(summer daze)

Truly good film is rare. Truly good film is when you can’t get the characters out of your mind, no matter how hard you try. It's when the emotions you felt lingers for days afterward. Recently I just saw (500) Days of Summer and, I have to say, it was a pretty decent movie. Go on, roll your eyes. I know it has become the Garden State 2.0 in some regards, mostly because hipsters around the world are embracing it. But I really think (500) Days lives up to its hype, and even beyond.

Why? Well, sitting through (500) Days of Summer is a lot like falling in love. At first, it charms you, excites you, and exhilarates you. Then, just as you have invested yourself completely, it rips your heart out. I’m pretty sure I left the theatre murmuring, “ow!” and clutching my chest. I wanted to laugh, cry, and shake my fist at humanity all at once.

Above all, (500) Days was a scary, startling wake-up call. It made me realize I’ve spent the past three years being a Tom. Just because someone likes the “same bizarre crap” as you, doesn’t mean you are soul mates. Even worse still, you can like someone as much you want, but that doesn’t guarantee that they are going to like you back. Love isn't sports. It isn't academics. It doesn't matter how much toil and work you put into pining after someone. There is a point when you have to get over someone, and move on. Maybe (500) Days of Summer was just the push I needed to finally let go of my perspective Summers.

See it. You won’t be disappointed, not if you’ve been at the wrong end of a relationship.

corsets and cravats

This looks absolutely breathtaking! I am such a sucker for period pieces, and a truly wonderful one hasn't been released for what feels likes ages. Until this comes out, I'll be re-watching my worn copies of North and South and Tess of the D'urbervilles in anticipation.

On a side note, hello again. I'm very glad to be back--just in time for autumn!

budding wings

I haven't posted in awhile--because I'm not sure who I am. I'm in the middle of this great transcendental metamorphosis of character. Now that I'm eighteen, I'm not afraid to figure out where I belong, what I want, the woman I am supposed to be. This naturally has brought on a temporary hiatus. But here is a promise to write soon, once I am confident of the ground I stand upon. For the present moment, I need a little more time in my cocoon.

castles in the clouds

What can't you live without? For me, it is I Capture the Castle, Cassie, and giant volumes of Austen, Dickinson and Plath. It is curling up under the covers with The Secret Garden, Beauty and the Beast, or Tess of the D'urbervilles. It is tea tea tea in fancy goblets of all shapes and sizes. And, my latest caffeine addiction, hazelnut coffee.

It is Lula magazine, giant ribbons you tie in your hair, Simon when he is with Garfunkel. It is living vicariously through Angela Chase, Anne Frank, and that little Romanov princess. 

But, best of all, it is knowing that this list will not be ending anytime soon. That I could go on and on...I can't live without mermaid hair or lockets or wandering aimlessly though libraries on rainy November afternoons, and a thousand other luxuries.

I feel sorry for those who can't reside in their own sacred world of characters and made-up places. Who can't empathize with the creatures of their own imagination. I think I'll never grow out of pretending. 

the secret of roan inish

"Once a selkie find its skin again, neither chains of steel nor chains of love can keep her from the sea"

I went to the library yesterday afternoon and picked up a few films. I was having a very horrible day, a mean reads sort of day and needed to give my mind distraction from reality. One of the films was The Secret of Roan Inish and I can say with confidence that, after watching it last night with a cup of raspberry tea, it is one of the most enchanting movies I’ve ever seen. The swelling Irish landscapes, the haunting score, the beautiful costuming, and the folklore all left me missing something that I didn’t know I’d ever lost. The film was so full of Ireland and the rolling blue sea that my heart could hardly remain inside my chest. It wanted to leap into the screen and reside with its Gaelic roots permanently.

I dreamt that night that I lived on the Irish coast as a fisherman’s wife. My home was a cozy little seaside cottage with low ceilings, roaring fires, and an endlessly simmering pot of stew. We survived the tempestuous stormy winter evenings by curling up under quilts and reciting ghost stories in fevered whispers. We always smelled of salt, of brine, of fish. A dream that kills your spirit a little when you realize you have to awake. It made me realize that if I ever find myself in Ireland again, I won’t be coming back.