I was thinking more about women's bodies, and I really hate when women see a thin, possibly anorexic woman and say, "I just want to give her a sandwich," or, "she needs to eat more." These sentences indicates its speaker has a complete lack of compassion for a very real problem. If only we could solve anorexia, bulimia, and body dysmorphic disorder (as well as a bunch of other psychological issues, I'm sure) with a trip to Subway.


     I went to France to live with my host family. They had two silky terriers, and I was saying how they made me miss Kelsey.

While I was dreaming, I was aware that this was a dream because I was speaking French quickly and effortlessly, and that doesn't happen in real life. Heh.

Random thing that irritates me #936:
When women say, "I'm a real woman and I have real curves." Usually the ones saying this are overweight. As if my curves aren't real because I'm a size 4. I understand them wanting to feel attractive and everything, but why does it have to be with the implied jab at thinner women? I've found that women are much more cruel to other women about looks than men are. Men seem to prefer more normal-sized women, whereas it's women perpetuating the "thin is beautiful" stereotype. (Anecdote: Shania Twain was performing the halftime show at the Super Bowl. I was at my friend's house. His mom and her friend were saying how Shania's thighs were so fat. Her thighs were in fact quite normal-sized, but their size was enhanced by some poorly-chosen thigh-high stiletto boots. Anyone's thighs would look fat in those.) This is a horrifying thought--what are we doing to our daughters, sisters, friends? It sickens me. I'd like for women of all sizes to stop caring about what size they are and what size other women are. A pipe dream, I know. But we can at least cut back on the negative comments.


Autumn is the best time of year. The scenery is gorgeous. The air smells better. The weather becomes manageable. I can sleep with the window open at night and feel a cool breeze on my face. Sweaters have the ability to be simultaneously practical and sexy (so few clothing items can double). Bonfires are a great get-together opportunity, plus they smell good. The best food becomes available: apple cider, pumpkin bread, my mom's autumn leaf gingerbread cookies, and newly-discovered pumpkin beer.

I did laundry. Suddenly my clothing options are nearly limitless, and I seem to have gained some perspective. I put on a new pair of underwear simply because I could. I also don't feel as depressed anymore. Coincidence?

I'd like to expound upon something I wrote in my last post: my hatred of love stories.

Thanks to fairy tales and the like, I now feel like my ultimate romantic goal is to be rescued. Films like Garden State (to take but one example) teach us that it is alright, nay, desirable to be fucked up. You're stuck in a rut, directionless, and you're not sure you care enough to make the effort to escape. You're depressed, if not meta-depressed. Your life is so tragic. And suddenly someone swoops in and saves you from yourself. This person is drawn to you because you're complicated and frustrated and apathetic and broken. He/she is your perfect match, and you both know this, and then you're fixed.

Guess what? Not gonna happen. No one wants to be troubled by your baggage. No one's attracted to fucked up angsty twentysomethings. No one wants to get to know a sobbing depressed mess. You can't just sit around and wait for your soul mate to come and save you.

That's the most upsetting part about that type of fiction. You get false hope. You learn absolutely nothing of value; in fact, you're fooled into behaving the opposite of how you really should behave.

Consider Amélie. She's too shy to talk to Nino. Throughout the whole movie she stalks him and leaves passive-aggressive clues, but when it comes down to it she can't face him. In fact, she actively denies leaving the clues. In my opinion, the movie should have ended with her crying in her kitchen after she doesn't answer the door. Instead, Nino rescues her from her own insecurity and shyness. Amélie and the audience have learned that you'll get what you want against all odds, since 1) true love is destiny, and 2) your true love will save you; there's no incentive for her to become proactive and confront her weaknesses. And why should she? Weakness is the ultimate attractive/romantic trait in this type of fiction. In real life, Nino would probably have been offended by Amélie's forwardness (and he definitely would have been had she not been so gosh darn cute).

It's similar in Garden State. Sam has epilepsy, constantly lies, and just acts generally "crazy" (which I happened to interpret as stupid and irritating, but whatever). Andrew hates where he's at in life and doesn't get along with his parents. After spending a weekend together, they're certain they're meant to be together, and Andrew changes his life around to be with her. Again, in my opinion the film should have ended with Andrew boarding the plane and Sam crying in the phone booth...and then possibly realizing what a silly child she's being, because she's only known this guy for 96 hours (according to the film) and he's not that interesting anyway (he's not even attractive).

(Also, we get gems like this:
Andrew: Fuck, this hurts so much.
Sam: I know it hurts. But it's life, and it's real. And sometimes it fucking hurts, but it's life, and it's pretty much all we got.

Thank you, Zach Braff. It's insights like these that make me want to face my fears and live life to its fullest. Or jab my eardrum with a crochet hook. Either one.)

I like movies like Adaptation where Charlie doesn't end up with Amelia. He's too self-conscious and too big of a wuss to make a move. His social ineptitude, however, isn't romanticized. He's not a completely tragic character. Amelia does make a move, but she doesn't completely change her life to be with him. There's also a great moment with the waitress, where he invites her to go to the orchid show. In Garden State or Amélie she would have gone to the orchid show and they would have gotten married (and then the Susan Orlean screenplay would have been written without any problem). Instead, she declines, because that's a pretty forward move for someone you barely know. Charlie's problems with the screenplay also avoid the romantic tragedy treatment. He's having trouble writing the script, but it's not because of some vague omnipotent Ennui, it's because he just can't fucking write it. And he suffers, but he knows that he's to blame and he's his own solution. (Er, almost. Donald to the rescue! I love Donald.)

I want more films where the protagonist doesn't find a Prince Charming to solve all of her issues. I want films where the protagonist doesn't take those strange passive-aggressive stalking measures (à la Amélie), or if she does she gets reprimanded for them. I want films where the protagonist doesn't end up with her soul mate, because it turns out the soul mate thing is a myth and the guy she's been following was actually in a committed, long-term relationship that she happened to overlook. I don't want escapist cinema; I want real life.


It's been a hard September so far. My relationships with people have been weird, and it's hard to separate the complete assholes and the constant fuck-ups from the people who are well-meaning but perhaps just had an off day. Right now I'm kind of predisposed to categorize everyone as "ASSHOLE", but I know that isn't the case at all--there was one person who seems to have ruined it for everyone. I think I made the right call in cutting him out of my life. I think my whole short-lived experience with him has taught me that I don't have to take shit from people. So now I won't. There's one other person I can think of right now who is pretty much a nonstop hypocritical asshole to me, and if you talk to me on a semi-regular basis you should know exactly who it is. Whenever I mention her name, it's always to tell a story of how she insulted me, followed by, "Whyyyy am I still friends with her?" There are people for whom I'm constantly adding up past transgressions and trying to figure out what they mean in the context of our friendship. I've forgiven people for things I never would have done in a million years. Now I'm not sure if they deserve that forgiveness, or if I'm just being a doormat.

I feel like I have so few true friends. When I meet someone new, I'm like, "EEE Potential best friend forever!" I think I'm too quick to tell a new friend all my thoughts and frustrations. They simply don't care yet, so I end up scaring them off. That's something I'll need to work on.

Another reason why it's a hard September: my computer broke, I bought a new one, and I'm constantly agonizing over money. I hope I have enough money to get me through the semester. Another reason: my stupid immune system is constantly attacking my thyroid. This makes me exhausted, depressed, and apathetic. I have so much work to do, but I don't feel like doing any of it. I've been wasting so much time on OkCupid's QuickMatch...

...which brings me to another point. I'm depressed by all the people on it, how cookie-cutter most of them are (I commented on this on my OkC profile, and I'm hoping someone messages me about it). I'm depressed because lots of guys seem to objectify women, as if we're a commodity. I'm depressed by the people on there who I find unattractive and even repulsive, and I'm depressed by the fact that I feel that way about them.

I'm depressed by love stories. I hate how the main characters are destined to be together. When there are complicating factors, such as a third person, the main characters still always know they're meant for each other and they make the right choice. They're always attracted to each other--there's no unrequited love. As soon as they're together, everything is right in the world. I hate how real life is not like this, and I hate how I still wish real life was like that. Sometimes I forget that whichever guy I'm attracted to may not know I exist, let alone be attracted to me. I wish I could talk to attractive guys. I wish I were confident that they wouldn't roll their eyes or laugh at me behind my back.

I feel guilty that I have opportunities and money that others do not.

I'm nervous because I have nothing to say for my thesis. I have no clue where to start. My professor keeps telling me that I'm on the right track, but I'm not so sure. I need to research and read. If only I weren't so apathetic (see above).


Right now I'm watching Confessions of a Dangerous Mind and Sam Rockwell looks so familiar to me. I haven't seen him in anything else (besides Heist and an episode of Pete & Pete, both of which I barely remember). I think it's that he looks like a cross between Zach Braff and Bob Odenkirk. He sounds a lot like Bob Odenkirk as well.


Overheard on the bus:

Guy: Did you go to the sour corn festival?
Driver: No, I did not go to the sweet corn festival.
Guy: I don't like it, so I call it the sour corn festival. They charge you $2 to get in! I hate sour corn.
Driver: Yes, I agree that it is crappy that they charge you.
Guy: That is why I call it the sour corn festival.

     Talia and I were walking along and we ran into this guy who was like, "You guys look like you need to party!" We agreed that we would go to his party, but when we got there it was a French 102 class. Zeb was in it, so we sat by him. I was told that I had to stay in this class in order to graduate. We were doing simple things like changing conjugations based on the subject and adding negatives. I had brought a bottle of alcohol since I thought it was going to be a party, so that got me through the class.


Yesterday a girl in one of my classes tapped me on the shoulder and asked where I got my hair cut because it was "so pretty". She had gorgeous curly hair and I'm surprised that she thought mine looked good. I told her that my last cut was rather crappy and that I was trying to grow out the uneven layers. This is the third hair compliment I've gotten this week (second if you only count the unsolicited ones), and it's starting to make me feel good. It's the bright spot in the middle of what has been a terrible month so far.

I'm starting to get cramps. Hopefully they won't last for 3 days like they did last month. Sigh.

I had two large chais today. If the bus would only come right after I got out of class, I wouldn't be so tempted to go to cafes as much.


     Ze Frank was having a costume party. I didn't find out about it until the last minute, but I wanted to go. I bought a bright green spandex unitard and bent my body into the tetris piece that looks like a cross. They let me in--I was actually surprised at that. The guests were a mix of celebrities (like Jeffrey Tambor) and my friends from HS. Elliott Yamin (third place on the most recent American Idol) was there, but he was just a regular guy that I knew from class. I kind of had a crush on him, and he seemed to be paying a little bit of attention to me, too. We were hanging out with a third friend, so I couldn't make any moves. This third friend had to go home early, and then Elliott wanted to walk me home in the rain.

And that's where it ended. Sigh. I didn't actually see Ze Frank at his party, so: sad. You know that if Ze Frank had a costume party, it'd be the baddest thing ever and all the costumes would be amazing.


Last night the weather was perfect for sleeping with the window open. I love feeling a cool breeze on my face as I fall asleep. The tradeoff was that it was incredibly humid and my hair frizzed like mad. It looked like a wig with its frizziness and its random situation atop my head. It looked as though my hair had been dropped onto my head from six feet up and was precariously balanced on my scalp, inching forward with every breath. Heh. I showered tonight and my hair looks damn good, so I'm relieved to see that the humidity has gone down.


I have a sore throat. I'm kind of whiny about it because I thought having surgery this summer would put an end to the constant sore throats. Last year I had one monthly. ("I'm sorry, I'm just in a bad mood because of my monthly problem. No, my other monthly problem.")

I'm so tired. Gnah.


     I was making a documentary of Larry David's quest to write a book. He had to go to Chicago to do this strange Halloween trip. He was partnered up with a middle-aged short Jewish woman who really liked cats. They were driving into the city on a very complicated elevated highway system, not unlike the combination of downtown Seattle and a roller coaster. After one had finally arrived on Lake Shore Drive, many people stopped to catch their bearings and occasionally vomit.

This dream might have been inspired by the 8 episodes per day of Curb Your Enthusiasm I've been watching since my computer broke. Just a guess.

I started taking vitamins last night to make my hair grow faster. I've been wanting long hair for a while now and I'm really sick of this in-between phase. I want to get rid of these crappy layers as well. Since my hair grows in three dimensions, it'll take forever to happen unless I take matters into my own hands. I read online that this one girl's particular combination of vitamins made her hair grow 1.5" per month. I'd love that, because then I could actually see some growth.

My Polish film professor hates Eddie Cantor and on Friday he made us watch a film clip and now I, too, hate Eddie Cantor.


Today my professor recommended another approach to my Michel Gondry thesis: the neo-surrealism of North American francophone directors. I think I like this better.

Right now I'm having the most amazing sandwich: chicken, Caesar dressing, mozzarella cheese, and avocado. Ohhhhh yum.

     Langston Hughes was 20 years old, severely depressed, and considering suicide. I went to see him and ended up talking him out of it. He was wearing jeans and a vest, and he had some weird dreads that were twisted instead of felted.


After a summer of not doing anything, I finally decided on a topic for my thesis: Globalization of French cinema with a special focus on Michel Gondry, and secondary focuses on Jean-Pierre Jeunet and Olivier Assayas if I need more stuff to write on. I was worried of getting stuck with some meh films (cinemeh, hee), but I've been obsessed with Gondry for a while (and he has a new film coming out in 2 weeks!), so this should be good. I've had a long time to cultivate ideas, so it'll be nice to investigate them and flesh them out. Now I have delusions of grandeur: I want to be published. I want to say something really innovative and clever, and I want to be published. Heh. Ask me how that's going December 1st when I find myself trying to write 25 pages in 2 days.


     I was an intern on a Martin Scorsese/Robert Altman collaborative remake of Brokeback Mountain. On the day I started, they were doing reshoots for a dance scene with the two cowboys and Will Ferrell. The big name stars were apparently too good for the reshoots, so they were using stand-ins. One of the stand-ins wore shorts that were pretty short. When I got home, my dad had an argument with me about when I should shower, and then there was a big millipede running around my room.


     There was a hurricane and I was running around saving children. I had two of them, but one got distracted by the dolphins in the ocean. He dove in and started swimming around. I didn't want to dive in after him because I knew with the strong waves I wouldn't be able to pull him back out. I went to the shore where the beach meets the ocean, and a dolphin swam up on shore and started talking to me. It said, "Hi, how ya doin'?" in a jovial manner.

I have a 200-level film course that is offered through the English department, so it gets a lot of English majors who think, "I like watching movies!" but don't know a whole lot about analyzing film. I have to take it because it's a requirement for the cinema studies minor. Today we discussed Psycho, specifically the sequence where Marion and Norman have dinner, and three separate people brought up the low-angle-birds-swooping-down shot. They also brought it up in the context of the conversation they were having, but it was wrong. They said that the low-angle shot occurred when Marion suggested putting Mother in an institution, but it didn't--it happened when Marion said that Mother shouldn't talk to Norman like that. When Marion brings up the institution, it switches to a close-up shot of Norman from a normal two-camera shot-reverse-shot angle. People! We watched this specific sequence twice! Pay attention and take notes!

Sigh... Yes, I am anal, an elitist, and very easily agitated.