Sunday, March 28, 2010

third blog post in three hours.

...writing. hard.

but so rewarding.

things that must be written this week:

-Clara Bow part II, edit.

-Ireland annotated bibliography

-Western Thesis sequence 5 [75 freakin' pages!!]

-New script outline, new scenes

-Canterbury Shorts

-Essays. For Money.

-Graduation Announcement

-Edit and send next round of stories out for publication.

-Rusty rewrite half of script [60 pages] ewww.

Applications for CISS, Blockbuster, caretaker positions, entertainment jobs, and internships for the summer.

Short stories: Finish Demon story, Dad-Funeral story, Austism story, Self Portrait Story, and The States stories.

Research new screenplay contests.

We'll see how much of that I can cover.

attractive men, part II, in which katrina shrinks herself by waxing poetic.

I actually want to explore my attraction to this person for a moment: I think it's a strange phenomena. He's actually someone I actively observe in "celebrity-mode" and find just as attractive out-of-character than on. This is, I suspect, because I find his backstory very interesting. The man came from a weird, salinger-esque homelife where drugs were pushed at him, ended up in jail a million times [and even then, in-trial he sounded devastatingly smart when he talked about what it is to be addicted], and went to rehab, and fought his way back when everyone was out of patience for him. He's also politically moderate (wut? someone in hollywood thinking for themselves?!). And self-deprecating. First of all, self-deprecation can be really bad, but I'm super drawn to it because I use that sort of thing often for a number of [probably unhealthy] reasons. No, the main element here is that the fellow has done bad things and seen stuff and come out the other side-- aside from speaking to someone's strength for kicking that lifestyle (black tar heroin?? really????), that sort of change implies immense maturity in someone. That they caved to those temptations early on in a big way but they put it all behind them and are now all the wiser. This comes not through reading books but by experience.

I know that's the wrong sort of thing to be drawn to, and that in many cases simply "saying no" is the bravest thing you can do, but I guess when you grow up around very good kids you start to wonder why they're all saying no-- is it because they're aware of what the repercussions could be, or is it because their mums warned them that it was bad? It's like growing up Christian. I honestly believe that there's a point where you have to FIND your faith and recommit to it if you've been IN it all your life. Though those of us who have been brought up in and are still a part of the Christian lifestyle may be "lucky" in the sense that we haven't had to know "searching desperately for the truth," we are also denied the joy of finding and coming to the conclusion ourselves, something that can make faith so strong. I feel this way about most things in life. You may call me a fan of the epiphany, but I lean more towards the appeal of struggle and hard work being repaid. And I'm endlessly drawn to those who have suffered like that-- usually by their own hand-- but find a good path in the end. Success, comeback stories. Knowing for certain that you've seen EVERYTHING, for better or worse [not that i encourage going into the world to do just that], and you've found the right door, the right life, the right person to be with and the right person to be. You've tried on so many personas and this is the "good" one. The one who DOESN'T do black tar heroin and who uses their incredible talents appropriately. That's why I think I dig RDJ.

A few weeks ago, someone that I found amiable but not particularly attractive refused the offer of a cigarette, saying he had quit two years ago. All of a sudden his attractive points went up by 10. I'm call this the RDJ phenomenon, something that truly exists.

...That, and his voice is hot. And he has that ridiculous nonpretty nose. And the eyes aren't bad, either. And he's known for his support of writers, so we may as well get married.

Just wanted to get that out of my thoughts-- I don't really enjoy being someone that's drawn to celebrity, so I like to think that there's usually one reason or another for my fixations. And btw, Dear Internet, no, I am not actively stalking nor planning on wedding the man. Though, of course, if he makes an offer...

Saturday, March 27, 2010

impending marriage.

it's that time again, time to assess my future husband options. they usually don't change all that much from year to year, especially the classics, however they do tend to change in rank. age is never a consideration.

yes, this is serious stuff.

...i'm on spring break. and that's the only apology for this you're going to get out of me.

Paul Newman.
You will always have my heart.

The con being the marriage of the Hollywood Century and... y'know, DEATH, but I think we could still make it work. Especially in his cowboy days, hell-o.

Adrien Brody.
Half hot, half ant-eater, all cute. He's got the Oscar, which would make the perfect bookend to my future Best Screenplay prize, and he's just precious. He knows he's not traditional leading man material, which makes him hot. Yes. We like unconventional. We like that nose, damnation. Also, he's in with Wes Anderson, who is of course my future best friend.

The main con in this scenario is the fact that other than the snazzy suits and whatnot, Adrien has this wannabe rapper thing goin' on. Which is strange, because generally Brody seems like the smart type. Probably has to do with him being in that Spike Lee movie. DAMN YOU, Spike Lee!

Young Tom Waits


Young Bob Dylan

I would take either folk years or electric, post-motorcycle accident years, even though he was kind of a prick then. The clothes! The wordplay! The typewriter! The weird weird brilliance. The mystique. Yes. Take me back to the 60's when men were intriguing.

Lee Pace

Yeah, I think you're kinda gay, but should that be the case we can work it out. You have very sympathetic eyebrows.

John Krasinski

Once my mom asked me for an example of the type of person I could actually picture myself with, for real. Me: "Jim from the Office." Mom, without hesitation: "Oh good."

Jon Hamm

Funny, hot, funny, suave, tall, brilliant dresser. Funny. Hot. The end.

The Wilson Brothers

Yeah, I dunno. Texas?
Owen can write brilliantly, also, thus a major plus.

Hugh Jackman

He sings. He dances. He beats people up BUT most importantly he can rock the cowboy thing without being ridiculous. Also he's been married to his nice yet older wife for years and years, despite having acted with le kidman, le judd, le johannson and so on.

Joseph Gordon-Levitt

Be still my hipster heart.

Greg Kinnear

Underratedly hot.

Hugh Laurie

Four years ago he still had hair, and he was hot. He is still hot, but I miss the hair. Smart. British. Tall. Depressed. SELF DEPRECATING. Hot voice. Strangely, motorcycle enthusiast and reader of Wodehouse. We could also hang with Stephen Fry, one of my other future buds.

Paul Bettany

Gangly, SMART, hilarious, SELF DEPRECATING, John Lennon fan and perpetual smoker. Also, played Geoffrey Chaucer once, which is always a plus.

Jason Bateman


Neil Gaiman

I know, I know, old again. But so charming and unconventionally hot.

Jonathan Safran-Foer

I know he looks a bit nebbish, but anyone who can write like that belongs with moi. We can work out our religious differences later.

Jason Schwartzman

What a beautiful-in-real-life kind of person. And multi-talented. And buddies with Wes. And a part of the Coppola family. His mom is Rocky's Adrian. His cousin is Sofia, his Uncle must be Francis Ford. But enough with the connections. He's hilarious and precious and perpetually five-o-clock shadowed. And apparently a great kisser. There's the height thing, but we'll get him some tall shoes and everything will be fine...

see part two for my strangely lengthy poetic waxation on RDJ.

addendum: Ben Affleck in HJNTIY. He's actually never been hot, poor fellow, but dammit, he did the dishes and he gives good hugs.

Friday, March 26, 2010

like, yeah.

"A certain postmodern fondness for not knowing what you think about anything is perhaps reflected in the North American speech habit of inserting the word ‘like’ after every three or four words. It would be certainly dogmatic to suggest that something actually is what it is." -Terry Eagleton

Wow, I have never heard anyone put it better.

I don't think I'm someone who excessively uses the "like" word, except when I get worked up about something/talk fast, but I've been taking great pains lately to lessen its popularity in my speech. In my English classes there are opinions that would be much more seriously considered if only the student took the precaution to NOT sound like an idiot.

And as Mr. Eagleton says, it's as if this word is the example for the strange trend for this generation; the lack of passion or intelligence. I blame it on poor education and social pressure, as well as insecurity, which is more timeless than the other two contributing factors. We are too mistrustful of our perspectives to have an opinion, we are not educated well enough to formulate one, and we are too afraid of appearance to speak definitively, because somewhere someone's going to jump down our throat.

I don't like being verbally assaulted, or people who think they know everything, or people who automatically think everyone who may oppose them is ultimately stupid for having a different opinion or perspective. HOWEVER. I do not understand how so many of us can float around with no opinion on anything.

Ever since I was small the words "I don't care/whatever" always seemed the most hurtful to me, personally. I remember telling my mother, when I was around seven or so, that the worst thing anyone could ever say to me was that they didn't care. I still feel that way, and when I come across something that I don't understand, usually a political issue because I have a difficult time comprehending such information, it frustrates me because at that moment I don't know enough about it to formulate an opinion, and nothing is worse than not feeling.

Why are people so afraid to speak?

dear misters scorcese and de niro:

I love Taxi Driver. I really do. That one wins.

But between Raging Bull and the other boxing movies, I gotta say. I prefer Rocky.

I rewatched Raging Bull today which I haven't seen in years. I watched it the first time because I was a teen freak who paid careful attention to lists of the best in cinema. I combed the criterion collection, I saw all of the best picture winners (82 of them now, and as many nominees as possible which is a hefty pile). Anyway, I didn't really get RB the first time I saw it, kind of like Taxi Driver. The trick of TD, however, is that ever time I watch it I always start to think to myself how overrated it is, but by the time I finish it and for the days following I think about it a great deal and am usually prompted to watch it again. I've seen it a good 9 times now, I think, and only really "got it" the 3rd time. Raging Bull isn't really like that for me. It doesn't hold my interest the way TD does, and while I think Robert De Niro is great at playing big, intellectually stupid to the point of vulnerable, physically powerful characters-- here he is repellent (even before he slugs his wife)-- but I just don't think it's the best performance ever captured. I just really don't. Props to the in-the-ring filming, reminding me that boxing is never as fun as it sounds, and the weird talent that Scorsese has for capturing the New York Italian family-- where borderline abusive husbands are the norm, and would in fact be considered incredibly abusive if their wives weren't aware of their men's vulnerabilities. The wives know how to handle it, they are the "neck" as the mother of a famous Greek family once said, and they can turn their husband's head any-which way they want. When they can't do that, they can dish it out just as easily as their husbands can, and even provoke fights.

Jake's abuse of his wife and his first girlfriend is awful, however I kind of enjoy the shrewish behavior of his first girlfriend and how his ballsy wife screams at him exactly what he doesn't want to hear even when she knows he's going to slap her around. She follows him down the street, screaming at him and hitting him. Joey is also all about keeping his wife in line and is very insulting to her, but she knows how he is and she's not afraid to stand up to him. Maybe that's it. I wouldn't say anything about these relationships are healthy but there's something that diminishes the pain in them if the women are so capable of coming back. This is our impression of Italian women. They are passionate people. When we see Italian couples engaged in domestic disputes, we often roll our eyes and shake our heads at the reliability of the Italian family, even though all we know about it is what Scorsese and Fellini and Coppola have taught us. That's probably wrong, just as my affection for these loud-mouthed women is probably misplaced. Regardless, it is something that is strangely cinematically captivating-- when I think abused wife I think cowering, tiny, bruised white woman. When I see these representations of these tough Italian broads I think they have lousy husbands, but I don't think of these wives as abused. They're too strong for that.

Anyhoo. My original point was I prefer Rocky. It's a love story. Call me a sap, but it doesn't get much better than the new, underdog champ who has just changed his life, calling out blindly for his wife. She was the one changed his life, winning the fight doesn't really compare. Oh, if only Jake could see it that way.

ps, Raging Bull is definitely more artistic, though. B+W. Rope dripping with blood. Yeah.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

she said, i mean the end begins and i said i know, can i use that too?

This week, for some reason, despite the fact that I am in the same position as I was last week financially and so on, I feel super hopeful.

ONE: I've been looking at job and internship possibilities here and there and beyond (LA, San Fran, New York, EUROPE), and while I know I'll have to fight for the chance for anything and probably won't get anything for a long time, the chances are out there. Even for losers like me who feel like burnouts.

TWO: Lena Dunham. I work in the Industry Relations Office for SFTV on campus, and one of the women I work for went to the Austin Film Festival and came back with recommendations, mainly "Tiny Furniture." It's a movie made by a 23-year-old post grad girl about a 22-year-old post grad girl, it was made quickly and very cheaply and it's doing very well. This is interesting, as just last week I started writing a script about myself and my family.. I decided to just go for the ultimate in self-reveal creativity, even going so far as to make the main character a writer just to add dimension to what might be a Rain Man story. I then just decided to make it as close to real-time speculation as I could, but I was still very apprehensive about doing something that seemed like maybe it had been done a little before, or maybe was just for my own sense of catharsis, or would just never ever be made. But then I started reading about Lena Dunham, pretty much my age, who just DOES stuff. She just goes for it, and that's what we should all be doing. Not only am I going to finish that script, I'm going to attack making movies. Even if I suck at first, I'm going to do that, even while I'm writing and working menial jobs, I'm going to make shorts and work towards making features. MY GOD, WHY NOT????!!! There is no need to be discouraged. Summer short, here we come. Summer 2011, summer feature. Whammo.

THREE: I knew this would happen. I started to like school. Well, I always like school, but I started to realize that I like all of my classes this semester. What. And they like me. And they are HELPING me. And my fellow screenwritery classmates are getting along. And the majority of them GET IT. Suddenly I'm so sad that school doesn't work in reverse-- what a bummer that these great and bonding classes are coming at the end of this, and that all these people with all of these interesting ideas will vanish from my Monday mornings and Wednesday afternoons. If I had more time we could be friends, but as it is we have to charge on out thar, and there's nothing we can do to slow it down. So for now I enjoy Adaptation-- discussing literature and comic books and history and how we will interpret them, discussing not only Fitzgerald's work but also the work of a classmate's as she attempts to adapt it. The encouragement is priceless and inspiring and wonderful. And Thesis-- where we all feel like Serious Writers and spend hours reading through and carefully critiquing each student's script. Again I am blown away by the astonishing difference between a person and their writing; some people whom I find ridiculous write with such professionalism and grace and PERSPECTIVE(!) that I am always floored. I love those classes especially, even if it really is so much work. I'm glad I went to this school. I'm sad that I didn't get to bond with these people last year.

FOUR: Breaking Bad is back on TV. All hail the best written show on television... television in general is gradually becoming a much safer and more prosperous place for a writer to thrive, and that is pretty exciting. I'd be psyched to write for a good number of shows on TV-- it seems like in the last few years broadcasting has shifted from "not much on" to "too much on, too many choices." Admittedly, the sitcoms still need work, but there are even some gems in that department [Community replacing The Office as best NBC comedy, USOT gettin' all weird an creative, How I Met Your Mother]. Right now I'm fanning the AMC flame. For a previously confused and crappy network all of a sudden they're producing two of the most intense, character-driven, writers-paradise shows [BB and Mad Men, siiiigh] and hopefully the rest of them will follow in that direction.

Yes I realize I just based a point of my happiness on a TV show and proceeded to give the rundown on television, but I am not going to bother justifying it.

FIVE: Reading. Reading. Reading. Even a little each day-- which I kinda HAFTA do for my classes at this point-- feeds the idea monster, and she spits out the magic afterward. I was in Irish Horror class today, discussing the ghost stories we had just read, including a chapter from Joyce's Ulysses, which I am beginning to form a love/hate relationship with, and just the act of interpretation got the cogs of my mind to start functioning. I came out of class tired of thinking and yet reinvigorated to write write write and read everything I haven't reached yet.

SIX: I am going to see Owl City next month, and James Taylor in May!! HURRAH!!

SEVEN: Monty Python. Just because.

Monday, March 22, 2010

i like quotes.

I simply cannot pick favorite quotes, I have too many, I love too much literature and too many films and too many fascinating famous people to pick. However, these two have proven to be enduring and I feel that once I included the second to my collection it was almost like the yin to the yang of the first one, my favorite depression quote since 2005. They both sum up nicely how I feel about life and how to handle it. One is informing us we have a problem, and the other reminds us of a solution. Both make so much sense to me, both are so deeply felt.

"There is no way, I realize, to ever make her understand that homesickness is just a state of mind for me, that I'm always missing some one or some place or something, I'm always trying to get back to some imaginary somewhere. My life has been one long longing."- Elizabeth Wurtzel

"If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten we belong to each other" - Mother Teresa

Friday, March 19, 2010

oh autism

all so true. it's odd how alike such people can be.

where were these articles when i was growing up?,8599,1698128-1,00.html

boy, you're gonna carry that weight a long time.

"It also found that mothers of young autistic children suffer more depression and stress than mothers without an autistic child." no shit?

Up until last week I've felt kind of far away from everyone and very lonely- my close friends are not physically close now and for various and normal reasons we've all been out of touch. The other friends I have tend to endure my self-imposed distance (is that a proper phrase?) with niceness; they don't bother me when I'm in my room with the door shut and headphones on, or driving, walking aimlessly around. I'm either yearning for a talk or a hug that's familiar or rejecting of well-intentioned pleasantries. In a single hour I cycle through the intense desire for attention to the disgust I have (in that moment) with the world to the disappointment and disdain I keep for myself. Blah.

Anyway, I've basically had a month of this zero-contact thing, aside from this and that and my room-mate prattling on (stop hissing in my ear) at loud volume and high speed (I do appreciate her, but goodness...). Somewhere or another on this timeline I got to thinking a good deal about my family. I can't even go into my family, I can't begin to scratch the rim, there's simply no way of explanation because if you don't know you just don't know. But I have thought alot lately about how much sadness there is between my parents, and between me and my parents and my sister. The dynamic is just strange; I've never known anything like it. I see glimpses of familiarity in stuff like Little Miss Sunshine or Rain Man or What's Eating Gilbert Grape but... nah. Anyway, my young life after Dory was born (even somewhat before that I'm sure) was really sad, and I think it made me kind of a sad person. I mean, I could have fought that, I'm not a strong person so I guess I just gave in too easily, but you might have, too. I think it's because alot of those American Childhood Rights and Experiences were taken away from me. I say American meaning first-world type expectations, because obviously my upbringing wasn't dramatically scarring or traumatic, I would never say that, some kids just have the most incredibly painful childhoods I wonder how they survive as adults. However I would say that my life was depressing. It was monotonous and secluded in many ways, like we fell into a pit for 10 years.

After we moved to California I sort of climbed out of it, only to fall back in with other problems. My life now is an annoying pattern of hopeful spurts met with let down; all internal. I think, despite my old-soul quality that I had as a kid and my world-weary-for-a-homeschooler-attitude I was really hopeful and open and impressionable coming here because I thought it was the exodous, but it wasn't. I am still tied to my family's sadness, and that's the worst part-- being out here, "away" from it, I am so not away. This month I have realized what I've thought about for sooo long, which is that I must find a way to look after my parents and my sister, and relatively soon. Firstly, I want to save them from their lives before they're too near death to enjoy living-- and i mean, really living a pleasant life in their own ways. Secondly, I want to look after them in their old age. Thirdly, I want to give Dory a life, and take care of her. I realized something horrible yesterday--- I hope Dory dies before I do, because the only thing worse than seeing your sister die before you pass away is the thought that she will not be taken care of. There is such a weird feeling, too, because Lord knows in many ways I love Dory but in some ways I simply don't-- that's something people can't understand. Autistic kids are so rarely loving and affectionate. I'd like it better if she were just retarded, and could talk to me and be affectionate. As it is, she's just weird, and the most affectionate she's ever been was before the last move, when she was exhausted and cold and I was sitting with her, watching Hairspray for the 5000th time, and she reached out and held my hand for awhile. She kinda hates me now, and that's hard when she's not as small and cute and pick-uppable as she used to be.

Lastly, I feel the heaviest weight from my family to do well. This is ridiculous, my parents are the last people in the world to have high expectations or make demands about what I do with my life. They want to help me, they'll never make me feel like they're disappointed, and they'll probably always be proud. But I have to give them something, you know? I have to give them something. They are so tired, these people that I come from, and if I can't help them I at least want them to be able to tell people things about me. Or for them to know I'm okay and working and not broke or sad or lonely or confused or even just single. Sometimes I think I really would like a man around, someone to be things for me that I just can't be for myself, but more than even that I more often feel like it would be nice to have someone around so my parents could feel I turned out okay and not crazy or unlovable. I would really like to make alot of money and be filthy rich and all that, but I'm mostly okay with accepting the artist's life... except that my parents would worry that maybe I flopped. I want them to be able to tell their friends how well their daughter turned out-- not because I need the reputation or anything, but because they need to feel ok. I hear that some elements of this issue are typical for the siblings of the autistic etc, ie, as the normal one we are driven to be the "good" one, to excell, and that's somewhat true, but I doubt that whoever came up with that theory ever met my parents. it's so much more complicated than that.

I guess watching the movie Snow Cake triggered all of this. It made me start reading about autism again and families who deal with it. I caught myself talking outloud one night-- for a very long time, so I opened up Final Draft and wrote the beginning and end to a new script, using mainly the essential monologue I had just spoken outloud about my family. It will make for something very interesting or very cliche eventually. Which pretty much sums up how I feel about myself right now.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Friday, March 12, 2010

I meet strange people. I guess everybody meets strange people, but the saying is true that it takes one to know one. I'm a strange person by choice-- I have this theory that I came out fairly normal, then, upon seeing the strange that began growing on me like a fungus on my head, I encouraged the weird side of me to grow. To stupid people, or just normal ones, often the concept of a strange person becomes equal to the impression of someone who is interesting. That's what I'm really after. Please, God, do terrible things to me but please don't let me die uninteresting.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010


i want to throw a hissy fit and break stuff.

Friday, March 5, 2010

“All the time the flapper is laughin’ and dancin’, there’s a feelin’ of tragedy underneath...”

for my adaptation class, i'm doing a biography of clara bow. it's a project i've kind of dreamed about doing for 2 years now.

she had such a soul. i hate to be cheesy, but you can feel it just seep through pictures like this.

this is just me working things out on virtual paper, and not really for anyone's edification. unless you enjoy lists of my flaws.

yes. try harder.

i'll admit it; this week i've really crumbled. i don't know why i'm like this, there must be something inherently wrong in my genetic makeup-- even at the age of 13 I told my friends that I considered myself the culmination of my parents' flaws. SHall I list them?

Perfectionistic to the point that I fear commitment to any project,

terribly anxious to the point of being fearful and destructive if commitment threatens my anythinggoes routine,

indeed, anxious to the point that rather than merely quaking with anxiety about the worse case scenario i exceed the worse case scenario but not doing anything,

introverted in the sense that my general interactions with people are pleasant enough but reveal a self that bears little to no resemblance to the real me,

harshly judgmental and unforgiving of myself and extending that judgment to others,

far too indulgent of the previous trait to the point of intense self-hate,

emotionally wired-- though I have a long fuse my emotions are nevertheless intense, deeply felt, and incapacitating occasionally,

depressed to the point of despondency, which often leads to poor student work or, uh, bad hygiene at times,

my unique ability to overthink things in a circular fashion, even questioning my own motives within motives within motives....,

chronic wanderlust and dissatisfaction (fear of commitment and desire for it??), which, ironically, i somehow choose to satisfy by wasting my money and time on doing pedestrian things, lurking in my cave, and buying/eating massive amounts of junk food or drinking,

my immediate rejection of and flight from anyone i perceive to be attractive,

a dreamer's mentality, revolving around creative situations or ideas about my future,

immense attachment to those i do care for, to the point that i depend upon them in order to be defined,

my strange need to be defined in general by what i like, listen to, read, watch, wear, own, and surround myself with,

profound loneliness. usually self-imposed.

and right now i'm feeling the weight of every single one of the above. how tiresome.

BUT! we press on!

the other night i was bemoaning my existence to my mother, who really doesn't know the extent of it, and she took this very patient tone with me and reminded me that these are the best years of my life. me: bullshit. i still think this. however, she went on to say that i have infinite possibilities. i really can be anything that i want to be, and try so many things, and know so many people, and accumulate so many stories.

my problem right now is that i dislike myself so much that i feel as though i'm not yet ready to even attempt any of that, and beginning the process of making me like myself takes such dedication. but my mother was right. maybe i'm not ready to attempt that, but i need to work towards it. i need a specific schedule, and goals, and checkmarks over elements that will remind me that i can be someone that i like, someone impressive, someone who'll have stories to tell and pictures to show and proof that i lived when i fade from existence someday.

and i guess that's what i need to focus on. I am going to write it on a big yellow piece of paper and hang it over my bed: POSSIBILITY. Actually, better make that plural.


let's roll.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

things that are good:

The last 30 seconds of "Wheels" by Cake where the lead singer starts in singing "WHY YOU SAY YOU ARE NOT IN LOVE WITH ME?" I like to sing it loudly while I walk from the parking lot to my apartment at night. Sometimes it gets a response.

Lauren Ming's apartment, as seen from the soccer field on my way inside. Namely, the large fome finger that I always thing kind of looks like a giant fake turd, and the makeshift poster of George Clooney she has on the wall. She has a ton of cool stuff on her wall, but something in George's expression, that twinkle in his eye makes me think that nothing could go wrong on his watch. I'm not even especially fond of George Clooney in reality.

The moon. It's been so beautiful lately with all of this odd weather-- it's either raining or very sunny, so the moon is either like a perfect pane of glass or a very bright star with eerie clouds passing, I like to think, through it.

Nice teeth.

Buffalo '66. Specifically, this scene, which is so charming weird and, uh, kinda beautiful.
This movie was not at all what I thought it was going to be, and while it's on the self-indulgent side sometimes I still thought it was pretty fantastic. I especially loved these sorts of moments (click on the picture to see the youtube vid, it's wonderful):

actually, just add christina ricci to the list. she's always weirded me out but she finally won me over with Black Snake Moan and now this one.

Hell Yes by Beck. I hate Beck, aside from the general line "I'm a driver, I'm a winner" which my old driving instructor used to chant to me. Anyway, HY makes me want to be a japanese robot. in a good way. Mostly the "my beat is correct" part. and the creepy "hi."

There's a funny little guy in one of my screenwriting classes. This week we started work-shopping scripts, and another screenwriter had written a fairy-tale comedy for us to read aloud. She gave the part of a dancing dwarf or something to this kid, and he proceeded to sing the lines loudly and emphatically, one line being "RING AROUND THE FAIRY..." He was dedicated to that role. I hope he gets an Oscar someday.

A voicemail from a few weeks ago was listened to today, and I heard my friend Dominic at the tail end of the message say "I miss you." It was unexpected, unremembered, and great. A rare, earnest "I miss you" as if in that very moment there was an abyss in his life because I am not there. I replayed it.

The story "The Judge's House" by Bram Stoker. I had to read it for my Irish Gothic class, and devoured it. There are two incredibly creepy moments in that story, but the one that made me actually say "DRAT" out loud in a room by myself involved the book-throwing bit. Right now I'm reading Dracula, by the same fellow of course, and I have to admit the guy is good.

I'm a bad Shakespeare student, so I basically haven't been to class in forever. But we had the privilege to read (or in most cases reread) the Merchant of Venice last week, and this line (as a part of Shylock's amazing speech that I have always loved) just makes my heart gasp:
"If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge. The villainy you teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction."
I'm a Shylock fan, I really am.

Creamsicles. They make me remember life in Florida, in fact many specific moments of me breaking from splashing around in my kiddie pool and watching creepy giant rainbow lizards to trot up to the backdoor and take an orange creamsicle from my mom. This weekend I splurged and bought a box of them. They're all gone now.

This totally odd picture:

yes. that is marlon brando. AND jack nicholson.

The realization that someday I'll probably make a good film theory teacher. Actually, I'd make a good film theory teacher now.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being. The book. Not the movie. The book has some utterly beautiful moments, even if the book as a whole doesn't feel.. like a whole.

The way Virginia Slim cigarettes look between someone's fingers.

That my bed currently has 6 diet sunkist cans balancing precariously on its edge and my room-mate hasn't said anything.

Very Serious Kids Riding Scooters (good band name). Today while I was walking from class to class, I heard a rolly- sound behind me and noticed a tot, part of the daycare program they have going on here or something, rolling close behind me on his scooter. I smiled that condescending smile that you smile at little kids and kept going, but he gets next to me and gives me this serious look like "you think i'm playing, old lady? imma beat you." He proceeded to keep up with my pace, all the way to my class, where he finally turned around.

The sun reflects off of the apartment across from us, illuminating the room at about 9AM, even though we're in the basement.

A repair man came to our apartment last semester and broke our blinds, so we have an awkward, totally split blind. I'm really fond of it, kind of like George Bailey and his staircase thingy.

Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. - Deuteronomy 31:6 .... kinda speaks for itself. <3

and no list of happiness is complete without my once and future husband, robert downey jr. specifically, in zodiac, in which his 70's chic outfits make me want to find a time machine built for two.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

me, said the writer, dry as a bone.

Fitzgerald had written This Side of Paradise by the time he was 22.

Nick Cave wrote The Proposition in three weeks.

yeah, katrina, THREE period pieces in one semester is an awesome idea.

not only will you never sell them, they will be A MIGRAINE to write. and wtf is all your classmates will have to say.

but, ya know, go for it.