wait wait wait... so, after years and years of watching will & grace, after the bizarrely identical parallels seemed to reach absurd numbers that led me to believe there was no way that show could continue to surprise me with its acuity... it does it again. HOW does it mirror my life with such creepy precision and temporal accuracy? Its like its speaking to me sometimes, but what is it saying?
i'm not joking, it's outrageous.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Well Swell
Last class of winter quarter today. Time has flown by faster during this term than at any other time of my life. Ever. Whoosh.
I am feeling a lightening, rays of hope piercing my apathetic and inactive bubble of post-Paris depression. Like I have been in an old building during the night after the sunset of Paris... and now as the sun rises once again the beams of orange and yellow are growing, growing, through the cracks of the old boards.
I have so much to do, and soon I will do it. Why not now you ask? (Well, I ask, myself) Excellent question. I defend my lack of immediate endeavour on nothing in particular except the feeling that things are going along like they should and things will happen when they are ready. Odd, but there you have it.
I am getting nappish, though, and I have some assignments and a 20 page rough draft staring me down... ought to work on that before I crumble into sleep.
I am feeling a lightening, rays of hope piercing my apathetic and inactive bubble of post-Paris depression. Like I have been in an old building during the night after the sunset of Paris... and now as the sun rises once again the beams of orange and yellow are growing, growing, through the cracks of the old boards.
I have so much to do, and soon I will do it. Why not now you ask? (Well, I ask, myself) Excellent question. I defend my lack of immediate endeavour on nothing in particular except the feeling that things are going along like they should and things will happen when they are ready. Odd, but there you have it.
I am getting nappish, though, and I have some assignments and a 20 page rough draft staring me down... ought to work on that before I crumble into sleep.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Caffeine Strikes Again
I hate to complain
Ungrateful remorse is unbecoming
A bitter, unwholesome stain
Yet I find myself running
Suspended in space
A frantic gerbil deceived
I’m the blind girl in the library
Gelatin coddles me here
I don’t know the taste of sugar
But I heard about it on the silver screen
A stab in the dark
It hurts like a slap, more resounding
If I blink really fast
The illusion will last
But when I stop to rest
It’s never there
Ungrateful remorse is unbecoming
A bitter, unwholesome stain
Yet I find myself running
Suspended in space
A frantic gerbil deceived
I’m the blind girl in the library
Gelatin coddles me here
I don’t know the taste of sugar
But I heard about it on the silver screen
A stab in the dark
It hurts like a slap, more resounding
If I blink really fast
The illusion will last
But when I stop to rest
It’s never there
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Shakespeare & The Brothers Coen
Someone took the time and made the effort to create this. I feel admiration and concern. And a little joy.
http://www.runleiarun.com/lebowski/
http://www.runleiarun.com/lebowski/
Monday, January 11, 2010
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Les Chaussures
So I don't like to follow trends for their own sake... but I have a feeling I will end up wearing clogs. Nice ones, though, not like the ones I wore when I was nine. Which were crap. Then again, I kind of think all clogs are crap, except that ever since they debuted in that hideous Chanel Spring 2010 show and after seeing a picture of one of the Olsen's wearing them (actually looking really good!)... I am afraid the idea is growing on me. At least when it comes to shoes, my feet are generally too big to stick to any trends beside "It fits" or the trend I always find myself adhering to below the ankle: menswear.
If by some stroke of fortune I can find some like this, I will wear them with what I grudgingly admit will be happiness. If not, I will find a knew avant-trend footwear choice and pioneer it in anonymity.
If by some stroke of fortune I can find some like this, I will wear them with what I grudgingly admit will be happiness. If not, I will find a knew avant-trend footwear choice and pioneer it in anonymity.
Monday, December 7, 2009
An Education
My feet have not been this cold since my birthday last year, when I swam in the ocean at midnight. A February ocean, that left my feet numb as nails for the half hour it took with my own searing knowledge to feel the life come back into them. I do not need the ocean to make my feet feel this cold, and I do not need it to feel others things either. I love the ocean because it makes me feel closer to life, to God if it's best to put it that way, than anything else as consistently. Many things have the same power to varying degrees... films for one, a smile in someone's eye, feel of the Earth's heartbeat through a granite face. The stars and moon are perhaps the next best indicators however, and they offer the additional quandary that the same moon I sat before tonight has been admired and feared and questioned by every other being before me to behold the night sky.
Tonight I felt the reason I came here, felt enough to validate my entire three months. In fact, it rather validates the past two years since the last time I felt this way... I suppose you could say it is personal, but I hold nothing of my life sacred wholly unto myself: I have always felt that when the moment comes that I face the final bar we all do, who cares? I am lucky to have no secrets to hold, I suppose, but this isn't personal in that way. It is mercurial though and difficult to define, if not impossible, as feelings are.
I saw the Lone Scherfig film An Education tonight. I have heard a great deal about it. Shiq LaBeouf is reportedly dating the newcomer star Carey Mulligan who is reportedly in line for some critical awards in the next few months for her performance. Mulligan plays a bright schoolgirl in 1962 upper middle class Britain-- her life is dull, boring, and jammed full of studying in hopes of going to Oxford. Enter an older man, who shows her wonderful worlds of adventure, art, culture, jazz, Paris, and lies. I won't tell you how it ends, since I rather recommend you see it yourselves, but it is exquisite. I think films are magical, but when the right one catches you at just the right time... something much more profound occurs. It is why the opening shot of Across the Universe makes me almost want to cry (a lot of reasons for that, I mean, it's Jim Sturgess). Or perhaps why I saw Pirates of the Caribbean 2 something like six times in the theatres despite mediocre reviews...
The film tonight sparked in me so many ideas, so much existential philosophy, so much self-reflection... so much passion. I could barely gather my thoughts and I didn't want to because it felt right, like a necessary luxury, to be carried along on the waves of my rapture. I stepped outside the theatre (past two chaps who looked quite fit, but it was dark) and began my walk home, the usual path past the library to my hall. Before I even rounded the corner of the theatre building, however, I looked up and met the luminescent face of a half moon, grinning in eternal divinity. I literally stopped, just in front of some people, spun on my heel to the side, and took another path, slighter longer, to get back, so I could stay a bit longer with the moon. There is a giant pine on campus there in that open space which has been garlanded with strands of bright white Christmas lights. It looks like the stars fell onto the tree to sit among the branches. So many people walked by without noticing... but one woman with very long light blonde hair was taking a picture. I'm glad.
I have not seen much of the stars or moon since I have been here. I always love to look up and admire them, which is a novelty I took quite for granted in California. It doesn't happen much here, which is something I was told right upon arrival. I walked back towards my college, the air the very crisp sharp cold that is unforgiving but not cruel... it makes one feel alive, like ice water, if they're willing to feel it. Crossing the bridge to the front doors of Eliot, nearing the frame of the main entry, I suddenly veered to the side, down some steps, under the bridge, and out towards the open hillside beyond Eliot. This might have confused the the boy dressed in a Santa costume and his friend who were speaking at the top of steps which made a more direct path to the walkway, as I passed them twice rather than walk past them to their steps, but I kind of prefer it that way.
As I stepped off the path where the hill slopes down to Canterbury, a wide space of lawn spotted with a few trees, a few benches, and beyond some woods, homes, and the glowing cathedral.... I took off my shoes. I wanted to feel England through the palms of my feet, straight up to the tip of my head where the moisture from the afternoon rain was wreaked havoc a la Topanga from Boy Meets World (more frizz than I think is legal). The ground was freezing cold, the grass more marshland carpet than blades of greenery. Every step squished with oozing fullness down into the mud, though the grass was clean, covered the sea of liquid dirt below. I walked to a bench not far from the path but far enough. A tree blocked the cathedral, which was disappointing until I realized it was much better to be without the weight of man's history lying before me. Behind the bench was a great sparsely built yet fully blooming pine, wide and vast and dark against the lights of Eliot Hall.
I was cold and raw, Canterbury laid before me, the moon above, and countless stars in the deep black vault above, free of grey cloud impediment save at the very edges of vision. It is difficult to say how I felt, except I felt full. Full of life, passion, knowledge, desire, energy, wisdom, fire, and ice. It sounds tacky, I know, but I am not sure words can encapsulate the feeling. I don't think they should.
It is the feeling I get from acting... almost. Or rather, acting is the only way I know to use that feeling. The last time I truly felt that much unobstructed passion for life in such a forceful single wallop was about two years ago, when someone who's opinion on the matter I deeply respected told me I was a truly good actress. When I left the dinner party that night I sat in my car and cried. I don't cry often, but I cried then, because I was too happy and too full of that passion, that life, to contain it. That is how I felt tonight... and I cried. I sat on the hill, just me and the moon and England, cold and raw and on the verge of everything, and I cried because I love it all so much. All of it. Every bit, of everything.
Eventually I walked back, squelching across the lawn, put on my little black flats, and tromped back to reality as an automatic sensor light caught me in its sudden shine. It wanted to be helpful, I think, but there are other kinds of energy much more natural and much more important.
One of the rooms with lights on was emitting the distinct notes of the Rocky theme song as I return to light and society. There was something obnoxious but admirably ironic about that.
I am back in my room, feeling full and also drained. Those feelings are always present for me, but usually for purposes of practicality and efficiency they stayed nicely under control somewhere snug in my psyche where they emit little bursts of optimism and true happiness as needed. But there are times when they are stripped bare and come forth full force... those are moments like tonight. They are rare, beautiful, and divine. England and I have had a moment. That is why I came here.
Tonight I felt the reason I came here, felt enough to validate my entire three months. In fact, it rather validates the past two years since the last time I felt this way... I suppose you could say it is personal, but I hold nothing of my life sacred wholly unto myself: I have always felt that when the moment comes that I face the final bar we all do, who cares? I am lucky to have no secrets to hold, I suppose, but this isn't personal in that way. It is mercurial though and difficult to define, if not impossible, as feelings are.
I saw the Lone Scherfig film An Education tonight. I have heard a great deal about it. Shiq LaBeouf is reportedly dating the newcomer star Carey Mulligan who is reportedly in line for some critical awards in the next few months for her performance. Mulligan plays a bright schoolgirl in 1962 upper middle class Britain-- her life is dull, boring, and jammed full of studying in hopes of going to Oxford. Enter an older man, who shows her wonderful worlds of adventure, art, culture, jazz, Paris, and lies. I won't tell you how it ends, since I rather recommend you see it yourselves, but it is exquisite. I think films are magical, but when the right one catches you at just the right time... something much more profound occurs. It is why the opening shot of Across the Universe makes me almost want to cry (a lot of reasons for that, I mean, it's Jim Sturgess). Or perhaps why I saw Pirates of the Caribbean 2 something like six times in the theatres despite mediocre reviews...
The film tonight sparked in me so many ideas, so much existential philosophy, so much self-reflection... so much passion. I could barely gather my thoughts and I didn't want to because it felt right, like a necessary luxury, to be carried along on the waves of my rapture. I stepped outside the theatre (past two chaps who looked quite fit, but it was dark) and began my walk home, the usual path past the library to my hall. Before I even rounded the corner of the theatre building, however, I looked up and met the luminescent face of a half moon, grinning in eternal divinity. I literally stopped, just in front of some people, spun on my heel to the side, and took another path, slighter longer, to get back, so I could stay a bit longer with the moon. There is a giant pine on campus there in that open space which has been garlanded with strands of bright white Christmas lights. It looks like the stars fell onto the tree to sit among the branches. So many people walked by without noticing... but one woman with very long light blonde hair was taking a picture. I'm glad.
I have not seen much of the stars or moon since I have been here. I always love to look up and admire them, which is a novelty I took quite for granted in California. It doesn't happen much here, which is something I was told right upon arrival. I walked back towards my college, the air the very crisp sharp cold that is unforgiving but not cruel... it makes one feel alive, like ice water, if they're willing to feel it. Crossing the bridge to the front doors of Eliot, nearing the frame of the main entry, I suddenly veered to the side, down some steps, under the bridge, and out towards the open hillside beyond Eliot. This might have confused the the boy dressed in a Santa costume and his friend who were speaking at the top of steps which made a more direct path to the walkway, as I passed them twice rather than walk past them to their steps, but I kind of prefer it that way.
As I stepped off the path where the hill slopes down to Canterbury, a wide space of lawn spotted with a few trees, a few benches, and beyond some woods, homes, and the glowing cathedral.... I took off my shoes. I wanted to feel England through the palms of my feet, straight up to the tip of my head where the moisture from the afternoon rain was wreaked havoc a la Topanga from Boy Meets World (more frizz than I think is legal). The ground was freezing cold, the grass more marshland carpet than blades of greenery. Every step squished with oozing fullness down into the mud, though the grass was clean, covered the sea of liquid dirt below. I walked to a bench not far from the path but far enough. A tree blocked the cathedral, which was disappointing until I realized it was much better to be without the weight of man's history lying before me. Behind the bench was a great sparsely built yet fully blooming pine, wide and vast and dark against the lights of Eliot Hall.
I was cold and raw, Canterbury laid before me, the moon above, and countless stars in the deep black vault above, free of grey cloud impediment save at the very edges of vision. It is difficult to say how I felt, except I felt full. Full of life, passion, knowledge, desire, energy, wisdom, fire, and ice. It sounds tacky, I know, but I am not sure words can encapsulate the feeling. I don't think they should.
It is the feeling I get from acting... almost. Or rather, acting is the only way I know to use that feeling. The last time I truly felt that much unobstructed passion for life in such a forceful single wallop was about two years ago, when someone who's opinion on the matter I deeply respected told me I was a truly good actress. When I left the dinner party that night I sat in my car and cried. I don't cry often, but I cried then, because I was too happy and too full of that passion, that life, to contain it. That is how I felt tonight... and I cried. I sat on the hill, just me and the moon and England, cold and raw and on the verge of everything, and I cried because I love it all so much. All of it. Every bit, of everything.
Eventually I walked back, squelching across the lawn, put on my little black flats, and tromped back to reality as an automatic sensor light caught me in its sudden shine. It wanted to be helpful, I think, but there are other kinds of energy much more natural and much more important.
One of the rooms with lights on was emitting the distinct notes of the Rocky theme song as I return to light and society. There was something obnoxious but admirably ironic about that.
I am back in my room, feeling full and also drained. Those feelings are always present for me, but usually for purposes of practicality and efficiency they stayed nicely under control somewhere snug in my psyche where they emit little bursts of optimism and true happiness as needed. But there are times when they are stripped bare and come forth full force... those are moments like tonight. They are rare, beautiful, and divine. England and I have had a moment. That is why I came here.
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