This is not cohesive

I introduced some friends of mine to Rosati's Frozen Custard yesterday.

We were supposed to meet there at two o' clock. I left early because I had some errands to run--gas station, library. I ended up arriving there about ten minutes early.

As soon as I pulled in I saw two friends of mine in the rearview mirror--they were just leaving with their bowls full of birthday cake custard. He was wearing his Mets jacket which he always wears in this kind of weather but now he's got a reason to wear it with pride (even though now he spends a lot of time making sure that I remember how long he's been wearing it--he's definitely not a sheep.) I got out of my car and had a nice chat with them, a chat that was slightly interrupted by some more folks I know pulling into the driveway and saying hello.

Eventually they all left and I retired to my car to wait, as my friends were running a little bit behind. (I am generally obsessive about being a few minutes early for things though so it's not their fault.) I was leaning against the back bumper of my car when I felt a strong sense of belonging come over me. My feet are planted, my friends are here, my favorite custard flavor arrives like clockwork every summer. The girls behind the counter know me.

The only thing different is the price of the custard--it's up 30 cents. I don't know how I feel about that. I actually felt hardcore walking up to the counter with $1.60, all ready to pay, and then I totally got inflation'd. No matter. It's still delicious.

Later in the day I went to my favorite consignment shop and they remembered me there as well. It feels good to make an impression on people, even if that impression is "Why does this girl keep coming here every freakin' week? Is she honestly this pathetic?"

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There's something about Chinese food. I see it, I smell it, it's mentioned, and I need it. I get insatiable cravings that won't be ignored. So last night when I was at the Giant Eagle and I passed a stack of cans of water chestnuts, the free-association gnomes that live in my head started screaming "Chinese! Chinese!" in a frighteningly shrill falsetto.

I drove to South China Wok first but SCW is expensive and I decided that I didn't necessarily need their white garlic sauce. So I went a few extra miles to Mom's Wok where the lo mein is $3.25 instead of $5.75. Actually, I opted for sauteed vegetables and a veggie spring roll for a grand total of $4.50. Take that, sucka! I went home, poured the contents onto a plate, dipped my fortune cookie in vanilla ice cream, and seeped some fresh Japanese Cherry tea.

I don't know why I feel the need to write about this actually. Last night it seemed more important. There was this formula that I considered:

1) House to myself
2) Nobody calling me back
3) Listening to Elliott Smith in the rain
4) Reading Dave Eggers whilst waiting for my Chinese
5) Entertaining the idea of being alone for the rest of the night eating Chinese food on the floor by myself like they do in the movies.

But then my friend came over to watch the new episode of Degrassi and anything that I could have written that would have any sort of merit just sort of took a holiday.

I think I just wanted to post in here again so I don't forget about it.

It's a Film!

I went into labor at about 10:30 this morning and finally, tonight at 7:32, I gave birth to a beautiful baby film. She was about 43 minutes long and weighed about as much as a standard DV tape.

Unfortunately, she was born premature so there were a few imperfections when she came into this world, but after a few more hours of minor surgery, I couldn't be more proud of her.

Her aunts showed up today to celebrate and were on hand to experience the miracle of cinematic life. It seems like only yesterday we were clamoring over the storyboarded sonograms that depicted what our little girl might look like upon entering the universe, but we never could have imagined her blossoming into something so wonderful.

Now she is nestled in comfortably on the corner of my desk, taking in the air and the light around her (but not too much light--I'm carefully regulating the temperature that her sensitive little film is exposed to.

In two days I will be ready to share her with everyone who supported me during my pregnancy over these past nine weeks (give or take.) I'm also very thankful to those people who were there during her conception--from now on, I'm calling Cassie, Kirsten, and Katy my sperm donors.

Enough of this ridiculous extended metaphor. I'm going to do other work.

The Cast Breaks a Leg

So I'm almost completely finished with my first attempt at a feature-length film. Of course, it's not actually a feature-length film anymore, now that I've spent hours upon hours in the editing suite, slaving over 8 DV tapes or more of footage. It will probably be an hour long. But we're calling it feature length because you can't expect too much more in a period of only six weeks.

The film is titled "Everybody Else is Everybody Else" and in many ways it sort of defies any sort of explanation but I'll try, dammit:

A mockumentary-style character study that examines the hypocrisy of countercultural behavior amongst college-age Americans.

There it is. The nickel tour of my film. And now I'm going to post bios of all the folks who helped make it happen:


This is me, Cassie Averell, Kirsten Paine, and Katy Taylor. The four of us engaged in a communal writing process while developing our screenplay. I did the majority of the writing with the help of their brilliance. To create this film with only four people in control was quite a feat--especially when all of us are engaged in a lot of other stuff. Our schedules were insane during this past month.

THE CAST:

Shawn Gaines as CRAIG MILES HUFFINGTON III. Craig is a whiny rich boy who fakes being poor.

Alyssa Weldon as ANA. Ana is anti-everything. She'll protest anything that moves and most things that don't.

Gary Thobaben as GARY. Gary is a pretentious intellectual. He smokes more than he reads.


NOT PICTURED: Marissa DeSantis as PEGGY SUE, the audiophile who seeks out bands that nobody will ever hear..ever.

David Magnus as CRAIG MILES HUFFINGTON II. Yea, this is CRAIG's overbearing father. With the help of stage makeup, facial hair, and low camera angles, he looks a lot older on film.

Steel Burkhardt as STARBUCKS BARISTA. In a climactic scene, this barista's cheerful demeanor becomes intolerable to angsty ANA.

Scott Ramage as RECORD STORE LOYALIST. In the third of four black and white vignettes, this character holds a candlelight vigil in front of his favorite record store, now out of business.

Adam King as GOTH BOY. A well-mannered suburban teen goes through a frightening transformation one morning in the first of four interlaced vignettes, shot in black and white.

NOT PICTURED: Cassie Averell as WAL-MART PROTESTOR. Self-explanatory, only in the style of a southern baptist minister. (Vignette 2)

NOT PICTURED: A. Boe as LITERATURE ELITIST. She knows her stuff...and you're an idiot for not knowing it as well. (Vignette 4)

Jack Winget as HOMELESS VETERAN. Poor old bum gets in the way of CRAIG's master plan. You'll understand when you see the film.

LP Colodangelo as TENURE PROFESSOR. In a beautifully executed lecture on The Great Gatsby, this professor gets sassy and proves that GARY doesn't really have it all figured out.

Kirsten Paine as THRIFT STORE CLERK. She doesn't quite understand CRAIG'S need for dirty clothes, but she tries.

Joey Scale as GARY'S FRIEND. He's truly loyal, despite his obvious disinterest in GARY's endless philosophical rants.

Gus Curry as TAVERN MUSICIAN. In a particularly sexy scene, my character PEGGY SUE, gets a little hot and bothered by his acoustic set and ends up getting in a really uncomfortable situation.

Clairvoyant Roommate OR The Day I Outgrew MTV

This afternoon my lovely roommate and I were reclined on the futon watching a bit of the ol' Vh-1 Classic, as is customary for us. We often enjoy taking brief little breaks together to reconnect during the day betwixt our normally stressful schedules.

After a few forgettable videos, a new one hit the screen and suddenly there was a long establishing shot of a dreary and rocky coastline. Before the name of the artist came on the screen, my roommate said, "I hope it's Wilson Phillips!" I laughed, thinking that this was a completely hysterical yet totally unlikely notion. Indeed, it was not Wilson Phillips at all, dear reader, but a ridiculous new-wave balladeer who wanted to be Robert Smith at times but who ultimately ended up looking more like Rick Astley (I attribute this to his high-flying poof of a hairdo--it looked like a squirrel made of steel wool was perched on his head.)

The video was ridiculous. There were women standing on the shore in these strange cheesecloth shrouds that looked like beekeepers' helmets. We were so disturbed by the image that we quickly switched the channel and ended up on MTV-2, the next channel down.

In this video, there was a band of screaming young men dressed in dark button-down shirts getting tangled up in microphone cords and getting hit with pieces of glass being blown at them by a fan in a white room with black arrows painted on the walls. I think this was the concept of the video. There were, however, additional flashes of various animals getting eaten by other animals and then warping (I use the term "warping" generously here--they really just used jump-cuts) into people doing everyday activities. The first time this happened, we saw a lion pouncing on a running gazelle and then a girl was jumping through a sprinkler in the gazelle's place. I hoped that the lion would eat the girl as well, but alas, I was sorely disappointed.

My roommate and I were not familiar with the band. We kept looking at each other, feeling very confused and frustrated. Then suddenly, on the screen, the words "The Elite 8" were printed on the screen. "Oh," I said, "This band must be called The Elite 8." Roommate seemed satisfied with this statement, however, later we would both divulge our confusion regarding the discrepancy between the name of the band and the number of members in it (4.)

So the video ended and all of a sudden on the screen it said that this was a new video from Taking Back Sunday. Yea, that was the actual band. Not "The Elite 8" which was apparently the name of the show that it was on. Roommate and I gave each other high 5s because obviously we're ready to be moms now that we have no idea what the kids are watching on the MTV.

We switched back to our comfort zone on Vh-1 Classic where Julian Lennon was just wrapping up and all of a sudden something miraculous happened:

Again, there was a shot of a rocky coastline in the early evening and all of a sudden the first strains of "Hold On" by Wilson Phillips resonated boldly from the television set. Yes, there they were in all their glory, rolling around on the beach with their breezy beachwear and their matching bowl cuts. And Carnie Wilson before the stomach stapling! It was all there! Roommate and I celebrated to the max.

It was all very "That's So Raven."

The book of my life.

I'm getting dangerously close to filling another journal.

I began keeping a journal during my senior year of high school. My aunt Noreen bought me a small notebook covered in maps and drawings of the moon during different phases when I was in a play a few years prior. I finally bit the bullet and wrote my name on the inside cover the day I found out that I needed to keep one for my creative writing class. Then I covered it with some favorite quotes of mine.

I ended up using the journal three or four times for actual assignments. It became a lot more personal in the end. I filled it with song lyrics, poetry, prose, and a few sketches. I never really used it as a typical "journal" like you'd see in the movies. I wasn't asking, "Are you there, God? It's me, Marissa," in slanted cursive. My journaling was a form of spontaneous artistic expression. It became a part of my arm. My right fist closed around it so that my knuckle whitened as I moved through the hallways between classes.

Eventually I had to get another journal. It so happened that a teacher of mine gave me one as a graduation present. It took me longer to fill that one, as it had more pages which were larger as well. I'm seven pages away from filling it. It's bound by a spiral, which is great for songwriting because it won't close up if I need to look at it whilst I hold my guitar. The cover is rustic-looking with pictures of pineapples and other things you'd find on an island. I wrote "I can think of nothing but love and fresh coffee," a quote by the poet Fred Chappell from his poem "Recovery of Sexual Desire After a Bad Cold." On the inside cover, for whatever reason, I wrote in capital letters "THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT TO:" and then wrote my name and address beneath it.

Although the writing in the first journal is pound-for-pound a lot less respectable than some of the things from my second journal, I've noticed that in the second one I give up a lot on things that I can't finish right away. It's full of a lot of concepts, whereas the writing in my first journal was complete. And even if it wasn't the best, it was something concrete and resolute.

My third journal started getting filled simultaneously with my second; I needed to keep a journal for my stress management class last semester. My professor encouraged me to use that journal for daily recollections and musings--not necessarily for art's sake, but more for my sake so I would have something concrete to look at and reflect on weekly in regards to my personal life. Now that journal is almost full. The notebook that I used was also from my aunt Noreen. It has mosaic coi on it in pastel colors.

I realize now that I've never bought a journal for myself that went to any practical use. I've bought little notebooks for myself and a few friends have bought them for me but there are some notebooks that I just cannot write in for some reason. My second notebook was one of them--for some reason it felt like there was some miscommunication between my pen and the lined paper. It was heartbreaking for a while before I found a muse who helped me get over that block.

So now I'm in the market for a new journal. Today I must have opened and re-opened and felt and fondled and smelled about forty different notebooks. None of them seemed right. I guess my physical criteria are as follows:

• Must be portable
• Must have subtle cover art
• If the cover art is not subtle, I am often taken with classic-looking or antiquarian designs, especially those of an Asian, Indian, or even European persuasion
• Must have a good texture
• Must have darkly lined pages
• Must be tall enough/wide enough so that I can write a poem comfortably on one page
• The little ribbon marker is a plus, but not necessary
• No magnetic covers--those things are hard to open
• Simplicity always wins over extravagance. After all, it's what's inside the notebook that's important
• No multi-colored pages. White or off-white
• Printed on recycled paper
• No obnoxious or distracting watermarks. If they're on the upper or lower corner of the page, that's fine.
• No specially printed spaces for writing the date or anything like that.

See? I'm not picky. Not picky at all. Buy me a journal. I dare you.

Kiss on my List

I haven't made a good list in a long time. I think I need to. I was watching "The Wedding Singer" today and I watched the Adam Sandler/Drew Barrymore kiss for the first time with the sound off. Yea, take your mind out of the gutter--the only reason I turned the sound off was so I could see if the kiss had the same brevity without the swelling orchestral strain of "Grow Old With You" in the background. And it totally did! So today, for all of my [4] readers, a list of my favorite screen kisses:



1) Adam Sandler/Drew Barrymore in "The Wedding Singer." (1998) What made their kiss in the doorway of Julia's house so incredible was because there was no immediate release or resolution. You knew they were perfect for each other and the looks on their faces showed that they finally knew it too, but then Glen walked in and suddenly you realized that there were still a good forty minutes left in the movie. That sounds so unromantic, but that's what made the kiss so great. It started out as an experiment "for educational purposes" and turned into something more. And Drew Barrymore smiles during the entire thing. This movie is one of my favorites, so naturally it has a lot of clout with me. Also, I like the 80s very much.



2) Bill Murray/Scarlet Johansson in "Lost in Translation." (2003) I hear a lot of people complaining about this film not going anywhere and every time I see Bill and Scarlet kiss and finally find each other in the streets of Tokyo, I couldn't disagree with these fools more. There is so much implied in this tender, innocent kiss. And not knowing what he whispers in her ear makes their last moment together even more tantalizing. It also fuels my "older man/younger girl" fantasy.


3) Lady/Tramp in "Lady & the Tramp." (1955) Seriously, this is classic. I don't really feel that I need to justify its place on the list. It's actually creepy to think of all of the couples who actually imitate this scene in life though.


4) Maggie Gyllenhaal/James Spader in "Secretary." (2002) After Lee's hunger strike, it's so satisfying to see her finally win the affection of her boss and dominant partner, Edward. Their courtship preceding the kiss is quite an anomaly. It all started with a strange over-the-desk spanking incident that we thought would turn into nothing more than some good old-fashioned S&M office nookie. But when Edward stops giving Lee the business and kisses her with such gentle conviction, "Secretary" stops being creepy and gets romantic...without losing its edge.

5) Clark Gable/Vivien Leigh "Gone With the Wind." (1939) So what if it's a likely addition to the list? There's a reason some things are considered "classic." The way Rhett ravages Scarlett during the violently passionate kiss at the bottom of the stairs borders on disturbing, which is why I like it so much. I like the danger in it. I like the power that they have over each other and the struggle that they both go through to exert that power. It's strong! "You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how."

6) Kevin Spacey/Mena Suvari "American Beauty." (1999) We keep waiting for Lester to wake up as he pulls Angela in and finds himself dangerously close to living out his feverish fantasy. Even with all of the mounting tension and the subtle fear in Angela's eyes, the kiss seems so deserved. It's like watching the Trix rabbit finally get his cereal. The rain in the background and the streetlight glow across their faces provides the perfect setting.


7) John Travolta/Uma Thurman "Pulp Fiction." (1994) It's never a good idea to try anything funny with Marsellus Wallace's wife. But after that hot twist sequence at Jackrabbit Slim's, I'm so glad that Vincent Vega moved in on the lovely miss Mia. Their kiss in the doorway of the Wallace home is dangerously romantic, and sexy as Steve Buscemi dressed as Buddy Holly asking if you want it burnt to a crisp or bloody as hell.

8) Eugene Levy/Catherine O'Hara "A Mighty Wind." (2003) The only thing mightier than the wind in this movie is the tension between Mitch and Mickey at the reunion concert at the end of the film. When you're a movie and a huge chunk of your plot emphasizes the importance of one little kiss, it better be a good one. And nobody is disappointed. Well, actually, we are disappointed a little, but in a good way. Seeing the has-been Mitch and Mickey kiss again is heartbreaking and fulfilling at the same time.

9) Marlon Brando/Kim Hunter "A Streetcar Named Desire." (1951) So how do you follow a soaking wet Marlon Brando screaming "Stellllaaaaaaaaa!" in one of the most legendary moments in cinematic history? Seal it with a kiss, dude. And make it a hardcore, disturbingly rough and sensual one. The fact that Marlon Brando exudes sex in this film doesn't hurt at all. Not one bit. Mmm Brando.


10) Molly Ringwald/Michael Schoeffling "Sixteen Candles." (1984) Honestly, the thing that really gets me soft about this kiss is the whole presentation of it. I didn't really believe that Jake and Sam had the potential to be a long-term couple in the harsh environment of a public high school in the 80s. But the two of them leaning over a birthday cake while sitting comfortably on a hardwood floor--it's just so precious. It's how every sixteen-year-old girl should get to celebrate her birthday. I think I actually went sledding. But there weren't any guys as cute as Jake Ryan at my school anyway.

11) Tobey Maguire/Kirsten Dunst "Spiderman." (2002) This kiss really raised the bar. Not only is it the best kiss in any superhero film ever, but it may be one of the most creative and unusual screen kisses of all time. I actually think it was a bit overrated but I can't really ignore its significance. And I really appreciate the trust that exists between Mary Jane and Peter Parker here. Even though she doesn't know who she is kissing at the moment, Mary Jane respects the webslinger enough to protect his identity. She only pulls the mask down only enough to expose his lips. To see a superhero that vulnerable (in costume!) is incredibly sexy.

12) Winona Ryder/Angelina Jolie "Girl, Interrupted." (1999) Finally traveling together outside of the confines of the mad world of Claymoore, two beautiful women share an innocent kiss that seems to seal their already understood bond. You can see the admiration and awe in Susanna's eyes. Lisa no longer seems dangerous at this point in the film, which only makes it more powerful when she turns on Susanna. Of course, the weed sort of mellows things out a bit. But really, it is a beautiful moment.

13) Ralph Fiennes/Julianne Moore "The End of the Affair." (1999) We know that the love affair between Bendrix and Sarah is doomed from the beginning of the film, but there is certainly an intense glimmer of hope when he catches her in the rain and pulls her under his coat to kiss her. It is such a heavy dose of old-fashioned romance that for a minute you forgive both of them for their infidelities. A few moments later, he throws her passionately against the hard wall of an alley and you beg for more infidelity.

14) Geena Davis/Bill Pullman "A League of Their Own." (1992) Bob returns home from the war to Dottie just as she's given up hope. His name might be boring, but the kiss that he shares with his lady is anything but. Here, we see a new side of the headstrong, independent Dottie Henson. They're both sobbing and kissing and it's such a great cathartic moment of bliss and gratefulness.

15) James Caan/Marlon Brando "The Godfather." (1972) This man/man moment carries a lot more weight than any kiss shared by the cowboys on Brokeback Mountain. Actually, any one of the kisses of betrayal in the Godfather series could have made this list, but just seeing Sonny bent so low, the look of disgust on Don Vito's face...it's such a powerful still. Not a kiss that I'd want to receive, but it sure made for great cinema. Actually, Michael kissing Fredo in Part II might be a better choice here now that I think about it. "I know it was you, Fredo. You broke my heart. You broke my heart."



The 15th Slot is pretty open for now. I'd like to keep it that way until I can think of one that really belongs there. Of course, I've considered the famous kisses from "Casablanca," "On the Waterfront," "Rear Window," "Titanic," etc. I'm trying to keep this list free from too many clichés but I guess I can't deny what is already accepted as being great.

Suggestions are always welcome...

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.