Strangers in this world we are

When I was in London I listened to the Darjeeling Limited soundtrack every night. It somehow captures the experience of being very far from home. Also, every time I watch it, I just want to buy three suits, a dozen shirts and dress more or less the same every day.

Only in dreams.

A few weeks ago I had a dream where I was hanging out in a room with Groucho Marx and John Lennon. I was playing chess with Groucho and John was playing on a piano. I was flirting outrageously with both of them, and John was a little jealous due to the attention I was giving Groucho.

It was maybe the best dream I ever had.

Chaplin

Let's just take a moment to appreciate how terribly dashing Charlie Chaplin was.

His perfectly graying hair, his double breasted, three piece pinstripe suite, his devil may care attitude. What an elegant man.

golden age

There are times in my life when I develop powerful addictions to old movies, and it's generally a terrible thing, because watching these old films fills me with an almost unbearable longing for times past. Times that never even existed. Romanticized, glamorized, generally moviefied times. Where everything is a little less natural, a little exaggerated, and a little bit perfect. Handsome black and white profiles, and ever-red lipstick. Impossibly beautiful vintage clothes, and dance numbers with Fred Astaire in tails, tripping effortlessly across the dance floor. Pencil thin mustaches arching over the lips of William Powell and Clark Gable. It's too beautiful, it's too much, I can't stand it, but I can't look away.

I love technology

My new iphone is my boyfriend. One day society will accept our love.

I lost the volume control on my laptop. It used to be there and now it is simply gone. I don't know what that means.

My week in pictures

Lord of the Rings Style.

Aragorn: Ranger, Elendil's heir, ultra cool King of Gondor, man of fashion.
I think that perhaps I am the only one who is struck with envy and longing for Aragorn's pants. They look so cool tucked into his boots, and they seem to be made out of some sort of wonder fabric that looks soft, like velvet, without making Aragorn look like a silky boy. Tough manly velvet; luxe but earthy. Frankly Aragorn's pants are the Fall staple I have been looking for my whole life. Existing somewhere between brown and black, they add texture to any outfit, but with a sense of fun. They say "yeah my pants are awesome and stylish, but I can go hunt some orc in them."
It may sound like I am kidding, but I am deadly serious (deadly!) I need me a pair of Ranger pants.

Current Inspirations

Gee, I love movies.

Tim Burton's "Alice in Wonderland" looks awesome! I already know that I am going to love this movie with an almost perverse intensity that half my friends will not understand.
Can we take a moment to appreciate the amazing Colleen Atwood who has been Tim Burton's costume designer for low these many years. She also designed the costumes for "Nine" a musical with Daniel Day-Lewis based on my favorite Frederico Fellini movie directed by Rob Marshal. The trailer can be seen here. I want to know who Rob Marshall's lighting designer is, because this looks fantastic.

Like Whoopi Goldberg

Once on "Malcolm in the Middle" (underrated television? I think so, but anyway) Frances explained to Dewey
"Sometimes you love people for no reason, like Whoopi Goldberg"
I think this applies to almost everything, like movies, and songs, and books, and objects. I am watching "The Slipper and the Rose" and quite frankly I absolutely love it.

Heroine

"Never complain, never explain."
-Katharine Hepburn

Fail

I came home from Europe only to be swept off to Boston a week later. I returned with all sorts of plans, of things I ought to do in my daily life. Like running 6 days a week, and writing at least three pages every day, and I must say that I have failed miserably at most of these goals.
My room is in shambles with drawers half closed, and clothes spilling out. My suitcase still sits before my desk, half emptied, and clothes frothing from it's depths. My desk is piled high with books papers and jaffa cake (God Save the Queen!) My laundry basket is balancing on top of a shoe box, and a single leg of my now smoky smelling jeans (smores anyone?) dangles over the top.
The room reflects my life. Somewhat, in shambles, not yet recovered from all the traveling and I am afraid that I am simply too tired to put it all right.
In other news the new Garden Gnome peers at me from beneath the willow out back. I give him a smile whenever I can, but I'm still getting used to the idea that he is here.
I have to get up so that I can go to work, but all my muscles ache and I think that two babies in one week is a sign that we ought to just close the store up and have holiday.

This just makes me smile.

Butch and Sundance

I am shocked, truly shocked at how few people have seen this movie.


They're just so cute.
I really dig Redford's outfit. I'm trying to think of a way I could dress like that without looking like the kind of person that frequents renaissance fairs.

Chanel no. 5

When Chanel no. 5 comes out with a new commercial they call it a "film" and somehow they always manage to make something sublimely awesome. It's not like they pick a director I like to direct the new Chanel no 5 film they pick my FAVORITE directors: Jean-Pierre Jeunet & Baz Luhrmann. They don't feature actresses that I think are ok, they pick the actresses that make me despair that I will never look like them. I don't know how Chanel knows exactly what will impress me the most, but somehow they do.
The only thing I don't like is the perfume. It smells like an old lady, and as desperately as I want to like it, so that I can prove my love to the commercials I can't...sad..
Here is the newest one with Audrey Tatou, and here is the old classic with Nicole Kidman. Bask in their glow. I want my life to be lit like Jeunets, by day, and like Luhrmann's by night.

Let's start this hootinanny.

I don't even know what to do with myself. I have been thinking about going to London for SO long! I guess not that long.
I've been thinking about going to London for 6 months. I've scrimped and saved, worked extra hours during which my mantra was "You're doing this so you can go to London," and now it is almost upon me and I don't know that I will ever be ready. I'm doing what I always do: freaking myself out.
What if no one likes me?
What if I like no one?
What if I don't enjoy every moment?
What if I don't see everything I want to see?

So I've decided not to make a list of all the things I want to see or do. I'm not going to study the entire history of Britain. I'm going to go and let the adventure take me where it may.

Still I'm growing very weary with the waiting. Feel like I'm just waiting around for this thing to happen, and all my thoughts are focused on this trip.

Let's be zen:

"Waiting is a part of life too"

I can't wait till I'm in London.

confession

I like Mathew McFayden as Mr. Darcy better than Colin Firth.

All I wanna do is...

This morning, after my dad helped me to change the tire, I went on a bike ride.
Oh my gosh you guys, it was the most fun thing ever! I just kept circling the park because I wanted to keep riding my bike forever. I smiled at all the other people exercising (I am one of you now!) I weaved back and forth on the road. I was unsure if there were cars behind me because I was going so fast that the wind was whirring past my ears. On one of the trails I saw that a family had set up an easter egg hunt, and I briefly considered stealing some eggs (but I knew they would be filled with candy and who needs the empty calories?) It was so good that I had to come up with a new word to describe it...which I will do right now...

Transplendant.

Last summer my ever sporty cousin Tabby came to visit and she suggested we go ride bikes. I was so desperately out of shape that I could keep up. I couldn't even make it to the park. During that same summer I tried to ride my bike to the library and I almost exploded. I made it to the library, but I had to sit down for a half hour and recover before heading back home. But now I pedal through the streets with the greatest of ease. Oh blessed bicycle!

I NEVER imagined that I would love physical fitness as much as I do.

On my mind

The Sweet Hereaafter: final shot.

This Looks like Heaven

Welcome to the Jennaisance!

The Jennaissance: A period characterized by the general awesomeness of Jenna, specifically her academic prowess (i.e. 100% on her Novels and Film midterm; the miracle of the B in her philosophy midterm; and the grace and excellence with which she executed an A performance on her French Oral Exam) and her increasing levels of hotness brought on by healthy living, and previously undreamed of physical fitness.
This period in the history of Jenna contrasts sharply with the "Repubescence" in the summer of '08 during which Jenna was the ugliest she's been since puberty. This dark age is marked by Jenna's being some 15 pounds heavier, bad skin, and a chronic eye infection (eventually attributed to an allergy to a specific brand of contact lense cleaner)

Synechdoche: New York

I watched Synecdoche: New York, and it made me think...a lot...about everything. It was too much for me to handle right now. Charlie Kaufman, what is going on in your brain?

frustration

Lately I've become Hermione. In my novels and film class I've already completed all the course work, now all I have to do is attend and take the test at the end of the semester. I get most of my assignments done weeks in advance so that the week they are due I can check and recheck them. In a strange turn of events I am actually doing all the homework. So why am I not getting solid As?

two thoughts

-I like to think about the future of Elliot (the kid from E.T.) I like to imagine that he grows up, meets a nice girl, and things start to get serious, so one day he sits her down and says, "There's something you don't know about me. When I was about eight years old I found an alien from outer space. We had a cosmic connections where I could feel what he was feeling. My siblings and I taught him to talk, he built a radar and returned safely to his home planet, and oh yeah, he made my bicycle fly"
How does that conversation go down? What are you supposed to say if someone told you that?
-Because I like movies I like to work out to movies rather than music. But lately I've learned that just because I love a movie doesn't mean it's a good movie to work out to. Do not work out to thoughtful independent films, you WILL want to die. It's much better to find the most action packed, big budget hollywood blockbuster style movie. You want attractive people running around a lot. It's motivating because you want to be attractive, and you are running around. It makes you really involved with the characters. Indiana Jones is particularly good.
-

New Yorker

It's Mama's birthday and we went to the New Yorker for dinner.
The New Yorker sits below street level, hidden in the streets of Salt Lake which only adds to it's air of exclusivity. The inside invokes the glamour of the 1930's. Officers in dress uniform were tucked into the corners, and judges shook hands importantly with my father. As I daintily dab the sauce from the corners of my lips the Governor leaves with his family.
I think I've underestimated my father.

The World is a Place

I wrote a poem today. I have no grasp of poetry, tell me if it's good, or just...blah.

For S, or Another

I see you always
now that you are
Someone Other

Looking up at me
through brown eyes
Veiled

I only ever knew
the corners of you.

stream

I have pretty intense Spring Fever, I think that everyone does at this point. I want the grass to be green, the sky to be blue, and to sit outside and not shiver. Today belonged almost entirely to spring, and I was so busy I wasn't able to enjoy it.

-- is getting married in June. I'm pretty sure the girl he is marrying is the girl he was dating while he was dating me... ugh...I just want him to apologize for being so terrible to me. I don't expect it will ever happen. At least I will be out of the country when he gets married.

My only regret about going to London is that I can't afford an entirely new wardrobe to go with me. I've been saving all my money for so long...I miss fashion!

THE boy in my french class talked to me today. We were walking out of class, and he stopped and asked me how I was doing. Unfortunately at the time my hands were full so I was holding my water bottle with my teeth and there was food spilled down my shirt from dinner. Not my most flattering moment...but still...he talked to me...gheee!

I don't know what it is about him. He's not the most attractive person I've ever seen. He's not even the most attractive boy in the class, but something about the serenity of his smile sends electric-buzz butterflies twittering through my torso.

Healthy food is boring!

My face skin is insanely dry. It's like I have a five o'clock shadow of dead skin. It's terrible and hideous, and feels yucky when I move my mouth.

Ophelia, my orchid parted the blinds of her own volition in order to get a decent shot at the sunlight. It's so adorable. I'm worried mom will kill her when I got to London.

Words I NEVER thought I'd say.

I have been working out. I'm up to 30 minutes a day at least five days a week. I'm planning on taking Golf lessons with my mom in the spring, and I'm going to take Tennis in the fall. (Tennis for the cute outfits, and because it keeps showing up in Woody Allen movies. Golf, also for the cute clothes and because it would be a nice place to meet boys)

It is completely possible that I might become sporty.

Audrey

I think there comes a point in every girls life when she has to accept that she will never be Audrey Hepburn.

I have not reached that point. I stare intently at photographs and the movies hoping somehow that just by sheer concentration I can transform my face into hers. It's unhealthy. I just set myself up for disappointment, but just look at her...

Things I've lost.

Lately the weekends are a source of discomfort for me. While I am happy to not be at school or work, when the end of Saturday rolls around I feel an emptiness at not having done anything productive. By the end of Sunday I feel like I'm crawling out of my skin.
It's not that I wish I was at school or work. I don't think I've EVER wished I was at work. It's just I can't spend an entire day doing nothing anymore.
When did I lose that? I used to be profoundly good at doing nothing. Weeks would disappear with nothing of note going on in my life, and I felt fine.
I think part of it is I am finally shaking off ever present teenage fatigue. When I was a teenager I could always sleep. Any time of day or night, any where. I frequently curled up into a ball on the floor of the drama room to take a quick 10 minute nap. I was the exact opposite of indefatigable. I could not be unfatigued. but now...
If I take a nap during the day I have a hard time getting to sleep at night.
So what am I supposed to do with my free time?

Dante+Virgil: BFF

I love how when Dante sat down to write the Devine Comedy (and I am sure he was just hanging around Florence one day, came home after a long day of being a Florentine, and just sat down and wrote the thing) he was like,
"What if I have to travel through the nine circles of hell, to find my lost love, BUT I have my favorite dead author to guide me. "

That is the best idea ever.

If I was going to write Chick-Lit I would write one based on "The Inferno" but it would be the 9 circles of dating and Jane Austen would be my guide.

Or Young Adult Fiction, with hell of course being middle and high school, with J.R.R. Tolkien as my guide.

I want Emily Bronte to show up and guide me through somewhere, but what? Vaguely gothic weirdness?...this may be the best idea of all of them.

No place like London

It's official. I got my acceptance letter to London Study Abroad for this summer. I've been planning this since August, but in an effort to not count my chickens before they hatch I haven't allowed myself to count on it until now.

I can officially start London obsessing.

There are so many books to read.

Beyond just the required reading there is British History to brush up on, and literature to reread, do you think I can read all 6 Jane Austen novels and the Brontes before I go....Wordsworth! I should read Wordsworth! and Tennyson!

GHEEEE!!!!!!!

words words words

It doesn't seem fair that after all the books I've read that there are still so many words I don't know. And other people just whip these words out like it's no big deal. It's not that they assume that I know this word, it's that they don't even think it worth while to think about the possibility that I don't know the word.

But pejorative is a word that suggests disapproval.

I'm just so hopelessly young.

My thoughts on Writing at the moment.

I don't think it's fair that Vladimir Nabakov wrote better in his third language than I shall ever write in my first.

Is there a way to stay away from cliches and contrivances without losing satisfaction?

I feel too young to have anything important or interesting to say. Simultaneously I think that it is counter-productive to start writing with the purpose of "saying something" I don't like art with a specific message.

I enjoy prose more than poetry, and poetry class is doing nothing to alter this.

It's difficult for me to talk about deep feelings like love, or grief, or loss, or beauty without making a joke because these things scare me, because they are all that matters. Likewise it is difficult for me to write about these things.

mawiage

I just finished watching the HBO "John Adams" miniseries. I sincerely hope that if I ever have to get married (and I suppose that eventually some man will drive me to it) that I have a marriage like John and Abigail Adams.
It's hard to beat that.

A letter

Dear Mama,
You know I love you dearly, but I suppose it has never occurred to you that I don't always explain all my motivations to you, and I would deeply appreciate it if you would not tell everyone my business in a manner that suggests that you understand all the deepest inner workings of my mind.
In fact I don't tell you all my motivation precisely because I know you will tell all our relatives of all my actions. I know you enjoy laughing at me for the excuse I gave for no longer wanting to go out with Mr. M. David, so if you must know, I didn't want to go out with him because I found his odor distasteful. A fact I did not want to reveal knowing that you are not to be trusted with information, and knowing that it could all too easily get back to L and then back to poor M. David himself.
It distresses me that you misinterpret my tact for silliness,
You're daughter,
J. Anderson

Mount Rushmore gives me the creeps

I think that Mount Rushmore is one of the weirdest things in America, and I don't mean weird in a good way.

Take a good look at it.

Aren't you terrified that this happened?

Philosophy of Jenna

I went to see "Revolutionary Road" with M and S . I shall summarize in a sentence.

"Two terrible, and unremarkable people yell at each other again and again"

I hated it. It was all about being trapped in suburbia, and trapped in their lives, and trapped by everything. They want to escape to Paris where somehow things will be magically better even though the wife is clearly insane, and the husband has not talent or ambition to speak of. When I was young I probably would have like it, but I feel I have grown out of that now.

When I was young (because now I am old) I was a little in love with misery. I thought that being miserable was synonymous with being important, and I was properly miserable almost all the time.

There is a line in "A Room With a View" which I love. The Elder Mr. Emmerson turns to Lucy and says,
"I don't believe in this worldly sorrow, do you?"

I no longer believe in this worldly sorrow. Thoreau talks about "walkers" people who are truly awake in the world, those who marvel at it's glories, and who find that it is enough to stand in a field, and those who are not "walkers" are "sleepers." I think those that buy into the worldly sorrow are "sleepers," and it is simply too easy, too complacent, too passive to live life as a sleeper.

I strive to be a "walker."

Of course I am not always successful, I don't think that anyone is, not even Thoreau, but there is an everlasting fount of hope for Thoreau believes that we are born every moment. Every moment we have the opportunity to be born a "walker."

I am well aware how romantic and naive this all sounds, for I spent my teenage years as a very cynical sleeper. But I like to think that these beliefs are not born out of naivete, but of the second innocence that William Blake references in his Songs of Innocence. Not a naive innocence of the world, but to experience things that are sad, and find your way back to a wiser innocence.
To choose innocence and joy, in the style of Don Quixote.

I know that I am very young, but I have had small tastes of sorrow. I am not completely unaware of terrible things, but I choose, and I strive not to be destroyed by them.

I find that I am unable to say what I want to say in a very clear or eloquent way.

I shall instead close with another quote from "Room With a View" whose literary merits may be small, but it expresses nothing I don't believe. I shall take the line from the movie, rather than the book, because I think it a bit more poetic.

"by the side of the everlasting "WHY" is a YES and a YES and a YES!"

I suppose I am a proper transcendentalist now a days.

Sundance Volume 4

500 days of summer

Wonderful! So honest and real, despite the heightened colour palette. Joseph Gordon Levitt, I have a big crush on you. You were really fantastic in this film, and you broke my heart on the scene on the park bench. Great soundtrack. Beautiful and funny and new and fresh. I hate to compare it to Annie Hall, but I think that it’s new in the way it approaches relationships the way that Annie Hall is. Let’s face it, I don’t think the movie would have been made without Annie Hall, but it’s original enough on its own to not just be a vague shadow. Zooey Deschanel, I secretly wish I was you, you have so much charisma. Heartbreaking in the happiest way.

Really funny, with dance numbers and many pop culture references which I always like because I am a pop culture junky. This movie has no choice but to become a classic.

An Education

It was all right. I’m not sorry that I saw it, but it really had nothing to say, and said nothing in a not very interesting way. Just rather blasé if I may say so. I thought the ending was a little too wrapped up for my taste. I wanted her to really suffer. It drug, and I was ever so slightly baffled at the voice over at the end. “I said I longed to see Paris, as if I had never been.” What does that mean? Does anyone know what that means. Truly entertaining though, with great costumes and beautiful shots of Paris, but really I think it could just as easily been made for Masterpiece Theatre as for a real movie theatre. It was just sort of same old same old stuff. There was nothing new or edgy about it. I think maybe 20 years ago it would have been new. Also the Q&A with the director afterwards was the most boring one ever.

Sundance Volume 3

Cold Souls

I was worried that this movie was going to come off as pretentious. It does, in some ways, follow a certain art-house formula, in the tradition of "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" and "Being John Malkovich" but it managed not to take itself too seriously with plenty of humour and satire, as well as a lovely performance by Paul Giamatii.

There is a reason why Paul Giamatti is an Indie darling, and I'm pretty sure he deserves all the acclaim he receives. There is something about him that makes you wish he was your best friend, that you could go for long walks in comfortable silence together. There is something reassuring about Paul, and his unparalleled ability to look utterly pathetic. I loved him in this movie.

It was the kind of movie that you could just float through. Being a film student I often watch movies critically, and what I have begun to look for in a movie is one that consumes my critical inner monologue. When I can watch a movie and it elicits emotion rather than a review I know I've found something special, and this was just such a movie.

This is my favorite movie of the festival.

So far...

Sundance Volume 2

Thoughts on Mystery Team

I laughed quite a bit, but I wanted to be in stitches.
Why so many naked ladies?
Donald Glover has THE most beautiful skin I've ever seen.

Exercise: The Worst Thing Ever.

This week I decided I ought to exercise because I've been having trouble sleeping and lately the entire goal of my day is to wear myself out enough that I pass out from exhaustion. It's been working really well. I prefer to wander about out of doors, but with the air so bad and me with my asthma (sucks to you asmar!) I've been advised to stay indoors when possible.

The being forced indoors is bad enough without the insomnia, but with it I have been forced to use the dreaded exercise machine, and it has told me that I'm shockingly out of shape.

Back in the day I used to go to the gym 5 days a week and work out for an hour and 15 minutes. 75 minutes! I was an animal! Half an hour on the bicycle, half an hour on the elliptical runner and 15 minutes on the rowing machine. At the time I remember thinking "I want to get up to an hour and a half"

I know its not that impressive but this was the pinnacle of my physical fitness. Now I get on the elliptical machine and I feel like I'm going to die the entire time. I'm trying to take it easy, only forcing myself to do 15 minutes and then work my way up to 30.

At around 9 minutes I find myself crying out "THIS IS THE WORST PAIN EVER!!!!"

I never would have imagined things had gotten this bad. I knew I wasn't Lance Armstrong but I thought because I could walk somewhat briskly for extended periods of time that I was at a reasonable level of physical fitness, but it's not at all true. I am an embarrassment to myself and others.

But the thing that pisses me off the most is that everything scientists say about exercise is true. It makes me feel better, I sleep better, I have more energy, I feel more mentally sound. It doesn't seem fair that there are people who find exercise fun.

Also I find it almost impossible to spell. Every time I have written the word "EXERCISE" I have spelled it wrong and have had to look up the proper way to spell it. I don't know why it's impossible for my brain to learn how to spell this word.

Sundance Volume 1

I am taking the Sundance Film Festival workshop. Basically I get three credit hours for going to movies for two weeks and then writing a paper about them. I have been terribly excited for months and tonight I saw my first Sundance movies.

A few times I have ventured up to Park City to admire the beautiful people all dressed in black who converge on our humble state once a year, but I have always felt like a bit of a poser, because I wasn't really there for the festival was I? I wasn't seeing films I participating, I was just there to soak up the general splendor through some sort of osmosis.

But no more! I saw two movies tonight. The first was "Mary and Max" a really, truly beautiful stop motion animated film from Australia about a long term pen pal relationship. It was unique and clever, had beautiful music and a touching story. The grizzled man next to me was weeping through most of it. The audience was really responsive and there was a Q&A afterwards with the director which was really exciting and amazing. "What a wonderful way to start out the festival" I thought, "I hope all the films are like this."

My hopes were immediately dashed when I skipped over to the Broadway to catch "Lulu and Jimi" A hopeless German film that made absolutely no sense. It's difficult to include gymnastic competitions, castration, abortions, crystal balls, murder, robbery, 50's rock and roll, and impalement on a high heel into one motion picture but so it was, and that is only scratching the surface. This is one of those movies that I can't quite believe got made. I can't believe that with all the people that it takes to make a movie, no one said "um...guys, this is complete crap,"

Incomprehensible is not the same as important.

Artistic types tend to find that concept difficult.

2 down 8 to go. Already a broad spectrum. Here's hoping for more wonderfuls like "Mary and Max"

Day so far, in feelings.

Woke up, felt reluctant to start the day. Went to work, and felt bored, and achy and melancholy, but I couldn't quite pinpoint why. Realized that it was almost time to leave work. Felt glad. Went home, and made lunch, called mom and felt exuberant about the day. Drove to school, felt grateful for the sunshine. Got to class, felt dumb. Went to International Centre to turn in my study abroad application. Felt scared. Went to the Art Building to pick up my Sundance Film Festival workshop syllabus. Felt excited. Went to the library to work on online class. Felt distracted, and thirsty.

Frankly my dear,..

I just finished reading "Gone With the Wind." Sometimes I like to think that I will marry someone big and strong and manly like Rhett Butler. But in my heart I know that I'm going to marry a wimp who will go to the Opera with me.

Writing

I don't know if this is any good. I'm rather too close to tell, but in an effort to do things that I'm afraid of doing I'm sending my child out into the world in a small way.
This is something I've been thinking about for a long time, inspired by a late night viewing of "Hook" and this passage from Peter Pan,

"Hook heaved a heavy sigh; and I know not why it was, perhaps it was because of the soft beauty of the evening , but there came over him a desire to confide in his faithful bo’sun the story of his life. He spoke long and earnestly, but what it was all about Smee, who was rather stupid, did not know in the least”

Anyway, here goes...

My life did not begin until I came to the Neverland, so it seems unnecessary to document in detail such an uneventful time. Indeed my existence prior to the Neverland seems unreal, and when I cast my mind back it seems difficult to fathom. Before the Neverland it was all dullness, and misery. It was all painful reality that had to be faced over and over again as I grew up. There was no place for adventure, for heroics, for swashing and buckling, there was no place for James Hook, and I felt it keenly. However, if I set my brain in a backwards direction and let it float easily in a general sort of way I find snatches returning and if I very much wish to, I can remember my young adulthood, my adolescence and even my childhood.

As a child I was unpopular and lonely, an outsider throughout my school days. I had a series of health conditions that left me confined to my bedroom for many of my young years. I was more fond of books and poetry than most boys my age, so even the days that I was well I had nothing in common with my peers.

I know that some of you will understand this isolation, and this loneliness, and others will not, and it is impossible to describe completely the pain that comes from alienation from your peers. It becomes easier and easier to stop trying, and to slip deeper and deeper into your own personal Neverland.

Being a thoughtful boy I did well in school but I despised it just the same. I went to university, where I was equally unpopular, and got equally good marks.

As a young man I was unhappy. Not only with my life but with the world in general, and in an act of desperation, I set myself adrift on the sea, in a sort of indirect attempt at suicide. To do anything so definite as to shoot myself seemed extreme and dramatic, even for my tastes, but the sea held romance, and possibility, and mystery. To die at sea was every sailors wish, and if fate wouldn’t cast me to the waves I would cast myself.

With nothing more than three weeks provisions I set myself adrift in a skiff, and figured that if god or fate or destiny wanted me to live they had three weeks to arrange it. As for me, I had washed my hands of the business.

By the fourth week I was still alive, or at least I think I was. I found myself lying on my back and sometimes when I opened my eyes the sky was a bright burning blue, and sometimes it was deep and full of stars, and I soon lost track of time. It may have been five weeks, or years that I drifted on the open sea, and I began to imagine that I had died and I was making my way across the river styx, and even now I’m not entirely sure that I survived.

It was Mersa who saved me. It was she who took me to the Neverland. I found myself on the beach of the Mermaid Lagoon. Of course I had no idea who had saved me, or when, or how, only that I found myself grasping at warm sand, and my eyes burned by the brightness of the sun.

I supposed at first that I had landed at last from my long journey across the River Styx; that I had found my way to paradise. In a way I suppose I had. It has been suggested by many that the Neverland is paradise, or a sort of transitory paradise, for people die here too, and maybe then they make their way to real paradise. Perhaps the Neverland is a sort of cosmic waiting room, for lost souls, for no one comes to the Neverland unlost. But perhaps to live without the possibility of that last great adventure is more hell than paradise. but I am no theologian and these speculations are neither here nor there,

In any case my first impressions of the Neverland were of sun and sand, though I suppose somewhere my brain must have registered the gentle sound of waves lapping against the shore. I lacked the strength to lift my head and have a proper look around, and soon I succumbed once more to unconsciousness.

When I awoke again it was to the sound of sweet feminine voices pulling me from the faraway dream place where my mind had rested so long. Slowly I opened my eyes. I was afforded only a momentary glimpse, for the Mermaids grew suddenly shy when I awoke, and vanished.

But the loveliest remained. She hair jet black with a green blue sheen, and eyes like the sea.

She was, and remains to this day the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

Beautiful , you must understand, in this particular context refers to a quality beyond a mere pleasing visual aesthetic. It is a poetic use of the word that not all men will understand. It could be argued that her features were not arranged in classical proportions. That she was too pale, her hair to dark, her eyes too clear. Men seem always so eager to find fault in beautiful women, and I reiterate that she is the greatest beauty experienced by James Hook.

I suppose I make a great sentimental fool of myself.

With a sweet smile she gently lifted my head, and brought water to my lips, and I realized how deeply thirsty I was. When I had had my fill I searched for my voice, which seemed trapped somewhere in my throat and I was only able to manage a whisper.

“Where am I?”

and she answered,

“This is the Neverland,”

I Love My Chucks

When I was in middle school my longing for a pair of Doc Martins was so intense that at times it caused me physical pain. Tragically I lacked sufficient funds, being only 12 years old and my mom insisted up and down "I'm not going to buy you $100 shoes. You don't need $100 shoes."
"YES I DO!!!!" I would cry inside

I was completely convinced that were I to get a pair of brown steel toed Doc Martins I would instantly have legions of friends. I dreamed of walking into class, my Doc Martins distressed from my wearing them so very very often, this would make them cooler because by wearing them for long periods of time would infuse them with my essence, making them unique and special. I would be in class, and the cute boy next to me would suddenly say "Wow those are great shoes,"
"Oh these?" I would ask, and then we would make out.

You must understand that I had no friends in Middle School, and through unusually cruel geography I carpooled with all the Queen Bee's of my school. The "it" crowd. It was a truly terrible time. You might think that this proximity to coolness and popularity would rub off on me, but you would be completely wrong. I don't think any of them spoke to me the entire school year, and on days when the other moms were driving I was frequently forgotten and left at school, and forced to walk home in my utterly pathetic shoes.

They all had Doc Martins. This was the X-factor! I didn't take into consideration everything else about me that made popularity utterly impossible. I ignored my predilection for books and PBS, my love of star wars, and the fact that at that time of my life I only listened to swing music and 1930's/40's jazz. Surely all those would be overlooked if only I had a pair of Doc Martins.

Of course I never got them, and I was never popular, but I developed a hatred for brand names. I now refuse to purchase anything emblazoned with "Hollister" or "Aeropostal" (which is why I've never bought anything from either store.) I refuse to be free advertising.

The only name brand I do go in for is Chuck Taylor Converse, because Converse make everything all right. I find it odd that I should still look to a shoe to solve all my social problems. I like to imagine that people may look at me and say "Look at that unremarkably dressed young lady, oh wait, she has converse, and they're a little distressed, that makes them unique and infused with her essence. I guess she must be cool." I find myself thinking this about other people, so I assume that they are thinking it about me, and I think I have given those shoes much more power than they actually possess. I think I'm in a bit of a Chuck Taylor bubble and I have unrealistic faith in their influence over others. I can't help myself though, I love my chucks.

And nothing ever really changes.

New Years Resolutions

My new years resolution is admittedly a little vague. It's more of a general theme then solid goals. I wish to live more elegantly, in the sense that I want to do more with less. There are many aspects to this resolution that I shall outline, presently.

First of all I think I could do more if there was less of me, so I'm going to lose my final 5 pounds. I've already lost 10, so I know I can shed the final 5.
Keep things tidier. I am happier when my life is clean and organized. I am happier when I plan enough time for all the things I need to get done. It's a little thing that makes a big difference.
I want to concern myself less with stuff. I'm such a consumer, and I spend the little money I earn on useless stuff. I need to think to myself "Do you really need this DVD?" I want to simplify my life. Stuff doesn't make it simpler.

There is of course my old standby Resolution: Go on at least one date! I was reading an article on MSNBC and it said "make dating goals and stick with them, even if it's as simple as going on one date a week." ..... ONE DATE A WEEK? I'm psyched if I go on one date a year! These people must be in some sort of fantastic dating community where men are falling out of the sky and asking them out.
I know it's partly my fault. I'm shy and can be scared of boys and I come off as off-putting, but seriously one date a week? There are weeks were I don't have time to catch a movie with my friends. Weeks where I don't find the time to do my laundry. How am I supposed to cram in a date, plus the hour and half of preparation and terror before hand? (to clarify it doesn't take me an hour and half to get ready. I get ready early, so I have plenty of time to panic and calm down, and then panic again)
I'm sticking to my one a year. Last year I upped it to two, and I barely made it (does it count if they're both with the same boy? I declare it does!) so maybe I should raise the stakes a little. Challenge myself.

I resolve to go on three dates this year!

I didn't just say it, I resolved it, and now I know it will happen.

There are other goals too. Vague whispy things, that I won't speak out loud, for fear they will dissolve, but they're ever present in the back of my mind. Ambitions and hopes, but I don't want to jinx anything, so I shall leave you hanging in suspense, wondering at the inner workings of my mind. Just know they are there, that shall have to be enough.

This post has devolved to ramblings, enough now...enough.