And it draws to a close...

For me it's almost like the closer the end of summer gets, the longer the days stretch. Time is a funny thing.

From about first to sixth grade, a year was an eternity. After 365 days, you would be so radically different from your former self that you could hardly understand how you were capable of making decisions on your own. After all, 10 is infinitely superior to 9--you've finally reached the decade line.

Then life started speeding up and little things started not to matter as much. You broke up with your boyfriend, so what, it would probably blow over in thirty days (except for those few who felt as if they had to succumb to the stereotypical "ex" role--a surprising few). In middle school there was always hope for the future. You had six years left, five years left, for all you know everything in your life could change. And for most of us it did. I can remember being terrified I'd lose my friends once I got to high school, because I had heard so many myths about it. I wish I could have told myself that friendships happen organically. People I didn't know in middle school have grown into my closest friends, and the people that you truly want to hang on to don't just disappear without adequate reason. If they change, chances are you're likely to change too. If I was still at the same level of mental functioning that I was in middle school, I would have a very different set of friends that I would probably be just as happy with.

Freshman year came and went. I was incredulous that people could profess to "hate" freshmen--there was nothing wrong with me. I was outraged. It was ageism. And then June rolled around and the disgust clouded the new Sophomores' faces: "Oh, no. I couldn't stand the sevvies. I can't believe we have to deal with them again," while still looking forward to seeing the friends you had made in 8th grade PE, where you actually had to wait behind the yellow line.

Sophomore year was the turning point in my life, I think. That was when I officially begin to classify myself as an adult. At that age, I believed myself informed enough to vote, logical enough to buy a lottery ticket, conscious enough to be trusted buying something off HSN or skydiving. And certainly capable enough to make a decision about getting a piercing or tattoo. Sophomore year was the point where you could split off your adulthood from your former self. It was okay to mention how dumb you had been at the seventh grade dance where you forgoed dancing to eat candy off the table, when you hid in the library from someone asking your friend to promotion, where you had garnered 10 behavior slips and failed every life science quiz you took (yes, that was me).

Every day that goes by you feel more and more mature, more capable to make decisions than you were yesterday. I wonder if this holds true for the rest of my life. I wonder if I will be 42 someday, looking back at this post and thinking how naive I was, how much smarter and how much worldlier I am then. I probably will.

But for now I feel as if I am trying my hardest to understand what I haven't understood so far, and that's all you can ask of anyone, really.

A Day of Old and New.

A few of my favorite things about this day:

4) (500) Days of Summer. This movie edged its way into my favorites. It's in the Breakfast at Tiffany's kind of love category. It was beautiful to watch as well as a new slant on the romantic indie comedy. My favorite scene was during the shifting, blue lighted segment while Tom chalked a new building on the board behind his bed--and then the camera zeroed in on his hand, holding the chalk, like any number of wonders could come from it.



3) Tripe. As I have said, it wasn't great. It was chewy, as you expect cow's stomach to be. But the dark ages of curiosity that I have lived in since the time of Rocket Power and Twister's mayhem have finally come to an end and the Renaissance of food-tasting may begin.



2) Tutankhamun, and my gold earrings. The most impressive collection of Egyptian artifacts that I have ever seen, personally. The dagger and sheath that were buried with the boy king impressed me the most; it was so intricate and bejeweled. It seemed like someone's life's work. And on the way out, I got this tiny pair of 1/8" golden ankh earrings, which I plan to keep safe for a long time to come. I adore them. It prompted me to change my religion on facebook to "Egyptian polytheism. Until Akhenaten tells me what to do."



1)Being with my Dad. I miss him so much now that he's in Louisiana. I knew that the day would come that I couldn't be with him every waking moment anymore, but I wish I had been given more prep time. I love him so much. But I am able to treasure the time I have with him now. It's not necessarily true, the "you don't know what you have till it's gone," because I always knew what I had. It was just tough to have to give it up.

Final Fantasy!

After a dry spell of a few years, finally, Annie and I are resuming our positions in front of the TV for a much-needed session of Kingdom Hearts and Final Fantasy XII.

I couldn't even count how many hours were spent in her bedroom, staring at her television, her playing and me watching. I have very fond memories of munny and chocobos.

And for those of you who know--those Final Fantasy video sequences that you saved up for were some seriously top-notch animation. Seriously wonderful stuff, kind of reminiscent of the movie Simone (If you haven't seen it I suggest you do. It could happen, man).

On with the glory!

An Old Soul.

This is the time period that I belong in. Volunteering at the Alzheimer's home, I talk to dozens of people every day who all hit their prime somewhere in the 20s-40s... the epitome of glamour and beauty--every clothing item perfectly tailored but never risque. I am incredibly jealous.

I want to live in the time of Brassai, more specifically in Paris--I want to see the world through his lens--beautiful, mysterious, simple (but not bland or stark, but a full, enchanting sort of simple). I've always considered myself a Francophile, but really I'm more of a Paris-ophile. My first visit to that majestic city was enough to cement my admiration.

And above, that is Django Reinhardt (thanks, Steph). He burned two of his left hand fingers and couldn't read music but was still the most influential jazz figure in Paris--he brought the art to the city and was a foundation for other forms of music to grow as well. And he has opened my mind to a new form of music as well.

Listening to:

Honeysuckle Rose, It's Only A Paper Moon, All the Things You Are, Double Whiskey- Django Reinhardt
Passion (En Duo)- Angelo Debarre Et Ludovic Beier
Tchavolo Swing- The Hot Club of San Francisco
Mambo Italiano- Rosemary Clooney
Boheme Auberge- Pearl Django
Viper's Drag- Fats Waller
Anitra's Danse- The Hot Club of San Francisco
Tu Vuo Fa L'Americano- Carosono, Renato

Also.

As an addendum to what I said before about epic movie endings--

The Wicker Man (1973) A young girl's disappearance drags a Christian policeman to a small village to investigate her death.

Disclaimer: I did not see this whole movie. But I did see the ending. Which is what counts.

SPOILER FOR ENDING INTRO: Seeing as how you will probably never see this movie, or find it, I have no qualms in revealing the epic spoiler.

--These townspeople are pagan and sacrificed the girl who went missing.

The damn links aren't working so follow this URL, trust me: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UEOQqnHMSMc
Just a taste.

Francophilia.

I am a lover of all things French--lucky to claim it as my last name as well--and always have been. All the fiction stories I've written since I was about seven years old have a contingency to be set in pre-revolutionary France (the epicenter of the world before Robespierre and the Reign of Terror came in and mucked everything up), and post-WWI-Belle-Epoque Paris.

Maybe that is why I am so drawn to the work of Brassai and Atget... there's something so beautiful and human in all of their photographs. Look at the post below for my personal favorite.

A piece of Atget's--"Boulevard de Strasbourg, c. 1912"

and another-- "Organ Grinder, c.1898"

Three Things I Love.

#1: Two Apaches in Paris, by Brassai. I first saw this photo when I went to the Art Insitute of Chicago this summer, and this photograph seems to haunt everything that I do. I fell in love with it the second I saw it; there is a raw emotion in this photo that seems to resonate across the space beside it--which is not a wall, by the way, the photographer purposely left the space undeveloped to give the photo its stark, deep feeling. Looking at this photo makes me feel as if I am not alone in the world--stunning. Beautiful.

#2: The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. I'm 3/4 of the way through this book and it's shaping up to be my favorite book of all time. Unfortunately, I had to use the Amazon.com version of this book cover with its LOOK INSIDE skewing the beauteous masterpiece behind it... :). This story chronicles Esther Greenwood's slow descent into some kind of insanity, with a keen eye and sharp language, pointing out things that we have always noticed but never been quite able to put into words. I have been completely immersed in this story ever since I picked it up, and the dreamy, cynical way Greenwood views her own life is both entertaining and tragic, at times so human and endearing that I feel as if I am experiencing this with her. Four stars in progress.

#3: Fictionpress.com Even I have a username on here, but I won't tell you what it is :) I can spend hours just clicking around on this site, reading and critiquing manuscripts, some of which are absolutely wonderful. These are the bestselling authors of tomorrow, publishing their work online for free. If you find the online communities for each genre, they pick out some of the more worthwhile reads--very handy.Wonderful summer, everyone!