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.

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.

C'est Moi

I found this today, surprised I did not find it sooner. I love it. I really connect to everything about it. If I were a musician I really think I would be Jack White... Okay, a musician and a man. From Detroit. With black hair. Cross this with Wes Anderson and Lawrence of Arabia and I think that's my aspirations in a nutshell. One side of them, anyway.

Probably Time To Sleep, Dear

I think it's because I am exhausted... but that seems to be a good condition for near or sub-levels thoughts coming forth in bursts of unprecedented confusion.

I feel like Santa Barbara isn't real. Well, obviously, it is. But I feel like everything besides myself... that is, everyone I know, everything I did that didn't carry over (I can bagpipe-carried over. peet's habit-not)... it feels like it happened to a character in a book. It will be very strange to find that I am that character and I have this whole life on the other side of the world where the only missing piece is... me. I mean, in terms of having a whole life set up, and I have just been plucked out of that character's life, and put over here in Europe with one suitcase and a laptop.

I have grown more as a person here that at any other time in my life. I don't want to embrace the sedentary sort of ideology of adulthood, but I feel more adult than I ever have before. And it is a deep transition, not just in habits or responsibilities, though certainly those helped...

And it's not complete. People grow all the time. But I feel like somehow I have developed as a person more in the past few months than ever before, and in a more complete, rounded way. My perspectives have altered, my perceptions have opened... it makes me want more, to see more, know more, travel more... I have always wanted that, but now that I am doing it, I realize it is in fact a wonderful thing. And vacationing is not like living somewhere, even if it is just for a couple months. And I think none of this would have happened so fully, so richly, or so efficiently, if at all, if I had not been so wholly alone.

I think I will go back and fall right back into accepting most of my old life... but I feel a whole new practicality. And being torn from so many of my favourite hobbies and creative endeavours, opportunities for legitimate advancement even, and being in this world where my only obligations are a couple essays and experiencing as much as possible, I am most excited to start doing all the things I have always wanted to. I have been waiting, resting, thinking, adapting, but as my summer (which has really lasted half the year) draws to a close... it is time for action.

As much as some thing have changed, I actually feel more like myself than I have since I left home. I have had time to delve into all the different selves and memories and passions that comprise me and even if taking action is limited right now, I have explored them in consideration... (I have no idea if that makes sense outside my mind. Oh heavens.). I feel like coming here has only helped to fill in blank spots in a pre-existing mould, so rather than morphing or changing, I have just grown, filling out as a person in just the right way that I am meant to... I suppose that gets into fate and all sorts of existential ramblings and it's certainly a matter of perspective, but regardless or cause, effect, fate, meaning, or lack of it... that is how I feel.

I love being here so very much, but I know I have to go back. It will be strange seeing all my family and friends in person again, because they feel like sitcom characters I sometimes talk to online or on the phone. Not real people. Alright, I know I'm tired, so it's really not as dramatic as I might be making it or as long-winded per se, but these are still things I'm thinking about. And I can't wait to go back home and see it with fresh eyes... I wonder what I will think...

Rambling Rambling Apartment Planning & Future

The weather here is mildly insane. It's great.

I am feeling to settled and peaceful... it's almost a shame I'm leaving England in a little over a month. BUT I must, I must, as staying the full year would not only horribly upset some people back home, but would also severely disable my "three years, two degrees, and study abroad" plan. And honestly, as much as I love school and value it immensely... I could have dropped out of high school to pursue what I want to professionally. I still want a PhD, however, so I'll have to figure that out. Also, med school and law school are tantalizingly tempting... but completely irrelevant. Perhaps someday. Anyway, point is, I logistically cannot stay here. BUT I can go back, finish school, and return here. I do not intend on a static solely-US domestic situation.

I would also like to officially share for the first time my intention, upon my having the money for it, to rent a cottage in Ireland, by myself, for at least a month. Do do nothing in but breathe, walk, and write. As remote as possible. In (preferably Western) Ireland.

I'm also going to Mongolia. But then again I'm planning on going most everywhere (literally. A kid from Serbia the other day thought I was kidding. He said, "Even Serbia?!" I said "yes"), so I won't get into that.

At any rate, I'm ballooning off-topic over here, and the topic was.... um.... hmmm.... let's see... Ah yes, you may not see the connection here, but all that above is leading to: my apartment.

As much as I wholly adore with every ounce of myself being here, I can't help but horribly miss California in a lot of ways. Including Santa Barbara. Primarily Santa Barbara, actually. I've loved it deeply for almost ten years now, and still do. Plus, though England (and especially London-- phwoar) is so utterly, intoxicatingly fantastic, I can't allow myself to really settle here. Much the same as summer when I could not really settle in Santa Barbara because I was leaving for England... but when I return, the prodigal debutante, I get to settle in for at least a year and a half. Which is sizable enough for me to create the best apartment I could hope for. Given my current (and sizable) budget limitations, of course.

I've been planning this, and my outifts at home, ever seen I got here. It's the most exciting part of my future I can try to foresee at the moment. Besides going to Paris, which I am afraid will wholly outshine even London, and I won't ever want to leave. We'll see. Back to point: looking for a one bedroom in downtown Santa Barbara, within about five blocks of the Transit centre, preferably between Carrillo, no farther than Arrellaga, bordered by State and Bath. This is the area I usually park in, and I like it as it feels more secure than the other side of state, and it's close to Peet's, which honestly is a huge reason I'm moving downtown. Plus, a few blocks extra walk to Urban and Natural Cafe isn't going to hurt anyone. :)

So that's the locale. In addition, I'm searching for (besides one bedroom), ideally, off-street parking, full kitchen, second storey... and I wouldn't mind (these are out there!) wood floors, on-site laundry, a fireplace/patio/balcony (interchangeable haha), and in a vintage building. Or at least a space with the potential for character... not too much, though, as I intend to make my habitation a chameleon.

My mother, who is much more of a saint than I've been giving her credit for my whole life (which is saying something, as I give her a lot of credit for that), has also proposed a Queen bed. As if being alone in a one bedroom in Santa Barbara weren't enough, I get a bed big enough that my feet won't fall over the end? Beautiful. You see, the idea is that she and my dad and whoever can come visit as use my home as a vacation space. Which is fine. More than fine, as I adore visitors, especially ones at least double my age. You have no idea how much I miss real adults. That is arguably the worst part of college...

Anyway, I plan on indulging my entertaining streak not only for these fine and lovely parental figures and their chums, but also my own darling peers. I have many delightful plans up my sleeve. Some more eccentric than others. One of my current favourite proposals is a Harold & Maude Party. Costumes required: boy, old woman, or mock-suicide victim. We'll see what else I can add to that. Unfortunately, as it is downtown and not I.V. whatever I do will be anything but raucous. Wait... I'd say that's a good thing. Small, intimate sorts of eclectic gatherings.

As for the decor... final plans pend on the space and how much drabness I'll have to compensate for, but I'm going to thoroughly consume every scrap of my mother's Verandas over Christmas break (what I'm there for anyway). This is part of the reason I want wood floors. INFINITELY classier than rental-carpet. But we'll see. I'm vair le specific, n'est-ce pas my friends?

The post important article to be found, after a sheep-skin rug, is a dining table. If I could express my love of cooking... but I can't, so I won't try. I want a sizable dining table. Preferably quirky vintage mid-century modern. Or, and I doubt I could fine this, Baroque. I am going to have seasonal centerpieces. It is going to be great.

I am also going to sew (clothes! but that's another story) my own tablecloth, napkins, probably whatever curtains I need, possibly (OK, PROBABLY) a quilt for my bed (not patchwork! ugh), and in general whatever else comes up that I can make myself. As for art... I want to paint some myself, at least more modern pieces whose techniques I am dying to experiment with. But lots of other art as well, certainly. Like I said, depends on what the space needs.

Shoes will be taken off on arrival.

I also want to scrounge about for vintage silver flatware. I intend on an IKEA run, of course, but I do want a collection of quality vintage dishes, plates, glasses, silverware, etc.

If there are facilities (i.e. patio, yard, balcony) I want to grow things. Firstly herbs like rosemary & basil, but if room and time allows also flowers and perhaps food. I doubt I'll find space for that though, which saddens me.

I am considering a fish. But then I'll have to feed it, and I want to travel a lot more... and what would I do then? We'll see. Besides I read an article that the 'carbon footprint' of a goldfish is comparably to having another phone. Not sure that would stop me. I'll plant a tree...

There is a huge list of what I intend on doing when I return. You see, last year felt like a time to get settled into the 'OMG I don't live at home' mind-set, and the past six months have been 'barely any work, just sleeping in and adventuring'. So come January... I have to actually do things. And since being in the UK, the old over-achieving self is back. Hello, high school. But better. And more. I've been rather guilted into it by myself... I mean, I have such aspirations, and while I have full confidence in myself to fulfill my dreams, I suppose I need to start working on that. I want to. I need to. I will... I'm going to go to LA a lot more (assuming I get more bagpiping gigs, which I will, because I am actually going to try. I literally cannot afford to flounce around and avoid it any longer), and I want to start auditioning for things. Legit things. I live so close, why not at least start? I am also joining Rotaract because I NEED to be involved in a the community. I'm horribly depleted from lack of charitable acts. Not to mention the goal to make more films, produce more writing, art, etc. creatively... Like I said, making money is rather important. I would also like an internship. Making a Reel Loud, too. Or two, actually. That's another story (ha!). Traveling far more. Exercising more (honestly, the rec cen and I will know each other this year). Playing volleyball, anyone interested in intramural? Working more on the clubs I am already in... of course, school. I'm on a strict plan from here on out academically to I can fulfill my scheduled-timing, but I enjoy school, and as it is currently priority #1, it will be taken care of. Hmm hmm... I want to spend more time in Montecito. I am going to put more effort into my appearance. It's hit me that given what I want to do in life, even if on principle I don't agree with it, I need to put some effort in and look more presentable than I currently do. Shame I don't want to be a librarian... I could totally pull that off. ;)

Oh dear, this is so long... I just wanted to put my apartment thoughts in writing, and off this has gone to the land of arduously lengthy... I do apologize. I could continue rambling on all this nonsense, but I have a fashion magazine to return to. And humous.

Stay in school kiddies, and be kind to your web-footed friends.

Weather Or Not

Sitting on this fine overcast day in my little nest snug with tea, top ramen, and Franz Ferdinand... I am revisiting a curious & recurring thought which passes my way from time to time:

Chances are, my peers, that we do not yet know those who we will love the most, and will mean the most to us in our lives. I'm pretty sure I haven't met my future husband and almost positive I haven't met my children yet.

Life is unpredictable, but it's still a curious thought.

Sleepy Self-Reflection

This isn't my England travels blog, I know, but I just thought that I ought to write this here as it pertains to the greater scope of things (by the way, apparently people actually read my other blog, which is totally crazy to me. I'm pretty sure some of them I don't even know). I feel really settled here all of a sudden. Going back to London this weekend gave me back the energy I misplaced while I acclimated. Not to mention gave me hordes of inspiration about clothes, architecture, history (pieces of the Parthenon?!), and my greater goals in the scheme of things...

Actually, the mummies also made me think a lot about death, and life, too. I was already getting pretty existential in the past few days, probably due to lack of sleep, abundance of isolated thought time, and some moon alignments or something... and then my cat died back home... which makes looking at the photos I took of the cat mummies strangely ironic and grotesque.

That's why I am excited to get back to Santa Barbara. There are things I want to do, must do, and there is no time like the present. Life is fleeting, transient, and only so much is in our control. Actually, I'm not even sure how much of my control can get me where I want to be, but I will fight for it as best and long as I am able, which I suppose is all that can be said, really.

Anyway, feeling settled, despite dreams of what I'll do when I get back (six month vacation, finally acclimated to being away from home, will the productivity of high school return? Haha I hope I have time for it all. Shit, I've been watching to much Gossip Girl... it's infiltrating my prose). I love it here, I really do. I missed things at first, obviously, because being wrenched away from everything you have ever known (except that lovely vintage cardigan from Jet Rag, and my bestie MacBook Pro) is kind of a shock to the system. I'm not one usually for overt, overwhelming, and dramatic homesickness, and this was no exception. That's not to say I did not miss things terribly though. I think not to would have done them injustice. But now I'm finally spending less time imagining the 'what I'd be doing if I were in I.V tonight or Tehachapi this morning' scenarios. I don't love it here any more than I did when I first arrived, I think, because I loved it then... I just have a more pure understanding of my presence here. And quite honestly, I am delighted. Leaving for college caused a massive suppression of self which I have been decompressing ever since. I don't know that it will ever be the same, but it's getting much better, and being here, alone, I don't have distractions. There are no pillars or screens to support or deflect my suddenly independent 'adult' (ugh that word has so many icky connotations) perceptual foibles. Obviously, being here I have changed, for even though it hasn't been long, time has passed and with it comes change... but I feel most strongly that I have only managed to focus in on myself, my priorities, my ambitions, my vision... All the inspiration hasn't come back yet in quite the way it used to, but I think like volleyball and bagpipes it just needed a break. I can't say for piping, but the hiatus certainly did wonders for my sporting skills. I feel it's best to wait, and while that's happening I'm over here bolstering the natural resources I've ignored in some subconscious plea for protection against separation and loneliness. I think the result might be the best yet, or as good as it can get when you have to be at all responsible for yourself. I'm really glad I appreciated my childhood when I had it, just like my mom told me to. She was right about a lot of things.

Except perhaps my legs. I think they are much larger than she told me they were. Oh well.

P.S.- I just reread this, and honestly, it's a lot of semi-superficial borderline-B.S. It's true, but also... really, I am always happy. There's this level... where I'm happy, I find inspiration in everything, joy in everything, a pure ecstasy, riveted in life and thought and sense... and I'm actually so damn confident I feel kind of guilty and don't talk to people about it. Because it's rude. And I'm not sure most people want to hear it. (Not that people probably want to read this, either, but hey... it's one in the morning, I need someone to talk to, n'est-ce pas?) Besides, I'm pretty sleepy right now so rambling goes on a bit. Not to say that what's up there is a trite and flippant bundle of falsehoods. It's not. It's just... I'm a hell of a lot happier than that all sounds, and it's barely a smudge on the surface, it's just caught in the reflection at the moment. And I think it's worth examining. Plus, writing practice, even if it's dithering blather doesn't hurt, I daresay.

P.P.S.- If you're wondering why I'm so tired and what all the talk was about mummies, check out the other blog because I'll be covering that soon. It's been quite a day.

Look Here, What Have We Got?

1 Go see District 9.

1.5 Think.

2 Read this article.

2.5 Presumably see this film and experience some sort of magical early 1960's charm in your life. You can keep your iphone.

http://www.refinery29.com/under_the_influence/an_education_teaches_us_a_less.php

Arttttticle

Found this in my internest wanderings today, gave me some to ponder, it did.

http://www.indiewire.com/article/for_your_consideration_oscars_gay_tendencies/pem

Ponder

Jason Schwartzman's (that is a horrid last name) rep described Mr. S's recent by saying "It was a very small ceremony with many family members and close friends." Very small, with many people. Go figure.

Oh my.

I am going to need a job soon. Yes, I know, I knew that before... but the final admission that ebay has a Mecca of vintage fashion means I will be spending money on, say, Edwardian silk robes and wool coats from 1934. This is, like, hard-core vintage. PLUS they have shoes in my monstrous size 12. Life just got a little bit better my friends, yes it did.

A Sup(p)er Thought

If I were to invite three people to dinner, dead or alive, at this moment, they would be:

Mohammad Mossadeq, Benjamin Franklin, and Alfred Hitchcock. The back ups would be Katharine Hepburn, a Pakistani farm worker, and Winston Churchill.

I Quite Like This, Why Do I Feel Bad About That?

Because I grew up in a community that made me feel like being a liberal was like being part of a cult and I was raised in fear of being stoned for statements like "Democrats are likeable".

Of course, I try to understand both sides, and in fact watch and study far more extreme 'right' media than the left. Not that that is hard to do, but still... At any rate, I like this. A lot.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/bill-maher/new-rule-everyone-deserve_b_315406.html

One of the Best Jobs. Ever.

I.V. You Could Be Next

Yes, this is genuinely serious and kind of alarming, but I love the sincere gravity of the reporter in the last few moments, saying "raw fish" like "extreme nuclear defensive tactics".

He Is Really Lovely

If I were a man I would be a cross between him, Jack White, and Peter O'Toole's T.E. Lawrence. Though I am not, I admire these men spectacularly. Maybe this will help impart why (for Brand anyway).

Word of the Day: Hinky

I like Dave so much. His sense of humour is genius, and the fact that he is so upfront about this is really admirable, regardless of the hypocrisy. He gets paid to make fun of people... division of personal and professional, even if it's not right. Besides, he's a TV persona, not a politician or a cleric or an icon of any moral standards whatsoever. NOT that it's right... but I am so entertained in how it was handled. If I were being blackmailed I think I'd do the same. I have no idea who or why I would be blackmailed, but you never know.

Oh, and the word of the day hands-down is Hinky. Damn straight.

Going Around

The most exciting thing to hit my eyes in a while... OK, well, basically it is just the longer and better (and by better I mean fantastic, ha) trailer for Wes Anderson's newest film Fantastic Mr. Fox. Knowing the limited amount I do about the production of this film, I am in awe. THEN you see the visuals, hear the music, and catch that genius Anderson trademark writing... this has the potential to be phenomenal. Keeping my fingers crossed that 1. it is, and 2. I get to see it ASAP. I want to see it in London if I can... I shall try. (:3

An Instant Classic

Actually, I genuinely do want to read this. I've thought of this in much less vehement terms... I'd be fascinated to learn more, before the brainwashing really sets in. 

Brainwashed: How Universities Indoctrinate America's Youth (Hardcover)

by Ben Shapiro (Author)

Product Description
When parents send their children off to college, mom and dad hope they'll return more cultivated, knowledgeable, and astute--able to see issues from all points of view. But, according to Ben Shapiro, there's only one view allowed on most college campuses: a rabid brand of liberalism that must be swallowed hook, line, and sinker. In this explosive book, Ben Shapiro, a college student himself, reveals how America's university system is one of the largest brainwashing machines on the planet. Examining this nationwide problem from firsthand experience, Shapiro shows how the leftists who dominate the universities--from the administration to the student government, from the professors to the student media--use their power to mold impressionable minds. Fresh and bitterly funny, this book proves that the universities, far from being a place for open discussion, are really dungeons of the mind that indoctrinate students to become socialists, atheists, race-baiters, and narcissists.

I Am A [happy] Rock

I have not worn a shirt for the past twelve hours. I have not left my room, nor seen another soul, in that time. I have been asleep. Until about seven minutes ago. But it's liberating. And very comfortable.

That said, I feel guilty for having this and torn about writing for it because as much as I have thought of what I could possibly blog about, the only thing I can consistently have an opinion on is me. It's a topic I am passionate about, but I wouldn't want to impose it upon others. I'll think of something else eventually, I am sure. Actually, I have a better idea waiting in the wings, but it will be a surprise (hopefully a pleasant one) if it ever comes to fruition.

I have had the craziest month in years. And to my great surprise I am actually happier now than I was then, because I thought that a month ago I was pretty damn happy with life. Well, surprise!

A few recent thoughts: I suspect I am far more immature and less wise than I had suspected. It's difficult to gauge, naturally, but for the most part I am perplexed as to whether or not I am quite who I thought in regards to those two qualities. Fortunately, I am vair vair le young and have the rest of my life to build up both. C'est la vie. We do our best, and who cares what others think or throw at you?

I am still so far from acclimated to college. My ambition and activity drives are on hiatus. This is, I suspect, mostly a side-effect of summer. If it's not, I am going to make it just that.

On a theme, the most disgusting point I will address in today's segment of "What is She Thinking About Herself... and also Fashion and Jack White" (which is what my blog should be named), I was partially disgusted with the film Julie and Julia. It was cute, I guess. Meryl Streep was fantastic and immediately inspired me to try to talk like Julia Child (to myself) the entire drive back to my house. Amy Adams, though... nothing at all against her as an actress, but that character... I felt so far removed from her. I did not relate to it in the slightest. I did not have to, of course, but it just reminded of what someone said to me about liking her best in the film because she was just "so normal... like a real person".

She is not like a real person I want to be. It's hard to explain and I do not think I have ever conveyed fully it to anyone, besides perhaps my mother, and when I try I think I just come across as a hideously self-centered bitch, but I want more than that. Yes, so do most people, I think. I know even if I do not achieve what I think I want, I will be happy, because I have never truly been depressed about life as a whole (thank goodness) and as far as I can tell I am highly optimistic (and if all else fails perception is key to everything).

In an airplane the other day one of the men in front of me complained that Tiger Woods was not playing up to par (bahaha) at a tournament (in some delightful locale like Minnesota, I think). The man beside him told him, unabashedly and free of any disappointment in the golfing prodigy, "I think we all want our heroes to fail sometimes... makes them more human, makes us think maybe we can be like them." I think, NO. Maybe it's just me, but if you need your hero to fail to believe you can be like them, you probably aren't the sort of person to be like that anyway. Now, I already see a barrage of complaints to this in my own mind, and I won't get into that now, but regardless, why not strive for the utmost pinnacle of what you want? Because if even if you fail, you tried. Even if you fail on the path, you will be closer, and if you're aiming as high as anyone possibly could, there's a good chance you'll fail farther up than most people. And regardless, if you don't want it that much, and that high a quality of it, and you don't go after the best you can, you might as well not bother because it's a self-fulfilling prophecy. I am aiming as high as I can (in many many fields, actually, but I don't think breadth affects any of this), and I know in one respect at least that even if I never get farther than Step A that my life is worth it because I started the road and knew my destination was the only one true to myself and true to what I want from the short time on the planet allotted to me and anyone. I feel like I am going all Disney with this, but don't let anyone put a damper on what you want or your belief in getting there. Don't let them pressure you away from your truth, if you are lucky enough to know what it is, because I some people I have talked to haven't found theirs yet. I hope they do. Of course, my own goals make change at any time, but whatever the new ones are I will follow them with this same conviction, and if I don't, I am a different person by then and it won't matter anyway.

None of what I just said is new... it is how I have always felt. I just have to remind myself from time to time and today I am doing it for posterity.

Also, I am seeing Jack White tomorrow, and It Might Get Loud is playing soon at a local theater, and I am going uh 'home' soon (I'll try to explain that one soon... seeing as I have never been to the home I mean), and I am going to start doing more community service soon, and I still not wearing a top. I am so fucking happy.

Some Delightful Items

1. Coats are wonderful.

The blazer below is fantastic. I would wear it differently, and in general look nothing like that girl, but the blazer is very fine.

Classic and vintage never go wrong. Why when I try things like this, though, I get put down? I'm not sure, but I don't let it bother me. Oh, I want a vintage fur coat. And more turbans.

2. I want to act. I want to do this (see below). Plus, it's very funny, on many levels.

Favourite Summer Songs. Good Gracious!

Summer=

Steady As She Goes (Acoustic Version)- The Raconteurs

Hey Hey What Can I Do- Led Zeppelin

The Joker and The Thief- Wolfmother

Sway- The Kooks

Shores of California- The Dresden Dolls

Hotel Yorba- The White Stripes

The Wanderlust- Flogging Molly

Battle of Evermore- Led Zeppelin

The Girl and The Sea- The Presets

Never There- Cake

Reservoir Park- The Dutchess and the Duke

White Unicorn- Wolfmother

Yo Solo Se Que Solo No Se Nada- Jeremias

Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground- The White Stripes

Michael- Franz Ferdinand

Yellow Sun- The Raconteurs

The Sounds of Silence- Simon & Garfunkel

This is What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison- My Chemical Romance

Gallow's Pole- Led Zeppelin

Jesus of Suburbia- Green Day

Tear You Apart- She Wants Revenge

Blue Veins- The Raconteurs

Dead Valley Queen- Flogging Molly

Sister Rosetta Goes Before Us- Robert Plant & Allison Krauss

Yellow Submarine- The Beatles

Midnight Show- The Killers

Mondo Bongo- Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros

Mrs. Robinson- Simon & Garfunkel

And then...

I wish I were more cryptic.

Stuck In My Head:

"Sometimes I say the stupid things I think, I mean I, Sometimes think the stupidest things."

--Katherine Kiss Me (Franz Ferdinand)

Quite Camp, Really (Or: Is this a diary or a blog?)

Sitting in the courtyard at Peet's, which seems to be the only place I can really get into a happily academically productive spirit. Clearly, even this isn't working, because let me tell you blogging will not be on my quiz about mid-nineteenth century American women's rights movements tomorrow. Go figure. Also, I have set myself a really ambitious goal in the spirit of 1. boosting the economy (naturally, my most noble excuse for expenditure), and 2. expanding my knowledge of tea: before I go to England I will try every tea offered at Peet's. Last week I indulged in a fine selection of Green Teas, and at the suggestion of a Peet's employee am now venturing into Black Tea Week. Black Currant Rating: 8.5.

Anyway, mostly, I just want to point out and firmly state (to myself and the world who will no doubt relish this self-reflection) that nature is the most therapeutic tonic for troubled minds (well, mine at least). My mind wasn't exactly troubled, and what's troubling it the most is still a very significant unresolved issue, but otherwise (pretending I didn't just invalidate myself entirely), I found a lovely peace and recurring semi-epiphany this weekend.

I knew I needed a few weeks to dedicate myself to a lot of nothing, and I am very pleased that that period is now over, I have decompressed a goodly amount, and am now feeling productive once again. Step one is practice my bagpipes more. Then there's a slew of other goals, but that's number one. 

I'm just worried that I'm not doing enough. As in, I WANT to do more. Life is flying by and there's no time like the present. Of course, this sage advice I am applying to only one area of my life, and completely and willfully disregarding it (I am an idiot) in others.

In summary, I am ready to start DOING more, and with 96 ending soon, I ought to have bushels and bushels of time in which to do it. My brother (actually, everyone I know) tells me my stories are horribly boring. I want to have better stories (or get better at telling them, which is itself an accomplishment). I want to get something published. I want to make films. I want to act act act. I want to read Shakespeare's complete works. I want to continue to progress as an individual, not compromise my creative or personal production integrity, play a bigger role in the lives of others (gah, I miss Rotary), and generally feel wholly content with my progress.

This relates to camping because it was out amongst the angry swarms of mosquitoes and the rushing of Alpine streams that this periodically revived revelation surfaced once again. So there it is, NOW back to you, Elizabeth Cady Stanton...

And Now For Something Completely Different...

My dad told me last weekend I do not have blue eyes.

1. He is wrong.

2. What?

Future Plans Fomenting

Considering finding piecemeal work as some sort of impersonator... so far I've got Napoleon Dynamite, Jack Sparrow, Keira Knightley, Mitch Hedberg, and Russell Brand down pretty well. Who will pay money to talk to a faux celebrity/fictional character? I'm not sure.

I can also do a ton of accents. But again, who will pay money to talk to a faux-South Carolinian? Especially when I would assume there is a plentiful supply of legitimate South Carolinians, Yorkshiremen, and Bengalis? I'm not particularly sure of this, either.

Additionally, my favourite impersonations and characters tend to be men... I attribute this more to a dearth of decent comedic material for females, and less to any subconscious desire to be a man. I do not want to be a man. I want to impersonate them, some of them, for money. Is this too much to ask?

My aspirations could be worse. And based on my perusal of this very same document I am now open to positions as ghost-writer, since my grammatical habits seem to impersonate just as much as my verbal tendencies.

I also learned tonight that I am quite considerably proficient in impersonating my (male) T.A. He is very slight and Indian, with has rapid, furtive,  and quizzical hand movements to complement his lovely rolling accent and inability to pronounce my name. I quite like him.

The Summer Ideal

Afternoon Reflections

So in the past few days I have come to the realization that I have not been acting as confident as I feel lately. Strangely, I have been much happier and, er, 'in tune' with the essentials which generally keep me grounded, but I feel like I have not been living up to my potential recently. There are lots of excuses for this... and it is summer, which is traditionally a time I spend playing Sims 2 and sleeping at least 50% of the time... but regardless I am getting restless and feeling that I need to start doing things. Not things like, "Start your life, son, go forth and be productive and add to your 401K and get a good wife (well, you know)", but rather build my own list of personal accomplishments, for personal reasons.

For instance, there is a long list of things I've wanted to do for a long time, like learn the guitar, that I just have never completed. This is bothering. Sure, there are lots of things I do that I do complete, and generally there are so many things I would like to do that I think it would be physically impossible to do all of them in a lifetime, but I just feel like I am slacking off and not living to my potential. Fortunately, I recently quit my job and am overall very pleased with my situation and poised to develop any old or new interests with a fantastic liberty of ease and excellent state of mind.

OK, actually, this is might be the biggest thing: I have not been dressing how I like. Yes, yes, I know. I do not dress for other people, though, so it is not as if I'm feeling off-trend or anything. I just am in one of those down patches where I am floating around in a pool of crap style without the pointed inspiration that cycles back from time to time and utterly refreshes my creativity and sense of self. 2006, I might add, was a great year for this. It usually stems from a fusion of good music, good photos, and good literature. I just passed the Raconteurs/Anthropologie thing... which of course I still love, but I need a new direction to keep the energy up.

I just got my hair cut and I like it, but many people don't (haha not that I care), but on a personal note I have the only critique that I do not look as, er, sophisticated in the same way. Or perhaps it is better to say I look younger? At any rate, I have a lot of excitement about it, I just haven't figured out how to embrace it yet because it's so foreign right now. Which is, naturally, why it's so exciting. I think when I go to England this Fall I will find a new direction, fraught with vintage clothing hopefully and luuuurvly British-ness, which I have tended to fall back on anyway for years now.

Also, the space I am living in I am having trouble adapting to really fit my mood. As it is merely a room and it is a very fleeting stay, I am not too concerned. Fortunately, I predict when I have my own place after England that it will be a creative haven of all my favourite things. I.e. lots of antiques, quirky art, vintage, and products from the Urban Outfitters Corporation.

This is getting much longer than I had anticipated, but let me just leave off with saying a few parting statements. 1. Summer is a beautiful free time if you are lucky enough to be able to quit your job, love your classes, and have a car. 2. Naps are God's gift to humanity. 3. I predict very soon I will randomly take off (probably by myself, as that's half the fun) on a random adventure and it will (probably) be small, but also spontaneous and utterly fulfilling. Like my breakfast trip to Solvang to buy a cookie the other day. It was brilliant. 4. I know the things that make me happy and I'm going to do something about them. Carpe diem are words I have tried to live by for a long time now and I intend to stay true to them, as I have failed them in a few ways lately. ish. And finally 4. In addition to rosemary, England, Led Zeppelin, Celtic music, the cello, Wes Anderson, the ocean, fog, and Cambria I would like to add one more utmost favourite and essential thing to my list of these things: the oft-mentioned Jasmine Downey Pearls (iced).

Alternative (Or: A Letter to No One)

I should be studying or working on my finals.

I'm not.

I really want, at this moment, to walk on the beach/go swimming/go driving/read/write/act/play the cello/travel to europe/asia/anywhere/be sitting on the balcony of a house on a cliff over the ocean, surrounded by pine trees and a bonfire and listening to the waves under the light of the full moon.

You know, life is outrageously odd. I feel really trapped inside my body sometimes, and so limited by my own perspective, that I can literally only see from my physical eyes. Metaphorically it doesn't bother me in the slightest, but literally, it does.

I feel like I need to accomplish more. I WANT to accomplish more, and not for the social pressures or gratification of anyone but myself.

I love life, really I do, so very much. I am doing my best to keep that up, too, like always.

I wonder sometimes, okay, well, now if I'm necessarily (and this is going to get weird and confusing because I'm skipping thoughts in my own head)... wait, I don't know how to phrase this. Everything sounds so melodramatic, but it's not. I actually have a very light and cheery tone in my mind just now. Anyway, I wonder if certain things about me will alter when they find themselves in the right situation or if forever I'll be presented with a less than ideal emotional option for reality, both of which are quite out of my control, though I daresay there is a solid chance it will all hit me if I decide to let it someday. Haha, hmm, and I'm not talking about personality traits or anything like that, actually, it's kind of hard to explain what I mean, and as I am very particular about being specific online due to the millions of people across the world who will no doubt read this, I won't bother trying to explain it because I'm only writing this because I don't feel like sleeping just yet, or studying, or finishing my final. It's all a long ways in the future anyway, I think, so I'm not sure it really matters at all just now, probably, but as with everything in life you just never know, right?

There's people in the pool and no one will swim with me anyways, because no one ever does. That is why I'm not swimming.

I hope summer goes well. It should.

Damn, I just thought of something that I didn't get to finish today that I would have quite liked to, but I suppose I will have to just do it again another time. Shame, though.

Je besoin de practiquer mon francais. That is probably wrong, which just goes to show, doesn't it?

Anyway, I hope you are riveted. I'm so interested in what I'm doing here that I'm going to stop and go to sleep. Maybe. 

Rambles 1:19

I have considered ranting about the inadequacies of U.S. news media, or maybe the idiocy (and this may be my hypocrisy entirely) of some people in my screenwriting class (OK, idiocy might be too strong a word... maybe), but really, I just want to do something before I go to sleep. Unfortunately, I'll probably keep it short because the pitter-patter of my little fingers on my silvery keyboard is apt to irritate my roommate, even in her sleep.

She has a lovely scarf collection, might I add.

I've been thrown two curveballs lately, maybe three. I've been faced with an unprecedented situation that is not being resolved as I should like or expected, and is, in my eyes, a serious matter of principle if nothing else and not a joke. I'm trying to make the best of something because there's no sense in ruining something beautiful just because plans change. This is all very petty, but really, here's hoping the next five days are brilliant.

Next, I bought a bunch of books today. For a hair over fifteen dollars I find myself with copies (well, one each) of 'The World's Greatest Short Stories', 'Great Short Stories by American Women', (a boy playing the guitar and singing just walked by with two dancing girls in hoodies), 'Dubliners', 'The Picture of Dorian Grey', and 'The Awakening'. This is an excellent start for summer reading, in addition to the many, many other books I own and must consume. This excludes the ones I don't own, which is honestly nearly infinite.

I can't wait for summer.

Yes, I can, though, because this quarter has been lovely. I'm working on a painting right now. It's in acrylics, but oils would serve it better. It's pretty basic at the moment, as I'm mostly layering and experimenting with color, but soon enough I'll add the details. I have another of a fountain I need to make some progress on. In time, I suppose.

I love life.

I've been saying "Oh heavens" a lot lately. Not sure why.

This is much too serious. I should try this again when I'm feeling funnier. I find, however, that a great deal of my comedy is in my presentation. Maybe this is why I think I find more success as an actress than a writer. At least when it comes to comedy. I don't think I've explored either of these skills enough yet to make that statement definitive.

Haha, I'm interested in re-reading this when I come back to it. Doing that always makes me feel like I'm my own old friend. My past, present, and future selves have a lot of respect for each other. This is starting to sound crazy, but it's true. I don't think you should hold your past against you just because you've grown since then. You still owe yourself some credit, or at least respect. Plus, I like a lot about my past selves, and quite often they are way funnier than my present. Or at least I don't appreciate my own writing until the future. Anyway, the passage of time makes me my own friend, my own pen pal. I write myself notes and private jokes in Elvish sometimes in notes or just scraps of paper for myself to find later because I know someday I'll need a laugh. I like the idea of having an inside joke with yourself, because that's as good as it gets. I also know exactly what to say. To myself. In the future.

I usually detest being this self-reflexive outside my own mind. That's why I don't keep a diary. I'd rather live life than ruminate, in writing, on the recent events of my own. I've tried, but journals aren't for me. Unless they're for ideas, but that's different.

Basically, this is an exception. This quarter has been so pleasant, I hope it keeps up. I'm curious for the future, and hope things pursue at least this nice of a course. I don't want to jinx it though. Ah well, c'est la vie (you'd be real surprised how few people are familiar with this phrase). I might sleep now.

Happiness Is A Fur Coat

Not Much

The weather has been cooler lately.

I wish it were like this more,

but I suppose then it would not be so special.

C'est la vie.

Repose

Why?

Why?

Why?

?yhW

?yhw

?hWy

w?yh

and furthermore, good sir, I say:

This Is Not An Essay, Sir

Work had not gone so well. He was late for the first real meeting he had had in weeks with a client and was almost positive they would not agree to the deal. His dog had snuck out the door as he had walked out and commenced a game of tag that had spanned three blocks and twenty minutes of precious time. Traffic had been horrendous. There had been an accident, a pretty bad one, and while he felt guilty for resenting its relatively minor effect on his life, he did.

He got to the counter. The barrista was a pert brunette whose nametag dubbed her Frances. She made Frances much more charming than he had ever seen it. She had very white teeth and only a bit too much make-up.

“Good evening, sir, what can I get you?” Frances asked. Her voice rang full.

“Already?” He didn’t mean to say that out loud. For being such a long day, it had been so short.

Frances looked confused, but her corporately endorsed smile never faltered.

“Never mind,” he corrected himself. It had been a long day. “Just an iced jasmine tea with honey infusion, please.”

“Okay,” came the pert reply. There was a pregnant pause.

He stared at Frances. Frances reciprocated, and then:

“What size, sir?” She asked as if he should have known to say. What did he know?

“Oh, uh, medium.”

“Mediano?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

The table was neither more nor less comfortable than expected, which was somehow consoling. He tried to block out his day. His mother had called him fourteen times in the past week, just to remind him that taxes were due soon. He did not need to be reminded.

“Mediano iced jasmine tea with honey infusion.” The portly man who had made his drink had a reedy voice he found irritating.

The lid bent the straw as the plastic pierced its counterpart. This was also irritating.

The second straw fared better and he sat down again.

He was in a garden. It looked like those English gardens marked by excessive, overflowing foliage that nevertheless maintained some peaceful sense of order or reason. His senses were overflowing. Flowers seemed to erupt from every side, and even below, where petite grass sprung with unprecedented resilience. The warmth of the sun was like a caress of the softest hands, all over his face and arms and legs, and especially where the barrier of his black suit created a comforting insulatory effect that reminded him of his mother when he was small.

The flowers were everywhere. The scent of them seemed to him something far more concrete than minute particles. A lucid and flowing entity, a shimmering curtain of fragrance swept over and around and through his body. He felt kind of giddy.

He felt like he was surrounded by the most beautiful women in the world, but there were none in the garden. There were only flowers. This was, strangely enough, perfectly acceptable if not better than the human alterative. Flowers seemed more perfect, somehow, more precious, right now.

He sighed the deepest sigh of his life. He felt like the liquid emulsion of purest fragrance and delight that surrounded him enveloped him entirely, absorbing every notion he had ever had of anything besides this delight. It was oblivion.

He swallowed, and picking up his phone he answered his caller for the fifteenth time.

Cancer

This quarter is going a lot better than last.

But somehow I'm outrageously busy.

But happy with it.

Maybe something hateful was in the air last quarter.

Here's wishing it stays.

And the second half should be better.

Let's not hope for a relapse, kids.

Stepping

Iowa legalized gay marriage today, which I am pretty excited about. It's funny, though, that Iowa did so before California. I have relatives in Iowa, and I'm not sure they're very happy about this. But it was a court ruling, which could explain some of this. After all, a court made it legal here at one point.

Anyway, I kind of feel that victories like this are not steps ahead so much as steps to the level where they should be... does that make sense? This is a particularly exciting event, though, because Iowa is not where you might expect this to happen. This is becoming less radical, perhaps? I hope so.

(de)Compress Me

The heart machine is beeping again.

I had to put myself in a box. In life, just like computer systems, it is easier to deal with changes (or files) when they are smaller… compressed. I had not really realized it, or at least the extent of it, but when I went to college I compressed a lot of myself. Didn’t lose it, or change it, just put it away in a snug little box and hid it away until I could bring it out and put it away in the context of my new life.

I must be acclimated, then, because that box is opening. I’m very excited… I feel inspired again. I love life like I do. I won’t say used to, because that makes it sound like I stopped. I didn’t stop, I just locked it away. This quarter should be interesting. I’m feeling like myself again, and I must be ready because any time before this that it started to peer forth from its dark (but comfortably appointed) cave I felt a loss… but it’s not a loss, just a transition. And I’m happy to say that I didn’t lose anything on the way… I’m still pretty much the same person I was when I was eight. Only more. I’m proud of that.

I’ve been under spiritual Novocaine since September, maybe a little before in preparation. Maybe the operation is over because I think I’m waking up in recovery right now. Can I get some jello?

HomeComing

It’s strange, being home after such a long time of being away. I feel completely at ease, just myself again, surrounded by everything I’ve known my whole life. Most of it is nearly exactly the same as when I left. There are a few more stores that have opened, a few that have closed. This economy has kept a lot of the town stagnant… still the same the small town. But Subway has moved across the street.

I walked into Save Mart today, the store I have spent more time in than any other public space besides Disneyland. Which is saying a lot. There are more people I don’t recognize, and who don’t recognize me, than I remember. Of course, their strange looks probably stemmed from the skin tight black lame (lam-ay) covering my legs. I guess that look hasn’t hit Tehachapi yet. Or I look like an idiot.

The girl who checked us out went to school with me when I was little. I’ve known her since I was five. I haven’t liked her since I was six, and she refused to play kittens with us anymore at lunch. She was a year older, so obviously I should have known she was too cool for that. She is, in fact, so cool that she works as a check out girl at Save Mart, in Tehachapi. I don’t mean to belittle that… I know almost everyone who works there and there are mostly very wonderful people… but it just strikes me as sad that her whole life is ahead of her and this is what she’s doing with it. I must be very lucky. On the bright side, she’s been promoted since last summer. Way to go, Kaci!

I saw one of my dearest friends’ cousins today. He also works at Save Mart. He’s very friendly and about a billion feet tall. I remember one time we all, the three of us, went to Disneyland together. That was a strange day, but he was very funny. I’m glad he’s still nice to me. I miss some things, sometimes, but life changes. Save Mart, fortunately for my sense of comfort, hasn’t. Much.

Ex Golden Hair

My dad apparently dated a girl that America wrote a song about. 

"Sister Golden Hair" anyone?

My dad is, once again, the coolest person I know.

There Is A God

ALERT ALERT ALERT

JACK WHITE HAS A NEW BAND.

And I like them.

Of course.

New Direction Here I Come.

Peaceful Inspiration

Disneyland At Dusk

Melancholy Interest and Societal Point

Family, Fate and the Finale of Will and Grace

Posted by Kathleen Battles & Wendy Hilton-Morrow / Denison University and Augustana College on July 7th, 2006 4 Comments Printer-Friendly

“So, what did you think?” It's the question that friends and colleagues greeted us with in the days following the final Will & Grace episode. Thanks to a journal article that we authored in the series' early years,¹ those asking were looking for more than the typical water cooler answer. Imagine how taken aback they were when we replied: “It's Tivo'd. Haven't watched it yet.” Truth be told, since completing our original essay we have not really “thought” much about the program. However, we knew that we couldn't approach this final episode with the same sense of detachment with which we'd approached recent seasons.

How sadly ironic that as we fired up our Tivos to discuss the final episode of this gay-friendly show, political leaders were once again debating an anti-gay marriage amendment. Yes, GLAAD's headline proclaimed that the amendment was “resoundingly defeated,”² but a 49-48 Senate vote indicates that politicians seeking re-election found it safest to align with Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist, who proclaimed, “Marriage between one man and one woman does a better job protecting children better than any other institution humankind has devised.”³ At least we could take solace in the fact that Will & Grace's final episode was redefining marriage and family. Or, was it?

This last episode revolved around a glimpse into the futures of our four main characters. Of key concern would be finally resolving the delayed consummation plot device that remained central to the program throughout its tenure. In fact, the delayed consummation relationship between Will and Grace served as the raison d'etre of the series creation: create an insurmountable barrier to romance to avoid the ever worrisome post-consummation ratings drop. In the final episode, we get two imaginations of how this situation will resolve itself in the future, one monstrous and the other a dewy eyed fulfillment of the characters' “fates”.

The monstrous is presented to us at the beginning of the episode in the form of Grace's nightmare. A very pregnant Grace sleeps on Will's sofa after they have decided to raise her child together. In the dream, Will and Grace have morphed into the very worst versions of themselves–Will a pudgy, balding gay man (two fears stereotypically associated with gay men), and Grace an overweight, bitter hag trying to hold on to her youth through ridiculous fashion choices (paging Bridget Jones). The son they chose to raise together is a surly troublemaker. Their normally fastidiously clean and decorated apartment has grown worn and dirty. An attempt to play “Password,” a clear reference to the first episode, leads to a recognition that they are dried up, bitter shrews whose attempt to redefine the idea of family has ruined their lives. When giving Grace clues for the new password, Will ends up saying in a flat voice “Our souls. Our hopes and dreams,” to which Grace correctly responds, “Things that are crushed.”

Once Grace awakes from her dream, we witness the events leading up to the “real” resolution. When Leo–Grace's ex-husband and father of her child–turns up, Grace leaves for Rome. The show gives us a time advance of two years, in which we see Will and Grace leading separate, but virtually parallel, lives: Grace and Leo raising their daughter, Lyla, and Will and Vince raising Will's biological son, Ben. While we applaud Will & Grace for presenting a well-adjusted family with two dads at the helm, like much about the program, the queer potential of this representation is constrained by sitcom conventions. Happy, heteronormal nuclear family units abound, but cannot intertwine. We learn that our favorite twosome have not spoken in two years.

Despite the comic attempts of Jack and Karen to bring Will and Grace back together, our central dyad, now separately cocooned in new dyads, cannot connect. But this is a sitcom, so of course, there had to be some way for Will and Grace to finally get together. Here we come to the most heteronormal ending imaginable, a marriage between Will and Grace's children. Just to clarify that Lyla and Ben are unmistakably surrogates to Will and Grace, we are presented with a scene that first appears as a flashback to Will and Grace's initial meeting in college, preceded by Will and Grace's separate meditations on their shared belief that their relationship was fated to be. After they both dismiss the hand of fate, we find a young red-headed woman and dark-haired man moving across the hall from each other in a college dorm. As they both make jokes completely in keeping with the main characters' personalities, we are led to see them as younger versions of Will and Grace. It is only after the two express an instant attraction to each other that they introduce themselves, and we learn that we are not flashing back but forward to the initial meeting between Will and Grace's progeny, Lyla and Ben.

The apparently straight hand of fate has finally resolved the relationship between Will and Grace through this surrogate consummation. The ending was offered to a mainstream audience as a satisfying and palatable conclusion, because it left untouched the central structure of the program as well as the tried, but true, romantic sitcom finale formula. Even we could not predict such a relentlessly heteronormalizing end for the program, and six seasons ago, we had spent 20 pages piling on evidence to “prove” that the show was, in fact, heteronormative, despite all the critical acclaim it originally received (remember all those Emmys, Golden Globes, People's Choice, and GLAAD awards?). At least we could feel vindicated in our original arguments about the show.

Thankfully, Will & Grace was never a two-person show, but featured a second key dyad: Jack and Karen. While we originally argued that their subversive potential was limited by their infantilization within the familial structure of the sitcom, we couldn't help but love them, and are more cautious to condemn the resolution of their characters' storylines. In the finale, Jack and Karen swap co-dependent roles, with Jack coming into money and Karen losing hers. The two grow old together, noting that their relationship with each other has outlasted any with husbands or lovers.

Yes, we recognize that these two characters are still infantilized in this final episode. Yes, we also acknowledge that these, the most “deviant,” characters of the show are unable to find successful romantic relationships, and, yes, in becoming caretakers for Rosario, they're positioned as the third nuclear family unit in the program. Despite this, Jack and Karen come closest to reimagining family in a non-heternormative way, in part because their resolution draws the most attention to the constructed nature of family. Additionally, in Grace's initial dream, while she and Will become frumpy, bitter life partners, Jack and Karen find happiness in their own relationships, with Jack marrying Kevin Bacon and Karen marrying a butched-up Rosario. Although this resolution could only happen in a dream sequence, it provides a delicious moment to reimagine the world through the eyes of the queerest, and most “unforgettable” characters of the show.⁴

Now that network television has closed this chapter in its short book of sexual diversity, we're left wondering what next “groundbreaking” show to move onto. Perhaps it will be one of the new network television programs from this past season with leading gay characters, like ABC's Crumbs, or CBS's Out of Practice. Oh, that's right, they've already been canceled. Vindication is not so great after all.

On My Comment Card to the Dining Commons, I wrote:

There once was a pizza named Pesto,

Who kids devoured with gusto;

but then one day,

they all had to say:

My God, why is he not at Carrillo?!

Gugliar- To Google

There is a new result if you google me.

I have at least a full page.

I'm proud of that.

Also, it's a very diverse collection:

Bagpipes

Acting

Volleyball

Jr. Miss

UCSB

I'm definitely proud of that.

J'aime vivre.

Floor Thoughts

I am sitting on Julia's floor.

I have worked on schoolwork for the past eight hours straight.

That might be a record, even for me.

But I think I've edited much longer than that.

Which is part of how I know what I want to do with my life.

Julia's trashcan smells terrible.

I am too lazy to distance myself from it.

It is a foot away from my face, as I am sitting on the floor.

Why do I always use 'lazy' when I know that I'm not?

I think because I think it will make other people, lazy people, feel better.

Do I care?

Yes, I want people to be happy.

Do I care what most people think of me?

Usually, no. But only as long as the majority's consensus is an honest one. I am not something I am not.

This is getting too emo for me.

The trashcan honestly smells to high heaven.

How does she not notice this?

Empathy

http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sfo/588037045.html

The Bird and The Bee

A spontaneous and flippant poem, which may not mean anything, as upon reflection I can't remember if I wrote it for a reason.

The bird is to the bee, as you are to me.

The laboring insect watches the aviary soar,

Its heart lifts, and does science defy,

for I, that laboring insect, begin to fly.

What to Watch for in 2009

Here it is, a incomplete list of some things to look forward to in 2009. Awesome.

January:

Barack Obama becomes the sexiest President since Kennedy (Clinton's a matter of taste, I suppose, but then again you might say the same of Carter. Yummy). I'm curious to see just what becomes of our new Commander in Chief. Will he fix the economy? Will he throw a wrench in the wicked machinations of Global Warming? Will he improve our education system so we are not overtaken by the incredibly accomplished violin-master, tetra-lingual, Olympic gymnast youth of China? Will he get us out of Iraq, out of Afghanistan, set both on their feet (yeah, right), and put our noses back into our own US of A business?

Franz Ferdinand's third album, Tonight: Franz Ferdinand, is to be set loose on the world on the 27th. I can't wait. I am as excited as lead singer Alex Kapranos' voice is sexy, which if you are not aware, is immensely. I can't wait to groove again with these edgy and fun Scottish fiends.

TV switches to digital, whatever that means. And texting is illegal in California, a strangely logical move that should have occurred with the advent of the technology. Better late than never, though, I suppose.

Black spot: Pushing Daisies is cancelled. Another example of something truly creative, original, and artistic being slaughtered in a shallow and idiotic world. Also, it suffered from high production costs. C'est la vie, but at least there will be DVDs.

February:

The Academy Awards. Yeah, not specifically unique to 2009, but nevertheless exciting in a lot of ways. Will Kate Winslet finally get the gold (man)?

March:

Get ready for Spring with some excellent inspiration for Spring Ready To Wear. Gucci is a personal favorite this season, as is Chloe. Light, whimsical, lots of color, and yet sparse. In case what is 'in' actually matters.

April:

On the 18th, Ireland will have been a Republic for 60 years. Erin go braugh!

May:

Angels and Demons, the film based on Dan Brown's other Robert Langdon adventure, slams theaters on May 15 with Pope-tastic excitement.

The 22nd is the day we get to see Night at The Museum 2. Great because Ben Stiller, Owen Wilson, Steve Coogan, Robin Williams, Bill Hader, Ricky Gervais, Christopher Guest, Dick Van Dyke, and Eugene Levy are not a bad combination.

June: 

Well, on the eleventh Hugh Laurie turns fifty. Wonder if he'll celebrate by throwing a House Party? Silly me.

July:

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince is FINALLY apparating into theaters. The Twilight film was a poor replacement last November for what will surely be a darkly magical experience fraught with the demented young Voldemort's antics a la memory as well that tear-jerker ending we all knew was coming. Man, I love Harry Potter.

August:

It will probably be hot.

September:

On the 28th, the 60th anniversary of the British pound devaluing 30%.

Fall '09 is shaping up to be another exciting season for fashion. There's something sickly annoying but also enticingly exciting about Burberry's already releasing their line. But check it out, because it's one of the more inspired (yet dark) collections to come out, in my opinion, since 2006. Good, but not great. Also, Rag and Bone has some very nice pieces that fit with the sleek minimalist ideas growing in popularity... seems to tie to the sparsity of the economy in some twisted and ironic way. Oh well, that's what Forever 21 is for, right?

October:

Another exciting film in 2009 is Spike Jonze's adaptation of the famous children's novel by Maurice Sendak Where The Wild Things Are. This is a classic, so we can only it doesn't go the way of Despereaux...

The Chinese will send orbiter Yinghuo-1 on a ten-month journey to Mars. The Russians will also be sending spacecraft to Mars' moon Phobos this year to check out the scene.

November:

YES! A point of personal excitement (understatement) is this year's The Fantastic Mr. Fox, the next work of the brilliant yet acquired-taste director/writer/genius Wes Anderson. What will he do with animals, animation, and George Clooney? Lord knows, but it has a 99% chance of being Fantastic.

December:

Black Spot: Well, if you believe there's only another three years and 2012 is really it. Buy your water now. Then again, with gas so cheap right now maybe stocking up isn't such a bad idea regardless.

Musing

While reading a list of New Year's Resolutions on Vogue's website (most of which are outrageously shallow, but I mean... at least many of us have the luxury, and sometimes the little things make all the difference in your mindset), I realized I skipped the biggest paragraph. No, not a paragraph, but a longer sentence than all the others just because it took up two more lines. Maybe my resolution for 2009 will be to be less lazy.

Vocabulary Faux-Pas Part .5

This is the afore mentioned article (well, see below). Silly blog.

Ta-da!

Los Angeles, CA (CNS) - Kanye West thought avoiding ghosts would improve his singing.

The 'Stronger' star - who has come under criticism for ditching rapping for singing on his current album '808s and Heartbreak' - was left bemused after asking Franz Ferdinand frontman Alex Kapranos for vocal tips backstage at KROQ's Almost Acoustic Christmas concert in California.

A source revealed: "Alex told him not to have conversations in noisy places, to not smoke, and to stay away from the spirits, to which Kanye said, 'Spirits? Like, ghosts?'"

Vocabulary Faux-Pas

I found this article just now. It stands, in my humble opinion, as an excellent example of just why education is so important. I mean, Kanye is obviously not an idiot because he has managed to amass a huge following of devoted fans whose adoration leads to his earning millions of dollars a year. However, I really feel that a decent vocabulary is essential for anyone taken at all seriously in the public eye.

Of course, Kapranos is Scottish, so perhaps it was his accent. Perhaps.

Christmas Brakes

This is something I did over break. My first attempt with acrylics. Ponderous.