New Swoon

This past Thursday, I ventured into the wild with my friend Kat to continue a most sacred tradition: attending the midnight screening of Twilight. With Smirnoff.

Oh come on, how could you watch that movie sober if you weren't a thirteen-year-old girl? Or her mom (don't get me started on the horror that is the Twilight mom fanbase)? What follows is (as near as I can reconstruct) a blow-by-blow of the night. I will let it speak for itself.

Me: I'm so excited to see New Moon!

Kat: I can't wait for the awfulness to ensue!

Adam: Don't trip on your way to the theater!

(We wait in line for a good 15 minutes before we realize that we're in line for a later showing and our theater is already open. Enter completely packed theater.)

Me: Sh**

Kat: (pointing to about five empty seats) Excuse me, are you saving these seats?

Twilighter: Yeah, sorry, they're ALL saved.

Us: GAH! UNFAIR!

(Eventually, we find two empty seats in the first row of the main seating area on the farthest left.)

Kat: I'm going to go buy Reese's Pieces.

Me: Hopefully we won't lose them under our seats like last year!

Kat: Give me the ticket so I can get back in the theater without being ripped to shreds.

Me: (tossing her the ticket like a life preserver) Good luck!

(10 minutes and $4.25 later)

Kat: We still have an hour...

Me: Let's catch up on life!

(A deep conversation about life/the future/senior year paradoxically occurs in the theater waiting for New Moon. Hah. Start previews.)

Everyone: Aaahhh!!!!!

Me and Kat: *snicker*

(A preview shows with Robert Pattinson in a different movie . I confusedly point at the screen because he's not supposed to show up yet. The suspense has been RUINED.)

Everyone: Aaaahhh!!!! (clapping subsides as RPattz kisses another girl on screen)

Me: But he's only supposed to kiss Bella, I don't understand!

Kat: Bella or meeeee!

(Previews end. New Moon starts with an image of a full moon.)

Kat: But...you can't see a new moon, that's the whole point!

(Title slowly appears as the moon disappears)

Me: Oh, clever.

(First scene of the movie and Edward is already sparkling...foreshadowing a fateful sparkle to

come??? Either way, Kat and I take a drink.)

I suppose I should lay out the rules of the game now: any time Edward sparkles, take a drink. Any time Jacob is shirtless, take a drink (that one got me good). Any time there is a dramatic close-up of chaste eye sex, take a drink. Any time there is a cheesy Edward-hallucination, take a drink. Aaaand any time something utterly ridiculous that would only happen in the Twilight universe happens, take a drink. And, back to the movie:

Bella is sooo reluctant to turn 18 OMG Edward is 17 and she's a coug! No one can celebrate except her father (who gives her an "actually great" camera) and the entire Cullen family because they insist. And Jacob, who possessively hugs her after giving her a dreamcatcher. But other than that, no one else. And God, Bella, be NORMAL and just be happy to become a legal adult. Sheesh!

Bella: Turn me, Edward. I'm getting old and wrinkly fast. 18 is just the beginning!!

Kat as Edward: No, I'll totally still want you and all your wrinkly parts in 80 years.

Bella: *angst*

(Zoom to English class where they are watching the heavy-handed foreshadowing movie, Romeo and Juliet.)

Edward: So I was totally going to kill myself if you didn't live at the end of the last movie.

Bella: Sad. How?

Edward: There are, like, these vampires in Italy called, like, the Volturi...(insert "exposition" here)...Basically, they keep vampires from revealing to humans that they are vampires, because the law is, like, don't.

Teacher: Are you guys listening back there??? What did Romeo just say, Edward?

Edward: Allow me to simultaneously pwn you by reciting the last twelve lines verbatim, teacher, and strongly foreshadow my state of mind at the end of this movie!

Bella: HOT.

Enter the Cullen house. Alice has pulled out all the stops, Emmett has already installed a radio in Bella's car (because she has no choice in the matter, of course) and everyone loves her except Rosalie, who looks like she knows what's coming. Maybe she gave her an extra papery birthday card on purpose? The sneak!

Bella: Ow! Papercut. I knew I couldn't make it through 20 minutes without bleeding.

(Dramatic blood drop on white carpet. Suddenly everything is in slow motion--which for

vampires is sloooooooooow.)

Edward: Oh ****.

( Jasper hurtles himself toward Bella with a gleam in his eye, Edward's solution is to
FLING Bella backwards into a wooden and glass table.)

Edward: You think that hurt, Bella? Your entire arm may be bleeding, but imagine what Jasper would have done to you. My way was BETTER.

Bella: *whimper*

Alice: The blood, it smells so good!

Carlisle: Time to go, Bella.

(Outside Bella's house by her truck)

Bella: So...
Edward: Yeah...
Bella: Since it's still my birthday, can I ask one thing? Kiss me...
Me: He looks pained!
Kat: Why are they grunting???

(The next day in school and Edward is not there. Also, Bella sucks at scrapbooking. Skip ahead to the sentence of death.)

Edward: Take a walk with me. (Kat and I flip out for Bella 'cause she so obviously does not understand the horror that is coming. THE HORROR.)

Edward: So, my family and I are leaving Forks for a totally fake reason not related to my not-brother almost killing you on your birthday.

Bella: Great, let me pack and break my dad's heart again so I can disappear with you.

Edward: You're not coming.

Bella: Whaaa???

Edward: I don't love you. It's been fun! K, bye now.

Bella: So shocked, must crawl around in leaves and dirt to cope...

(This part of the movie was of particular interest to Kat and me. In the book, Bella's life ceases to exist because she is so numb that Edward has left her. I'm not kidding, the next four pages are the names of the months "October. November. December. January." with NOTHING WRITTEN IN THEM. Because what is life without a boy? NOTHING.)

Kat: Will the screen fade to black for half an hour?

Me: Only if they wanna do it right.

(Compromise! A camera 360s around Bella as she sits in her room and looks out the window at the changing seasons. For each full revolution, a month passes. Of course. At this point, I was not only infuriated/delighted, I was dizzy.)

Charlie: I'm worried about you, Bella. You wake up screaming like a banshee in the middle of the night and I can't sleep no mo'. Shut UP. And get a life.

Bella: No prob, dad. I just now decided I'm going to a movie with Jessica-who-I-hate so you don't have to worry about me anymore!

(After the movie, Jessica is talking non-stop in what I think is one of the most amusing innovations of this movie: script that was not in the book. And I do believe that she makes some reference to the zombies in the movie they just saw looking like they had leprosy and is that supposed to be funny? Because it is so NOT funny, her cousin had leprosy...beautiful. I love you so much right now, Jessica. Swig.)

Bella: Hey, I think I see the guys who tried to rape me! I'm gonna go say hi!

Jessica: Wtf, Bella?

(And it was at this part that we finished most of our drinks: Cheesy Edward-hallucination time!)

Edward-ination: Turn around, Bella, they're dangerous.

Bella: Edward! My savior! Are you overprotecting me again? I'm just gonna keep walking toward danger so I can continue to see you, oh figment-of-my-imagination.

Edward-ination: Srsly, Bella, turn around.

Bella: Nope. Hey guys, can I ride on your hog?

Jessica: BELLA!!!!

(As Bella dodges misty Edward-faces on the Terror Hog of Death, she puts two and two together: danger/impending death = seeing Edward. And thus, an adrenaline junkie was born.)

Bella: Jacob, I've decided I want to risk my life much more frequently than I do now. Will you help me by fixing up these old motorcycles?

Jacob: If it means getting time to spend with you? Yesssss.

(I really hoped they would have a sappy montage of Bella watching Jacob fix the motorcycles, but no such luck. Apparently dialogue is so necessary to watch their relationship develop. Being 16, Jacob feels the need to prove his manhood to the 18-year-old Bella.)

Jacob: So I can totally fix motorcycles and you can't, so that makes me like, 35, right?

Bella: What? You're 16, don't play, Jacob. I love being your friend, you make me feel alive again, but I don't want to be a cougar. I only date guys that are a hundred years older than me. It's weird if the girl is older.

Jacob: Whatevs.

(Bella tries out the motorcycle for the first time and OF COURSE crashes and knocks her head on a giant rock. But she doesn't feel it 'cause she saw Edward and even talked to him and that's all that matters, right?)

Jacob: Bella, you're bleeding.

Bella: Sorry.

Jacob: Why are you apologizing for bleeding? (WHY INDEED.)

Bella: ...

Jacob: Let me take off my shirt unnecessarily to reveal to you my glorious abs under the pretense of dabbing ineffectively at your head! (Swig.)

Bella: You know, you're kinda beautiful. (Somewhere, Ben Barnes and the rest of Hyrise are singing "Leading Me On")

(Something else not-happens in the movie here, but I don't remember what it is. Because it doesn't further the plot, and Jacob didn't take his shirt off. So it's not important.)

Jacob: I should have fixed these motorcycles slower to give mah-self more time with you.

Bella: Then let's go see a movie with all the friends I've ignored from high school.

Jacob: Coo'.

(Bella and Jacob see shirtless guys (swig) cliff-diving. Bella is so alarmed she pulls her truck to the side of the road and gets out.)

Bella: OMG! That guy is trying to commit suicide! Let's help him, we can get there faster by walking! (REMEMBER YOUR FIRST IMPRESSION OF CLIFF-DIVING, BELLA).

Jacob: Chill, they're just cliff-diving. Btw, I hate those guys, they're like, a gang, and they keep looking at me like they're waiting for me to join them. (BABY PLOT POINT)

Bella: Well, just stay away from them. (NO BELLA, DO NOT KILL THE BABY PLOT POINT, IT'S SO YOUNG.)

(Mike and Jacob waiting outside the theater for Bella.)

Mike: So you're like, what, 14?

Jacob: No!

Mike: Are you old enough to see this movie? Cause I totally am and that is why Bella should love me!

Jacob: Bella's buying my ticket, so...shoot. (Enter Bella)

Bella: Everyone else canceled! It's just us.

*awkward*

(In the theater, Jacob has his hand propped open, waiting for Bella's caressing touch. Zoom over to Mike--same thing. In the middle, Bella's arms are firmly crossed. Oh Bella, I feel soooo bad for you, the pain of having two boys want you at once! How do you get by?)

Mike: I'm gonna hurl! (sprints out of theater, Bella and Jacob leave too, for no reason except to

have this totally necessary plot-point conversation, and wait in the lobby for him. No really, it

actually kinda furthers the "plot" a little. You'll see.)

Jacob: What a wimp, you should totally hold out for someone with a stronger stomach, Bella. Someone who laughs at the gore that makes weaker men vomit. (He actually says that. Obvious much?)

Bella: I'll keep that in mind AND NO YOU CAN'T HOLD MY HAND, JACOB! I mean you can...I mean, I don't know...

Jacob: I would never hurt you like that lame-ass vampire, Bella, let me demonstrate by putting my super-warm forehead close to yours.
Bella: Let me cave in like the tease that I am.

Mike: I'm interrupting! Gotta go home, now.

Jacob: COCK BLOCK! (Looks verrrrry angry)

Mike: Dude...

Bella: Dude...?

Jacob: I'm feeling kinda weird, ok? Lay off! (cause he has a case of wolf flu, it's the latest epidemic in La Push.)

(Bella cannot deal with the craziness of her empty life now that Jacob is quarantined with "mono" and hikes to the Meadow of Sparkles to reimagine what it was like to be with Wardo. Of course, it's winter, so everything is dead--like their love.)

Laurent: 'sup, Bella?
Bella: Laurent! So good to see you! Why are your eyes red?

Laurent: Just stopping by to see the Cullens. But they're not...around...are they?

Edward-ination: Lie!

Bella: No, Laurent, they're totally here!

Edward-ination: Lie betterrrr!!

Bella: They stop by and check on me all the time! E...Ed...Edward worries if I don't!

Laurent: Yah right, food.

(Enter snarling wolves as Laurent attempts to make good on Victoria's promise to kill Bella. One looks at her a little too seductively for a wolf.)

Bella: Hey dad, those "bears" in the woods? NOT BEARS. (*plot point*)

(Bella is still cut off from Jacob while he is sick, so she goes to see Jacob in the rain, all pitiful and wet, only to discover that he is walking around outside. Shirtless.)

Bella: Jacob! I thought you were too sick to go outside, you LIED to me with your lying face of lies!!

Jacob: Go away, Bella, I'm going through some changes.

Me: Puberty?

Jacob: Just, just go. It's not you, it's me.

Bella: Are you breaking up with me? *pout* (Wait, Bella, I thought you didn't want Jacob like that? MAKE UP YOUR MIND.)

(It is at this point that I have ceased to remember what order certain scenes are in. I don't think, however, that the order truly matters, given the lack of plot. Here are some key moments in the movie.)

Jacob: (throwing rocks at her window) Yo St-...Bella! I'm coming up! (Jacob jumps into her room through her window by acrobatically bouncing off a tree and the side of the house. Nope, Charlie didn't hear that, you're good, Jacob. Also, teen girls everywhere swoon as yet another popular fantasy is fulfilled onscreen for them. Also, what is Bella doing to Jacob's stomach?)

Jacob: I have a secret that I can't tell you.

Bella: Gar! *Angst* Let's run away together!

Jacob: Would if I could. Remember the story I told you on the beach about the Quileutes and the Cold Ones? You know, when you (used me) flirted with me so long ago?

Bella: I only remember the part about the Cold Ones.

Jacob: You would. Well, I can't say anything, but try to remember 'cause our non-relationship will be so much easier if you can understand the burden I carry. (reeeeeally intimate hug, "Leading Me On" reprise)

(Did I mention Jacob was shirtless the entire time? Swig.)


Aaaaand Bella has a really really helpful dream where she conveniently remembers her conversation with Jacob on the beach verbatim. Man, I wish I had dreams like that.

Bella: I gotta see Jacob.
Billy: Not here, sorry.
Bella: You and your wheelchair can't stop me! (She sees Jacob asleep in his too-small bed...say it--"awwwww!" But then she spots Sam and his Shirtless Men Gang and gets angry.)

Bella: Yo SAM! I have a beef with you!

Sam: What?

Bella: You've done something to Jacob, he's terrified, and I hate you!

Paul: Nuh-uh, he's changing on his own--

Bella: Let me assert myself because I am (not) a strong, independent woman...*slap!*

Paul: Soo...angry...*werewolf mode* (which I think is commonly referred to as a "fursplosion")

Jacob: I will not be outdone! (Runs toward Bella and jumps over her to perform his own fursplosion)

Bella: Ohmahgawd...

Time goes by, the vodka gets lower, Kat and I have found less and less to say as the movie says it for us.

Example: Bella goes over to the werewolf stronghold where Emily, Sam's fiance, is making food for a hundred. But Bella is warned to not stare at Emily because it annoys Sam. "Why would I stare?" asks Bella. Oh, because half her face was ripped off by her werewolf boyfriend. But it wasn't his fault, he just lost his temper and he was standing too close to her, and everything is totally fine now because they're in love and can't you tell by the way he kisses her scars? Domestic abuse parallels, anyone?

(Jacob must hunt for Victoria and can't be with Bella for like, 5 seconds, so of course she falls apart. Bella, he's doing it for youuuuu!)

Bella: Hey! My budding relationship with Jacob and his possible werewolf troubles don't compare to the absent Edward! This time, I'm going to go cliff-diving to hallucinate that he cares. (Jump)

Bella: That wasn't so bad, oh sh** (pounding waves, undertow, tumbling underwater, Bella knocks her head on a rock, dying, EDWARD!)

Bella: Dying rocks as long as I get to stare at your equally lifeless body, Edward-ination. (Saving hand of salvation)

Jacob: She's not breathing! Time to do mouth-to-mouth (finally)!

Bella: *splutter* I'm ok!

Jacob: What the hell, Bella?

Bella: You interrupted my eyesex sesh with Edward! Who cares if I was dying??!!

Jacob: Bella, right now I am leaning over you shirtless and we're both soaking wet.

Bella: Edward...

Jacob: Bella, if you insist on being immune to my sexy... *hangs head in despair* Also, Harry Clearwater died.

(Jacob drives her back home and they have a moment where they ALMOST kiss because we have to save the actual (assault) kiss for the next movie. Don't worry, kiddies, the forced subjugation is coming!)

Jacob: I smell a vampire.

Bella: Edward!

Jacob: Dude, it's not safe. I can't protect you if you go to Mr. Stinky Vampire.

Bella: No, it's cool! Go home, Jacob. I don't need you anymore (except I do).

(Bella enters her house.)

Alice: Bella! You're alive!

Bella: Of course!

Alice: But I saw you jump off a cliff! I logically concluded that you had committed suicide!

Bella: Wait, you thought...what? Oh, silly Alice! I'm just trying to fantasize about Edward, I'm fine.

Alice: Oh...we need to talk about your crazy, girl.

(Enter Jacob to unnecessarily protect Bella from the most awesome vampire ever, who leaves because even she is not immune to Twilight-created prejudices)

Alice: I'll come back as soon as you put the dog out.

(Oh, Alice. I thought you were better than that. Even so, you still have my love--wait, am I becoming Bella??)

(Another intimate moment in the kitchen when Jacob tries to convince Bella that he's the only man for her, blah blah blah, phone rings.)

Jacob: Hello? (Because Bella could never answer her own phone, oh no.)

Other person: (Something to the effect of, Is Charlie there?)

Jacob: No, he's not. He's planning a funeral (clunk).

Oh Jacob, you know not what you DO! 

(Flash to Rio where Edward is standing on a balcony with his shirt open, eyes downcast and tortured, as he slowly but surely crumples his phone in his fist. 'Cause he's emo like that and has also logically concluded that Bella is dead from Alice's vision and Jacob's statement. Time for some Shakesp-- romantic suicide!)

Kat: Why is Edward in Rio???

(Flash back to the Swan kitchen)

Bella: Who was that?

Jacob: Edward.

Bella: @@@??ASDFA!!?AFSDF?SAD!!!!R (Best part, I didn't even try to spell "sad" and it just came out. Teehee!)

Alice: I've just had a vision and now that Edward thinks you're dead, he is going to make good on that suicide attempt he mentioned at the beginning of the movie! We have to go save him from himself!

Bella: Bye, Jacob.

Jacob: *whimper*

Oh, of course they're flying Virgin.

Alice: So here's the plan: we're going to drive into the city in this hot care I stole (because I'm AWESOME) and you're going to get out and run like hell to stop Edward. Why, you ask? Well, you see, Edward is planning to kill himself by sparkling in the the central plaza at noon. Today is the feast day of when all the vampires are expelled from the city, so you see, today is significant. His sparkling would be ironic as well as dazzling. And of course, noon time will give him maximum sparkle-age so the Volturi will swoop down and kill him for revealing to everyone that he is a vampire.

Bella: Got it.

(Bella gets out and runs faster than I thought such a weak human could. Two minutes left, Bella, get the lead out! Knock those red-robed bystanders out of the way, that's right! Who cares if there are children in the way? They don't know your love for Edward! Run dramatically through a fountain, whatever makes the scene visually dynamic! Did James teach you nothing??? RUN!!!!)

Kat: The city people look like medieval Catholics!

Me: Oh god, they do!

Kat: Oh, Mormons.

(Edward takes off his shirt and begins to step into the sunlight.)

Kat: DEATH BY SPARKLE!!!!!

Bella: Noooo! (She covers him with her body and pushes him back into the shadows)

Edward: Hey Bella, I totally thought you were dead!

Bella: Well I'm not, so it's ok, you don't have to kill yourself!

Edward: I totally love you, baby.

Bella: I totally forgive you for leaving me to die in the woods, baby.

*kiss*

(Oh, but it's not that easy. The Volturi are more than a little upset by Edward's attempted sparkle-icide.)

Impotent Volturi members: Let's go, Aro wants to see y'all.

B and E: No thanks...

(Enter Jane and her Death Stare of Gloom)

Jane: LET'S GO.

B and E: meep.

(Enter Volturi castle which is supposed to be underground but is not in the movie so whatever.)

Aro: Edward! So nice to see your talented mind-reading self again! And Bella, la tua cantante! (in case you forgot they're Italian. Btw, it means "your singer," the one who makes your heart sing. Sappy, Aro.) Join us!

Edward: No thanks...

(Aro hears that Bella's mind is impervious to Edward, and wants to try out her "gift" against Jane. Edward will have none of it.)

Edward: Noooo!!! (as he flings himself into the path of Jane's mentally-inflicted mental torture--which makes me wonder, if this is all happening in people's heads, how is there a discernable path of her attack???)

Aro: Well, that was noble of you, Edward, but we are still going to test Bella.

Jane: This might hurt just a little (as she smiles angelically. Oh, Jane, la mia cantante!)

Bella: Oh wait, did you start already?

Jane: *fume*

Kat and Me: *fume*

Aro: So Bella, you know too much about vampires. Either become one or die.

Edward: But her soul...

Alice: No, it's ok, Edward, I've had a vision that Bella becomes one of us. Let me show you, Aro. (Flash forward to vision of Bella and Edward running together through the woods, sparkling. Bella actually looks like she's enjoying physical activity and Edward somehow STILL looks worried about her! I hope they make Breaking Dawn into a movie for several reasons, but add the re-creation of this "scene" to the list, please, because I'm pretty sure that dress doesn't last long.)

(So in the book, Aro totally wants to collect Alice too, but she won't join them, and I can't remember if they put that part in the movie or if she just shows up to save Edward and Bella's collective lame ass. Either way, EPIC FIGHT ENSUES BECAUSE BELLA MUST DIE. AGAIN. This is what the whole movie has been leading up to, y'all! An epic fight that doesn't include Jacob, that addresses a threat vaguely referred to at the beginning of the movie but not carried throughout the plot, that doesn't include werewolves at ALL!!)

(At one point, a Volturi member smashes Edward to the ground, which shatters, but also part of Edward's cheek cracks and then heals...how??? Vampires are frozen in the human state they were turned in, how can he heal himself? And why is his cheek cracking in the first place, I don't understand! And did I mention that all this time Edward has been wearing a red Volturi robe that is clumsily tied shut so he looks like Hugh Hefner's screw-up son? Swig.)

Bella: OMG stop hurting him! Kill me, please, I can't do it myself no matter how hard I try!

Aro: Bored now. I'll consider letting them turn you into a vampire instead of killing you right now. It's just no fun if you want it.

Edward, Bella, and Alice: KTHNXBAI.

(They pass a group of human tourists being led to their doom, Bella seems concerned about complete strangers (but not her father or Jacob), screams are heard, Edward ushers her on, end scene. Back in Forks...)

Bella: So, when are you going to turn me, Edward?
Edward: Oh, that? No, I wasn't actually going to turn you. I just said that to get Aro off my back.
Bella: Time for a Cullen family intervention!

Bella: So! Those who want me to be a vampire, say aye! (Shut up, Edward!)

Alice: I already think of you as my sister, Aye!

Jasper: It will be a relief not to want to kill you. (Srsly, that's what he says.) Aye!

Emmett: Duh. When can we arm-wrestle?

Esme and Carlisle: Of course! The more, the merrier!

Rosalie: Noooooooo....I hate being a vampire even though I am frozen in a beautiful state and I'm married to my soulmate, it all means nothing 'cause I can't have BABIES. I'm looking out for you, Bella, so no. (Pay attention to this part for when they make the (god-awful) movie Breaking Dawn. I am going to go through so much popcorn.)

Jacob: Sooo, that ancient treaty (that was made in the 1930s and is NOT ancient by any stretch of the imagination) will be broken if you turn Bella into a vampire.

Edward: Step off, man, it's not yo' BIZness! Bella is MINE!

Bella: Jacob, don't make me choose between you two, 'cause I will totally choose him you lame, lame werewolf. I don't care if you're shirtless YET AGAIN, (you don't sparkle) it always has been and will always be him.

Jacob: Leaving now...

Bella: So, you gonna vamp me now or what?

Edward: One question first...

Bella: What?

Edward: Marry me? (OH SWOON.)

THE END

Me: That was AWESOME!

Kat: I regret NOTHING!

Final Thoughts:
1) Bella lets way too many people get all up in her business and touch her face. Seriously, girl, develop a personal bubble.
2) Jasper kinda looks like Hayden Christensen in Revenge of the Sith.
3) Edward's bare chest pales in comparison (*rimshot*) to Jacob's. Even though he's 17 :(

Aaaand, that's all, folks! I highly encourage you to see this movie. It will provide you with endless hours of laughter. Compared to the price of a ticket, the enjoyment this movie will bring you is priceless.

Meet Peter, My Hero.

I have had one tune lately, and it is wearing on me. The fact that my 21st birthday is in a little over a day seems so bizarre. It hardly registers with me because I have been so wrapped up in everything else. Life kept going? Really?

I've been watching the first season of Heroes lately, and I've found that the power I would most want for myself is that of Hiro Nakamura: the power to bend time and space. I'm sure you've discussed with your friends what superpower you would want if you were a superhero. My answer was usually the ability to go back in time so I could live within the ancient societies I have studied so extensively, or so I could freeze time to take a nap. My answer is still the same, but I have different reasons. Now, I just want time to re-experience my life. I wouldn't change anything--I just want more vivid access to my memories, and more time to appreciate all that is happening around me.

I am almost 21 years old. How did that happen? I remember envying the time when I would be 13, a teenager at last! Anthony Hopkins says in Meet Joe Black, "Sixty-five years. Don't they go by in a blink?" The first time I watched that movie, I carelessly attributed his statement to the sentimentality of an old man. Though I am nowhere near 65, I can begin to appreciate what he was saying. College went by in a blink, high school went even faster. Hell, what happened to childhood altogether? At what point did I stop being a child?

There are many answers to those questions, and I will not be so naive as to assume adulthood came upon me in one swift moment. I can only rely on my distaste for Miley Cyrus and the Jonas Brothers to assure me that I have acquired some level of maturity since I was 15. It is assuring to know that there can be no particular instance that bestows adulthood upon us--we have to earn it, step by step, decision by decision until one day we realize that we have stopped shopping in the juniors section for quite some time now.

My blog is replete with literary allusions, so what's one more? As the boy who would not grow up, Peter Pan always somewhat scared me. Who would not want to grow up? As a child, I had a rosy image of adults, that they were somehow fully equipped with all the answers and confidence they would ever need. Moreover, I thought everyone had equal access to these necessities. I became confused and scared when I encountered adults who did not have answers for me, or who seemed unhappy with their lives. As I grew slightly older, I began to learn that circumstances shaped a person's confidence, education, and contentment with life. Moreover, the "necessities" that I thought everyone received in their adulthood gift basket were not necessities at all--some managed to exist without any answers or confidence in themselves and others. That was when Peter Pan began to make sense to me.

How badly do humans fear time and change that we consistently invent icons who live outside of such boundaries? I daresay there are several who would run from change if they could, gladly welcoming an earlier era when life was simpler and responsibilities were few. I myself would gleefully jump into Republican Rome or Classical Greece, only to become disenchanted when my simpler life consisted of making babies and running the household.

Not all change is bad, and not all change is change. There is something to be said for the inevitable passage of time when women can expect more out of life than domesticity. Of course, there are still those who chose to be housewives, but in our society it is more a choice than an imposed expectation. There is still a caste system in India, and slavery still oppresses more than half of Mauritania's population. I did not know these things when I was 5.

The passage of time can be cruel. It can produce embittered beings who feel misunderstood and mistreated by the world. The glare of the sun is bright when the rosy glasses come off. But how else can we see clearly? How else can we save the world?

Midnight

I wrote this poem two days ago for my creative writing class. I was hesitant to read it aloud in class because I thought it would be so depressing, but my classmates found it oddly comforting. I find that incredibly unexpected...and appropriate.

Midnight

Midnight

What is Midnight?

His forehead wrinkles at midnight

The ocean a faded orange at midnight

The hour of midnight is a willow fallen in

Fall

The trumpets do not blare at midnight

The tornado will rest at midnight

The bamboo has broken,

The mountain crumbled by midnight.

Would a stomping foot hasten midnight?

Could midnight keep midnight at bay?

It creeps, crawls, scratches its way

Across our knees

To reveal that it is

Midnight.

And we do not run.

El Día de los Muertos

BOOM boom boom boom BOOM boom boom boom BOOM BOOM BOOM boom boom boom.... I was haunted by that rhythm as I watched dozens of dancers celebrate the Mexican holiday, El día de los Muertos. My three incredible friends and I stood side by side and scarcely breathed as tireless dancers in elaborate feathered costumes beat their souls onto the ground with heavy stomps of their feet. I did not know what they were dancing for, but felt that I too could dance with equal spirit when the time came.

BOOM BOOM boom boom boom BOOM BOOM boom boom boom.... Each rhythm was different, requiring a unique set of steps. Though they had only the beat of a drum to direct their motions, not one missed a step as they jumped, turned, stomped in unison. The deep, echoing drums reverberated in my chest and I knew that I would recognize that beat whenever I heard it again. It spoke to something primal and ancient within me, and I began to understand how the dancers reacted instinctively to each change in beat or rhythm. It was inside them, awakening a fierce joy that needed to be unleashed.

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM boom boom boom boom boom boom boom....The incessant beating soon became too much for me. I had to escape. The costumes were no longer exciting, they were terrifying. The dancers seemed to get bigger and bigger as the beat continued, their feathers stretching higher into the night, their painted faces contorting into true versions of the skulls they depicted. I want to blame my ears for being too sensitive, my eyes for being too myopic. In truth, I was afraid of what the drums were raising inside me: anger, fear, mania. The incredible noise of the drums blocked out most other sounds, and I could barely hear as my friends whispered gleeful statements to each other. I was lost in the pounding rhythm, my entire reality dissolving to yield to the beat, beat, beat of this ancient instrument. Why should such a rhythm cause me such alarm? I had been excited at first, reverent, as I watched them dance. But now, I was angry and fearful. How could they keep dancing? Weren't they tired? I was exhausted just watching them! Stop dancing! Why are you still dancing? Do you even know what it's for? Stop!

No longer within earshot, I was able to regain some composure. My bugging eyes and clenched jaw had relaxed, and the rhythm was fading into memory. Why had I been so upset? They were only dancing. I needed to breathe. I had felt my entire being restricted as I watched them dance. Slowly, I began to understand: I was afraid of such raw emotion. I've spent the last two months hurting, feeling every pain, and I've been able to cope by analyzing myself. As long as I could explain and intellectualize my emotions, they were safe. But the drums spoke to something deep inside me that had no words. On the day to celebrate the dead, I was driven to fury.

This experience has given me new food for thought, but perhaps I should not think about it for a change. It's one thing to chart my own progress in the stages of grief; it's another thing entirely to be undone by a repetitive sound. There is no right way to cope. But I will say this: I appreciate the irony that the rhythm of the drums made me feel more alive than I've felt in quite a while.

BOOM boom boom boom BOOM boom boom boom BOOM boom boom boom....

In Honor of Aunt Peg

I have spoken too soon. Last week, my godmother passed away after a three-year battle with cancer. For those of you who were lucky enough to know Sr. Peg Dolan, you can well attest to the brightness and goodness of her spirit. I knew her as Aunt Peg. She was my Irish godmother, the one who was always smiling and shining with cheeriness and love.

When I was younger, I had known that my godmother worked at LMU, but I didn't realize what a force she was on campus and beyond until I started my freshman year. I would offhandedly mention her in conversation, referring to her as "Sr. Peg?" as if it were a stretch that my acquaintance would know her. I soon learned, after repeated replies of "Oh, Sr. Peg! I love her!" that the wonder of my godmother was no secret.

I'm having difficulty wrapping my head around exactly what her loss means to me. I loved my godmother very much, but I took her for granted. I suppose many people feel that way after someone they love has died. I think the most difficult thing for me right now is to believe that she's actually dead.

I first learned on March 10, 2006 that Aunt Peg had cancer. That was also the day I totaled my car. It was not a good day. So began a three-year process. Every few weeks or so, my family would receive updates about Aunt Peg's condition, and we would visit her as often as we could. To be honest, her suffering wasn't really on my radar until everything else started falling apart. It pains me to admit that I couldn't think about Aunt Peg separately until I also had to think about my grandpa and my dog--and then they became a trinity of woes.

The thing that staggers me is the post facto realization that I didn't know she was really dying. Aunt Peg was always so upbeat, so present to everyone, that you would never know she was suffering. My friend Heather remembers a moment in the Lair when I was talking to Aunt Peg, before Heather knew who she was. She said that this beautiful woman seemed so alive, and when I told her Aunt Peg had cancer, she was astonished. I even forgot a few times. There were many points over the past three years when we all thought she had really beat it. I remember a day this past summer when my mom announced, against the backdrop of my grandpa's impending death, that Aunt Peg had just called to say she was cancer-free. I had breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Since that moment, I suppose I had been in a cloud of confusion about Aunt Peg's condition. I thought I knew that she was getting better, that there were some slippery moments, but basically she was on her way back to being healthy. I remember my parents coming home after their last visit with her, expounding on what a great visit it was and how Aunt Peg was in such great spirits. The day after she died, they revealed that during the visit, Aunt Peg had asked my dad to be a pall bearer.

I've been struggling with anger toward Aunt Peg since I found that out. It was so like her not to want to cause a fuss, but I needed to fuss over her. I feel like I looked away for one second, so focused on my previous sufferings that I didn't notice she was dying. She slipped away quietly, and I feel cheated. The last time I saw her was in May, and that was far too long ago. We had made plans long ago to have lunch, but for some reason neither of us could make it, so every time we saw each other afterwards we remembered we needed to have lunch. I feel half-crazy for admitting that I'm still looking forward to lunch.

Her death is not a reality for me. I seldom saw her on campus over the last three years because she was concentrating on getting better. She had become more of an idea than a reality for me. A few times, I would answer the phone and her mischevious, New York voice would sound. I always smiled to myself when I heard her voice. I guess, in a way, she had slowly become a voice and a memory to me. The few times I saw her helped to solidify her presence in my mind, but overall, she had been wasting away in my mind. That's why her death seems so unreal--I had been subconsciously waiting for the day when she would become more real. I had been waiting for the day when she would be able to be back on campus, deep in conversation with all her favorite people (which is to say, everyone). I can't believe how incredibly naive I was...I really thought she was going to live.

Aunt Peg's death has been a tough lesson in regret. I thoroughly regret not spending more time with her, not demonstrating more how much she meant to me. I know she wanted to save Jenny and me the worry, but if I had known just how sick she was, I would have visited her every day. Part of me is angry, the other part pacified that she wanted to treat us like the little girls we used to be.

Aunt Peg was larger than life. She lived with an admirable vitality and a spirit that lifted up everone around her. The entire campus knew her, respected her, loved her, and that is a testament to her greatness. Aunt Peg touched so many lives, at LMU and far beyond. I do not think it is an exaggeration to say that Sr. Peg Dolan, Aunt Peg, is one of the greatest people who has ever lived.

Something is Finished

Some things are finally over. In my earlier post, Serendipity, I mentioned the emotional burdens I had been carrying at that point in my life: my grandfather's struggle with Alzheimer's, my dog's ever-weakening condition, and my godmother's showdown with cancer. I remember being tormented by things I had no control over. Now, two out of the three are over. I don't have to worry about them anymore.

My grandfather passed away on August 7, exactly one week after he was moved back home from his residence in assisted living. Exactly three weeks later, August 28, my family and I took our dog to the vet and had him put down. That was also the day I moved back to LMU for my senior year.

If you're reading this and getting the razor out already, I promise that my intention is not to depress. This is for me to organize my thoughts about the most radical few months of my life thus far. Conversations with good friends have proven extremely helpful, but I need something tangible to remind me why all this matters.

I've spent more time crying than I thought possible. I even developed a system to accommodate this new activity of mine. For a while, it became habit not to wear any eye makeup at all because I knew it would be smeared within a few hours, and then I'd have the added burden of looking like a cheap prostitute. I always wore contacts because my eyes were easier to rub. With glasses, I'd have to wipe off the fog. It used to concern me how easily I could switch between gleeful abandon with my friends one instant and utter despair in solitude the next. It soon became apparent that this was going to be normal for a while, so I let myself cry whenever I felt like it.

There is a strange peace that settles when a loved one who is suffering finally passes away--no, when they die. Euphemisms only dull the reality. My grandfather and my dog died. These have been my first real encounters with death. Of course I understood what death was before now, but I never really expected to be surprised by the inevitable.

I knew my grandpa was dying, and I prayed for him to die so that we could all be at peace. The last few years have been a constant parade of bad news and dwindling hopes. For the last few months of his life, my grandpa did not recognize anyone, except in one miraculous moment of lucidity when, on the morning of his death, he told my grandma he loved her. I had forgotten what my grandpa had been like before the Alzheimer's. I had been so focused on his worsening condition that it was not until he died that I could begin to appreciate again my happy experiences with him.

I've been to only a few funerals, but at each one I've somewhat envied the family of the deceased. Whatever disagreements existed before, they are a unit now, impenetrable. They are together because they all loved the same person. They hold the ultimate trump card, too: any unusual behavior can be excused because they are grieving. On August 12, I got my terrible taste of that freedom. If ever I was questioned upon entering the viewing room, I gave the standard answer, "I'm family," and the interloper would solemnly step aside. No one bothered me if I decided to disappear for twenty minutes at a time--my absence was something to be understood, not criticized. And when I shook with sobs as my sister, my cousins and I walked our grandfather's casket down the aisle, such display of emotion was to be expected. I did not feel embarrassed or concerned about any of the usual things that day; rather, I felt privileged. And that was intoxicating.

Three weeks later, minus a day, I was home alone with Teddy, my beagle. Old age had crept upon him with surprising stealth until it had obnoxiously announced itself. Teddy had always been getting grayer, but a year ago his hearing, sight, and muscular control all seemed to disappear overnight. He didn't wag his tail anymore or seem to recognize us. He could no longer go out into the backyard because he might fall in the pool, and then he'd have no way of getting out. He couldn't find food or water, and every day at noon, like clockwork, he began to pace restlessly. Since he couldn't see, he bumped into the walls and developed open sores that never disappeared. He was falling apart, and none of us wanted to see it. This particular day was not hugely different from the others. He had slept until noon, and I had happily watched him as I ate my breakfast. But he wouldn't drink water. I practically had to shove his face in his bowl, but he didn't seem to recognize the element. It was a hot day and I knew he was thirsty by the way he was panting. Still, nothing worked. Even a makeshift baby bottle did no good. After hours of failing to get him to drink, I started getting angry. I shouted at him, enraged that he could be so stupid. Why wouldn't he drink?

When my mom got home, I was evidently crabby. When she asked what was wrong, I started complaining about something I don't even remember. It was a big deal to me at the time, whatever it was. When she asked me about the rest of my day, I started talking about Teddy and how much I was worried about him. And then I started shaking. When my mom asked what exactly I was saying, I could barely say, "I think we should put him down."

There are moments over the past few months that are burned into my memory. One of them is that entire day, August 27. I had to cancel a date because I was talking with my mom about putting our dog down...about putting...our dog...down. I held my mother and cried that day. We had the same conversation ten different times to make sure that we were doing the right thing. And when my dad and sister got home, we had the same conversation ten more times. I've never been so tormented about anything in my life. Whenever college admissions reps asked the question, "What is the hardest thing you've ever had to do?" I never knew what to tell them. I easily have my answer now. Too bad I'm already in college.

My dog could have continued like this for God knows how long. That's why it felt so wrong to make the decision to end his life. My dad had kept praying that the choice would be taken from us. Honestly, I hadn't given it much thought at all. It had never occurred to me that there would be a time when Teddy wasn't there.

We decided to put him down the following morning. None of us could look at him for a week or more, knowing that he was on borrowed time. We were all together and we could all support each other. It had to be right then. That night, we had a hall pass again. My mom and I slept on the couches downstairs so we could be with Teddy through the night. Instead of sleeping in the garage, Teddy stayed on the cool tile in the kitchen. I remember not wanting to fall asleep because I wanted to hear him snoring. The sound of Teddy's snores had been a constant noise in the background of our lives. The house would be so quiet without it. Neither my mom nor I slept much. We cried and watched tv. The next morning, we took him to the vet.

I can't begin to share all the significant moments that constantly resound inside my brain when I have nothing else to think about. The image of him struggling to his feet when the sedative had begun to take hold still breaks me. It was like he was trying to prove to us that he could live.

Sometimes I wonder if I should feel guilty about caring more about my dog's death than my grandpa's. Of course I loved my grandpa, but my dog was part of my life every day. I didn't realize how much I loved him, how much I counted on his presence, until I had to let go of him. I nearly flipped out this past weekend when my sister tried to remove a dog hair from my sweater. I know it's silly, but it's evidence that part of Teddy was there. His crate and blanket, his leashes and dog bowls are all packed away. If you looked at our house now, you wouldn't be able to tell that a dog had lived there. We have pictures of him, but no physical evidence.

Sometimes I close my eyes and remember what it felt like to pet him. I particularly liked to cup his ears in my hands or play with his paws. One of my favorite things to do was gently stroke his pads while he was sleeping and watch him twitch in annoyance. I can still feel his weight in my arms and his head against my chest. He was the perfect size for a dog.

When I'm at home, I catch myself thinking that he's still alive. Sometimes I think I'll see him in the backyard or under a kitchen chair. Other times, I imagine the clack of his collar as he ambles around a corner. I still shut all the doors in the house out of habit because Teddy might get stuck in a room somewhere. I still shut my window so I don't hear mom or dad waking up at 6 a.m. to feed him. I know I will have to break these habits eventually, but they seem like the only thing keeping his memory alive. As with my grandpa, I couldn't remember the good times with Teddy until he was dead. But I often think I would prefer the decrepit reality to the vigorous memory.

The experiences of my grandpa's and my dog's death could not have been more different. Both were peaceful with family all around, but one feels like a finished story. The other does not. I have never had the power to decide life and death before. Though I knew that pets were euthanized every day, I had no idea it was such a difficult decision. I still question whether we did the right thing. I always come back to the same answer, that we did what was best for Teddy. This was the first instance when a decision I made had such resounding implications. The burden of it still terrifies me. Our family is one less because we all decided to put him down. But I still wonder what would have happened if I had not owned up to my feelings with my mother.

I've been constantly struggling with myself: do I want people to see me crying or not? When I'm really in it, I don't want to be interrupted. Passing tears sometimes need an audience, though. How else will others know how much pain I'm still in?

I found therapeutic ways to cope with the death of both grandpa and Teddy. For my grandpa's funeral, I made a video of pictures from his life. In the background were festive Italian songs that seemed to make sense of everything. When Teddy died, I made a collage of his pictures for my mom's birthday. Creating these homages helped, but they seem a feeble salute to such vivacious beings.

My brain is not my own anymore. When I least expect it, when I stop spending time with friends or thinking about homework, images flood my brain. Sometimes I'll think of how my grandpa was already in rigor mortis when the coroners came to take him away. I think about how the vet had not even finished administering the injection when Teddy died. How close must he have been to dying already? When this happens, I take my mom's advice and follow up these thoughts with happy memories. I balance the sad with the happy memory of sitting with my grandpa on the couch, just talking. I remember playing tug of war with Teddy as he desperately fought to maintain hold of his rag bone. I don't want to push away the unhappy thoughts because they'll only come back with greater force later. This is the strange part about healing--you have to face it head on. I still am a little wary of being by myself, but I feel oddly better after a good cry, like I've accomplished something.

It is a comfort to know that both my grandpa and my dog are in a better place. I know what the Church teaches about animals going to Heaven, but as a wise Jesuit told me, ALL of creation yearns to be with God, and that includes animals. These experiences have certainly given me perspective on how I'm living my life.

The main thing I've taken out of all of this is that I've got to have faith that God has a plan. In retrospect, the death of my grandpa prepared me for the death of my dog. Both deaths have freed my family from seemingly endless heartache. Now we can all move on. Now I can start the next phase of my life, trusting that God will lead me through it. I am still blind in this process of healing, but I trust that it will get better. Every day is another step forward. Uncertainty and confusion will be normal for a while. As I prepare to turn 21, I really feel that my childhood is over...and the rest of my life is about to begin.

Through the Looking Glass

I'll be honest--I haven't read Alice in Wonderland. Considering that the novel and its sequel are practically bibles to my sister, I'm surprised I've survived this long without being hounded to read them. I plan to read them someday, but I am not particularly enthusiastic for that day to occur soon.

. . .

I wrote those three sentences a few months ago already. When I first began writing this post, I wasn't entirely sure where this topic would take me. I merely began to follow the White Rabbit down that cavernous hole, and tonight I finally discovered where it had been leading me. Why was I compelled to write about Alice in Wonderland in the first place? Why indeed.

Tonight was not a night like any other, but it was not spectacular either. I went to see my first drive-in movie on the roof of a building in downtown LA. I went with my sister and her friends, who have become my friends too, but who I'm sure continue to see me through the filter of my sister. I must admit, it makes sense.

Instead of opting to sit in the car like the activity would suggest, we all sat together on blankets in front of the screen. My sister and I, being rather under-prepared, resorted to alternately leaning on our hands and angling our necks sharply upward in an attempt to comfortably view the screen. Physical discomfort aside, my sister seemed very much at ease, chatting with strangers quite happily, her good mood infectious. I, on the other hand, being neither verbose nor taciturn, merely gazed out and absorbed the world around me.

Everyone was either chatting or had the same bemused expression on their face that I wore--we weren't uncomfortable, but we weren't entirely sure what to do next. And that's when the truth slowly materialized before my eyes like a grin without a cat: I was becoming a spectator in my own life. One of my greatest fears was coming true! The reason I found myself on that roof tonight was the same reason I suddenly felt compelled to begin writing about a book I've never read--I rely too much on my sister for direction.

There is more wisdom in the Cheshire Cat's words than I had previously understood. When Alice asks for direction but does not know where she wants to go, the Cheshire Cat appropriately responds that it therefore does not matter which way she goes. I bring this up not to imply that I have led a directionless life, but every now and then I find myself pressed against the glass, watching my sister on the other side.

A younger sister syndrome, perhaps. Nothing too serious. But as one takes greater control, life becomes curiouser and curiouser. . .

Bacon and an Adventure

I would never have thought to put those two together: bacon...and an adventure? When I think of bacon, there are frying pans involved, greasy paper towels, and the sense of expectation that usually accompanies Sunday morning celebrations at home. But if Samwise Gamgee has taught me anything, it is that you can bring frying pans along on any adventure. But what is an adventure?

I experienced last summer what it meant to have neither. On a three-week dig in the Promised Land, I doggedly burrowed my way through each day with the promise of neither bacon nor an adventure. Ironically, that is precisely what I had come to Israel for--an adventure, not bacon (I've never been much of a bacon fan.) I had already learned last summer that archaeology was not the roaring, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants experience that Indiana Jones had promised. So what was I doing on another dig? I still don't know. I think I just wanted to travel. I have always associated adventure with travel, but somehow I expected that just being in Israel would be enough to outweigh the archaeological tedium. The most significant thing I learned last summer is that travel and adventure can sometimes be less related than bacon and adventure. Banished to the farthest corner of my area, I spent several days of that dig sifting through bucket after bucket of dirt in search of beads the size of a freckle. I was in Israel, yes, but I was also in exile.

The misery of that experience has left me with one truth: you need not go far to have an adventure. It has also left me with the title for this blog post. One of the most fun people digging in my area was Linzie, a gregarious, social glue of a woman. Her humor kept me greatly entertained and often kept me from directing my trowel at my wrists instead of at the dirt. One morning, in the wee hours before the sun had risen and we were already sweating, she announced to the area that she had had a dream in which she baldly stated that she needed bacon and an adventure. There was no reason for this proclamation in her dream...it simply was. And so that phrase became the motto for our area.

The current summer of 2009 has proven that truth right. Instead of embarking on another journey to the Middle East (or anywhere, for that matter) I stayed home and got a job. It's nothing fancy--I work the concession stand at the local movie theater. I live with my parents, and when I'm not working, I take care of my aging dog. This summer has been therapeutic more than anything. If I had traveled somewhere, I would most likely have done so to escape pain--it's not been the easiest of years for my family. Staying put has calmed me in a way I did not expect. I have been exposed to unimaginable depths of heartache, but with the help of my family, I have thus far come through each trial. My nose has been rubbed in decay. It still smells awful, but I can deal with it better. I am stronger than I thought.

I have had plenty of adventures right at home। There was the instance of the falling tree branch, for example. The perpetrator? A squirrel. Not to mention the time I shared a bowling lane with two amorous high schoolers who kept stealing my ball. So uncool. Shit almost went down. Anyway, the real adventure is living life in the moment. I've found that when I'm fully present to whatever situation I'm in, I gain so much more from that experience...and that experience rapidly becomes an adventure. My dig last summer was hell because I spent the whole time wishing I were home, and when I got home I spent the whole time wishing I had enjoyed Israel more. I was never fully satisfied with either place because I didn't take time to fully experience each place when I was there. So this summer I stayed home and learned what it means to be a contributing adult back at my parents' house. I, too, can bring home the bacon, which is closer to adventure than you might think.

Serendipity

The movie "Serendipity" is on right now, and it could not have aired at a more serendipitous moment. I love the poetry of life. Anyway, I am having a Dickens of a time trying to write my four papers due in the two weeks before the semester ends, so what do I do to relieve my stress? Watch TV whilst I blog.

This is exactly what I shouldn't be doing right now. The imaginary weight of my unwritten papers should be bearing down upon my very real conscience, but instead, iBlog. If there were a time during this semester that I should be the most stressed out, it is now. With four papers rustling their empty pages in the corners of my mind, the knowledge that my beloved seniors are graduating, and the regret that I haven't had the time to say proper goodbyes, I should be hysterical! But instead, I indulge myself in the exact way that I shouldn't, which is ironically what the movie "Serendipity" is about. If you haven't seen the movie, it's about a man who is so intrigued by a woman he met years ago that he goes on a hunting spree for her, despite the fact that he is soon to be married. Before I learned more about myself and the facts of life, I judged this type of person harshly. How could you be so indecisive, so willing to screw up a good thing? Couldn't you simply trust the path you were on? Watching this movie again, I am much more forgiving. It is so easy to get stuck, and even easier to seize any opportunity to either validate or escape your chosen lifestyle.

I know too many people who are stuck. I suppose to some extent everyone is "stuck," but I have developed a healthy respect for and fear of immobility. Were I to become an object rather than an instigator of my own life, I imagine that I too would become a self-professed "jackass" and radically depart from whatever path my life was on. So, are these people guilty of anything other than an attempt to reclaim their lives?



Trust in one's judgment is so much harder to maintain than I had previously understood. Until I entered college, morality seemed more or less black and white to me. Sure, there were grey areas, but for the most part it should be relatively simple to discern right and wrong. Since entering college, I have been confronted with truly difficult decisions, ones that are not a choice between right and wrong but between right and right. That is the most confusing and tricky decision to make of all. I have lately realized that my perspective on morality hasn't changed drastically--I've always tried to consider another's point of view. I just never had to make truly difficult decisions before. For some reason or another, life has gotten much harder recently.

And that brings me back to the idea of serendipity. Why is it at this particular time in my life that everything seems to be falling apart? My grandparents, my godmother, even my dog are all rapidly declining, and it was an especially cruel twist that on Easter Sunday all these potential crises were actualized in some form or another. But the worst aspect is my inability to make any decision. These situations do not call for my action or judgment...just my audience. I am stuck watching my loved ones suffer. My surprising reaction has been to ignore these problems when I can. Perhaps it's not so surprising after all, but the only way I can conceive of reclaiming my life is to cut these people out of it (yes, I consider my dog a person, and you would too if you met him). But I suppose I have a choice after all--to ignore the sometimes utterly devastating facts of life, or to face them. Whether it be bravely, hesitantly, or heartbrokenly, I can choose to face them. Without trying to sound melodramatic, I think this is the hardest choice I have had to make in my life. I don't typically face reality when I find it so agonizing.

Serendipity is over. The movie, I mean. That is just as well, since the prospect of following fortunate coincidences as a way of life did not make much sense to me. I am finished doing what I "shouldn't" be doing, a phrase that applies to a multitude of sins: ignoring people, abandoning homework, etc. But I also "shouldn't" be blogging, and had it not been for the serendipitous confluence of movie-watching and blogging, I would not have realized the pattern by which I have been living lately. Serendipity might help me un-stick myself after all.

Lethargy

I first encountered the word "lethargic" when I was in sixth grade. In Accelerated Lit class, we were reading "The Phantom Tollbooth," and the word was used to describe the inhabitants of the Doldrums. I remember being intrigued by this new word, such an apt and onomatopoeic description of a sluggish soul. I was particularly affected by the word because it gave a name to much of what I had been feeling in sixth grade. Our Accelerated Lit classroom was particularly warm because our teacher, Mrs. Poppen, would not bow to our requests to turn the temperature down. She was a bit of a curmudgeon, which was another word I learned that year. For whatever reason, our classroom remained stifling, and the combination of oppressive warmth and as yet un-challenging literature made me rather lethargic that year. My head would nod, my eyes would get heavy, my mind would wander into the land of unicorns and waterfalls, and then Mrs. Poppen would shout my name and I was back in Thousand Oaks.

I am now in LA. It is a Saturday afternoon, and after a heavy rain yesterday, the swollen, gray clouds drag the unsuspecting blue down with them. I say this not in judgment of the clouds; on the contrary, I am quite fond of them. They seem pretty cool, for clouds. But they are heavy with importance. They have something on their minds. The rest of the sky has no idea what is going on, but the clouds...they know. I think they are conspiring to distract me. Today, more than ever, I feel lethargic. There is no Mrs. Poppen to verbally smack me, and the clouds are taking over. They are moving in like an army, sending in a few scattered wisps as scouts, then advancing as an impenetrable unit.

The sun is in cahoots with them. He is staying far away, hiding behind some bluff while he lets the clouds do their work. He retreats deeper and deeper to avoid condemnation. The wind is helping too! Why do they encourage the clouds so? What offense have I committed that would merit this assault? Moon, stars, why do you not show yourselves? You have ever been my friends and allies. You comfort and protect me when the pressure is on, a solid assurance that you will be there when my work is done. Why are you hiding? The clouds are persistent. They want my attention this very moment, and I must give it to them.

The sun dares show his face, his treachery revealed! The jig is up. No hope of nighttime now. He sends his feelers through my window and creeping onto my desk...a gentle beckoning. I close my eyes, turn my face, lay my head down on the desk. Lethargy is luscious.

Seizing Starbucks

This past weekend, I went to Starbucks with my roommates. Our expressed purpose? To do homework. Normally, I shy away from these obvious attempts to fritter away time in a culturally elitist environment, but this time I accepted. I take that back, I went one other time with my roommates to a Starbucks in Manhattan Beach, and we ended up seeing Kerri Walsh and Misty May-Treanor play beach volleyball in a major, once-a-year tournament. More on that later.

I accepted the invitation to "do homework" at Starbucks because I had, in fact, already done all the homework I felt like doing that weekend. If my roommates actually worked, I could lord my freedom over them (internally, so as not to distract them); if we ended up completely distracted by fellow coffee addicts frequenting the largest franchise in the world, gossiping about our lustless lives over lattes, my bases were still covered.

A ghoulish grin spread slowly across my face when we squeezed our bags through the crowded door: the place was completely packed. The line seemed fitting for Disneyland, not Starbucks, and every square inch of table or couch had already been claimed by other people "working." It was madness! It was Sparta! I half-wanted a giant well to form out of the ground so I could kick in some unsuspecting seat-usurper. But then I remembered that I had expected this, had even wanted it so that I could prove some minute point to myself about the futility of trying to work in a coffee shop. We nevertheless got in line, and I began to be impressed that my roommates actually did want to work. We ordered our drinks, Allison leapt like a gazelle at a set of cushions that opened up, and I perched on a leathery corner to read.

Time crept by. My muscles began to scrunch. A family on the opposite couch decided they'd had enough of the craziness, and left. Katie and Al synchronized their leaps this time, and the couch I had been sharing with Katie suddenly became mine. I settled into a new position, and was instantly more comfortable than I have been in years. I mean it--I felt like I was floating on Aslan's breath, the way I was stretched out on that leather couch with my laptop on my legs and the sun in patches around me. I noticed the dark wood of the tables and chairs, and observed the people coming and going. I played "Hay No Problema" by Pink Martini in my headphones, and I finally began to see a completely different world in front of me.

That guy with the green t-shirt and box cap was a revolutionary, not a grad student. The emo that just walked in had been locked in a dungeon, and, for the first time in years, he was feeling the sun on his pale skin. I put away my assignment, and opened a new page in Microsoft Word. I began to freewrite, transmitting everything I saw and felt into a highly stylized journal entry. I remember concluding from the way a woman rubbed her feet that I want to work in a French bakery at some point in my life. The way Katie slumped her shoulders was poetic. Maria's hair as it fell over her shoulder was a rope for a prince.

Nothing was new here; I had seen it all before. Katie has slumped her shoulders in my presence countless times, and Maria's hair first thing in the morning--well, no, it does resemble a rope. But even so, my roommates became mythical! Allison was curled into her chair like a cat napping between mousehunts, and a surge of affection for all of them coursed through me. At that moment, I think I began to truly see my world around me. Everything that made up the present moment, that made up my life, was imbued with significance. But I had not been able to see it. It was not until I played an enchanting soundtrack and took a step back that I could gain an eagle eye perspective. For too long, I had relied on the words of others to ascribe meaning to my life. I never liked to tell my own stories, always prefering to hear how another would explain things. Fantasy novels were my bibles, and I could not understand how life in the real world could ever be as exciting as Middle Earth. But last Saturday, I began to see it. The utter practicality with which I had been viewing life began to crumble, and the art remained.

I started to feel connected to everyone and everything around me. Even the woman with the impossibly big boobs was a comrade-in-arms. I let myself see the greatest homogenizing franchise in the world the way I watch my favorite movie, "I Capture the Castle"--with wide, determinedly innocent eyes. I watch that movie like I've never seen it before, surprised and excited by everything because deep down I know it has wonderful truths to offer me, and I want to let myself experience the thrill of discovery over and over again. From now on, this is the way I will choose to see life. I will bring my myths into the real world, make the fantasies exist for me...capture the castle. But I will not really capture it at all--I will merely allow it to exist where it always was.