyway—we go to the same college now and I've been thinking about joining choir again.

Feedback is always appreciated.

They better be making soup

Well, a friend of mine asked me to fill out this survey sort of thing. I objected at first because I usually make my lists in "5's" like Rob in "High Fidelity" but I broke down and decided to do it. I added a few items that I felt needed to be added.

4 Things

FOUR JOBS YOU'VE HAD IN YOUR LIFE
1. Local newspaper delivery bitch. In my grandma's neighborhood. They handed me ten dollars every week, and fifteen when there was a "newsletter"
2. T-shirt presser/manager at Hometeam Sports Memories. Yes, that's right. I actually hand-pressed mass amounts of t-shirts every day. On slow days though, it was great. I worked alone and read a lot.
3. Head of Internet Sales & Shipping/Guitar & music saleslady at the Karaoke Kandy Store. Yes, a karaoke store. They exist. And I'm still marginally employed there.
4. Editor-in-chief and staff writer for BW's Maelstrom. Stick it to the Man. Alternative press rules.

FOUR JOBS YOU'D LIKE TO HAVE
1. Staff writer for The Onion or SNL
2. Owner of a record store/coffee shop
3. Whale trainer (seriously)
4. Owner of an independent movie theater

FOUR MOVIES YOU COULD WATCH OVER AND OVER
1. Love Actually (I like to cry myself to sleep watching this one.)
2. Kill Bill Volume 1 (Even though I prefer Volume 2, it's more fun for me to watch Volume 1 repeatedly.)
3. American Beauty (I once watched this film three times consecutively)
4. The Wedding Singer (Four times in a week!)

FOUR CITIES YOU'VE LIVED IN:
1. Cuyahoga Heights, OH
2. Brecksville, OH
3. Berea, OH
4. I lived in Cincinnati for about a week once. Yea the whole "moving" thing will probably happen someday but college is sort of getting in the way right now. Anyway, Cleveland is a pretty okay city. You get what you put in around here.

FOUR TV SHOWS YOU LOVE TO WATCH
1. Saturday Night Live
2. The Colbert Report
3. The Office
4. Grounded for Life (Because I want to do Donal Logue)

FOUR PLACES YOU'VE BEEN ON VACATION:
1. Punta Cana en la Republica Dominicana. I fulfilled one of my life's dreams there--I swam with a shark. I broke away from the beach with my snorkel and happened upon what I'm pretty sure was a baby port jackson shark in a small patch of reef. Someday I'll graduate to bigger sharks.
2. Seattle, Washington. A beautiful and truly unique city. I love all the piers and the artisans on the streets. My kind of weather too.
3. Bar Harbor, Maine. Whale-watching, The McLobster, rock climbing and hopping. So perfect. If I ever become a great and famous writer I will buy property here.
4. Yellowstone National Park. My favorite area was in Wyoming.

FOUR PLACES YOU'D LIKE TO GO ON VACATION:
1. California. Specifically Napa Valley or maybe even San Francisco. I have no desire to see LA.
2. Ireland. Seriously let's go right now.
3. Japan. As much as I'd love to see Japan's countryside, I'd probably do better in Tokyo since I don't speak Japanese. I could be like Bill Murray in "Lost in Translation."
4. Shark Bay, Australia. Remember that part about graduating to bigger sharks? There you go.

FOUR WEBSITES YOU VISIT DAILY:
1. www.bw.edu/campus. I check my mail a lot. A LOT.
2. www.livejournal.com/login.bml. Yea, I have another blog.
3. www.imdb.com. I'm one of those geeks that communicates on message boards about film.
4. www.facebook.com. I am, after all, an American college student.

FOUR OF YOUR ALL-TIME FAVORITE RESTAURANTS:
1. Stancato's of Richfield
2. La Dolce Vita, Little Italy Cleveland
3. The Tin Angel, Philadelphia. (Best bangers & mash I've e'er tasted!)
4. Blaggard's Pub, NYC (The one on West 38th)

FOUR MEN/WOMEN YOU'VE THOUGHT ABOUT IN THE PAST FOUR DAYS:
1. Matt McKenna, my co-producer from BuzzTV. I had such a crush on him. Then I found out about the whole "I'm married" thing and I realized it just wasn't going to work out.
2. James Catullo. He was in my intermediate improv class and he's positively delightful. We've been e-mailing back and forth and it's fun.
3. Shawn Gaines. He's got a new lady and I'm not her. Good for him. Life goes on!
4. Angela Spisak. I need to call her. It's been a while.

FOUR OF YOUR FAVORITE FOODS:
1. Pesto. On bread, on pasta--I love it.
2. Veggie lo mein
3. Quiche
4. Diet Coke. It counts, bitch. And yes, I do eat meat, contrary to what one might imply from my answers.

FOUR SCHOOLS YOU'VE ATTENDED
1. Highland Elementary
2. Chippewa Elementary
3. Oakes Road Middle
4. Brecksville Middle/High (I got bounced around because I was "gifted")

FOUR OF YOUR FAVORITE THINGS TO WEAR
1. My big heavy black ribbed Eddie Bauer sweater--I pretend that I borred it from my nonexistent boyfriend.
2. My black Pumas
3. My glasses!
4. My black Mossimo jeans, cuffed.

FOUR ALBUMS YOU LISTEN TO ALL THE WAY THROUGH
1. The White Stripes "Elephant"
2. Ellis Paul's "American Jukebox Fables"
3. The Police "Synchronicity"
4. Over the Rhine "Drunkard's Prayer"

FOUR PLACES YOU'D RATHER BE RIGHT NOW:
1. Bed
2. On a couch with James Catullo
3. At the river ford (during summer though, reading.)
4. In a loft. Any loft, really.

Alright. There it is. Never again.

Only in the Movies

This morning I woke up and hit my head on the ceiling. I guess that's the price you eventually pay when you loft your bed. The strange thing is that I've lofted my bed for two years now and this is the first time it's happened. It really hurt. I'm still feeling it.

When it happened though I was reminded of two films:

1) "Zoolander", simply because he hits his head in similar comic fashion.
2) "Magnolia" because of my make-believe boyfriend Philip Seymour Hoffman's excellent telephone monologue.

His character discusses the possibility of extraordinary circumstances and quasi-cinematic occurances happening in real life and he painfully tries to convince someone else to believe that what he is saying is not some fantastic fabricated sob-story. In fact, in the opening of this movie the narrator tells us, "These strange things happen all the time." And I think that hitting my head this morning was a case of life imitating art or the other way around or something. Then I went to turn on the TV and it was already on. I had it set to "Input 2" last night whilst I was watching a movie and I must have forgotten to turn it off. So when I pushed the power button on the remote, I heard a click and nothing happened. It was strange.

Last night I saw a screening of the new Woody Allen film, "Match Point." As always, he offers up a really insightful and captivating (if sometimes slow-moving) exploration of the politics of sex and ambiguity of love. Scarlett Johansson was weird. I mean, I love her a lot but I guess I wasn't used to seeing her playing such a forward and overtly sexual woman. To me she's still the awkward indie girl from "Ghost World" with a thrift store skirt and a crush on the guy at the gas station. I make bizarre connections with characters in movies.

I hope that I never hit my head on the ceiling again--not because it was so painful--but because if it happens again it won't be such a special occurance anymore.

The girl next door is singing some horrid radio "country" hit. I like the old country--back when it knew what it was. Hank Williams, Johnny Cash, Loretta Lynn, George Jones.

I can't think of anything good to say. I think I'm going to finish watching "Girl, Interrupted" and simultaneously forge bizarre connections with two of my favorite cinematic foils. (Susanna (Angelina Jolie) Kaysen and Lisa Rowe (Winona Ryder)). )))))(().