in celebration of failure.

i have not failed. i've just found 10,000 ways that won't work.

thomas edison

happy sunday. get your feet wet and fail a little.

photo via fffound

the little things. the human things.

tonight i caught a subway attendant cringe when a young woman just barely missed the train.

his response was so unbelievably human. 

and it made my heart swell.

this is absolute perfection.

a thought she has caught by a thread

so i've been busy mulling over all of your questions.

and there's one i keep coming back to.

because do you remember when le love posted this video?

i became unbelievably taken with it.

and i began to play the song ad nauseum. 

i've yet to tire of it.

so when Thao asked, what song lyric best describes you...well...

Sun been down for days
A pretty flower in a vase
A slipper by the fireplace
A cello lying in its case

Soon she's down the stairs
Her morning elegance she wears
The sound of water makes her dream
Awoken by a cloud of steam
She pours a daydream in a cup
A spoon of sugar sweetens up

And she fights for her life
As she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
As it pours
And she fights for her life
As she goes in a store
With a thought she has caught
By a thread
She pays for the bread
And she goes...
Nobody knows

Sun been down for days
A winter melody she plays
The thunder makes her contemplate
She hears a noise behind the gate
Perhaps a letter with a dove
Perhaps a stranger she could love

And she fights for her life
As she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
As it pours
And she fights for her life
As she goes in a store
With a thought she has caught
By a thread
She pays for the bread
And She goes...
Nobody knows

And she fights for her life
As she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
As it pours
And she fights for her life
Where people are pleasently strange
And counting the change
And she goes...
Nobody knows

"Her Morning Elegance"

Oren Lavie

of course. 

(this big break here is

my Shakespearean pause.

it's meant to indicate a

substantial period

 of silence. so please do

observe while

mentally reading this

aloud.)

of course. 

i am fighting for my life. 

aren't you?

so last week, when i wrote this about how actually ned's not so bad and i'm thankful he's making me who i am...

well the next two days i could hardly breathe. the fight against ned became so intense that even breath failed me. 

and i fought for my life. 

and  i knew. i am who i am in spite of ned. not because of him. and i don't need to thank him for anything. to hell with ned. 

every day is a fight for my life. my life. versus the life ned would have me lead.

and putting on my coat. and getting out of bed. and getting on the subway. and smiling. and sitting down for a meal. and standing in front of a camera.

i fight for my life as i do all of these things.

but i am. i am fighting. and that's something.

and even more than that...i think i'm starting to  win.

Plato got it right, Be kind...for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. 

When my mother taught me driver's ed we followed one maxim above all others. When another driver made a really glaring error, we always said, oh that must be their one mistake for the year. 

So when the man on the subway is nasty, or the patrons at my job, or the girl in front of me at the supermarket, I try to remember two things now: they are fighting a battle too. and it's most likely their only nasty moment of the year. 

image via visualize.us

don't know what i'm talking about

because you don't know who ned is?

check out my sidebar. i've left you

some clues there. happy searching.

you asked. i answered. or tried to.

What would you like to know? I asked.  And Ask you did. If I answered all the questions at once I fear you would become terribly overwhelmed and then terribly bored. So here are a few. To start.

Who am I? Answered through your questions. 

In light of your recent Disney related post, which of the heroines of animated yore was your favorite. And which hero (prince) did you have a crush on (because no gal grew up on Disney without a crush on at least one of them)?

Well, Belle of Beauty and the Best fame, for sure. Adventurous, daring, an independent thinker, and a lover of books--yes, please, me too. And my goodness, have you seen her library?

 

As for my crush...Prince Eric...his dark hair made me swoon.

 

What is something people are surprised to find out about you?

I'll give you three:

I had my first kiss the day before I graduated from high school. 

I once went on something of a date with one the most famous American playwrights of all time.

Most nights I fall asleep listening to an old episode of Frasier.

 

What is your favorite part of performing?

I honestly don't know if I can answer this one. I don't know what my favorite part is and I'm afraid if I probe too deeply, well then I might just ruin it. But perhaps, it's the challenge as well as the freedom. In performance anything is possible.

 

What's your dream job? 

So many dream jobs. To work on stage in New York with actors I admire and respect. To travel all around the world making film after film. To write a book. Or a screenplay. To write for a magazine. To coach politicians on how to deliver a speech. To be a wife, a mother.

 

What kind of music do you listen to?

Oh brother, not sure if there is a particular genre. I love a lot of different things. But dance music and ultra-poppy stuff of today is not my cup of tea. I tend to love female songwriters: Missy Higgins, Ingrid Michaelson. And anything that would fit into the movie Almost Famous. I love Badly Drawn Boy. The Beatles (who doesn't). Beirut, oh let me count the ways I love Beirut. Billy Joel. Blue October's first album. Bruce Springsteen's album, The Rising, following September 11th. Some stuff by The Decemberists. The Dixie Chicks' album Taking the Long Way. Edith Piaf (my God, she could sing). Some of Eric Clapton's classics. Garth Brooks (yup, I got some Texas in me).Gipsy Kings. John Legend. John Mayer's No Such Thing album. Marc Cohn. Zoe Keating (she plays the cello and it's unbelievably beautiful--look it up). some things by K'naaan. Simon and Garfunkel. Cat Stevens. Elton John.....the list could go on and on.

Favorite item of clothing?

black leather, winter boots

What do you do when your down and just in need of a good cry?

Drink a glass of wine. Soak in the tub. And pray. Pray for its arrival.

What is your worst bad habit?

Ned.

 

And complaining...

Do you have a favorite poem or little saying?

 

Lord knows I live off of quotes. They feed me. Nourish me, deeply. How can I choose a favorite?

 

I can't. Instead I'll just post as many as I can. For as long as my little fingers can type. Though, this one that I posted recently--the language always catches me off guard--it's not what I expect or remember when I think of the quote--it's better. And this too.

 

As for poetry. Jeffrey McDaniel is my absolute favorite poet. I love "When a man hasn't been kissed," "The Secret," "The Archipelago of Kisses," and "What Year was Heaven Desegregated" to name a few.

 

What's the one thing that really, absolutely drives you bonkers?

Entitlement. 

 

If you were to just drop your bags and escape to one place on this earth, where would it be?

The Dalmatian Coast. Off of Croatia. Go ahead, watch Casino Royale again (the first of the Daniel Craig Bond films)--it you don't fall in love with some of those landscapes than we just cannot be friends.

 

Which do you like best? cookies or cupcakes?

I was going to say cupcakes, of course. Taza and I agreed, all bloggers must love cupcakes--it's there in the terms of use agreement. And then a quiet voice deep inside reminded me: my mothers sugar cookies with frosting trump all.

 

What do you do when you're typically upset about something?

I'd like to say I don't stew. But I do, I'm sure I do. And I imagine those around me, who know me very well, know that I'm upset even before I do. But...a good book, a good bath, a good clean of the room...well, those things just make it easier to get out of bed in the morning. And a good cry. A good cry above all else. The gentle, rolling release. Unfortunately, my good cry often comes at the most inopportune times, but I'll take ‘em when and wherever I can.

i wish there was more time in the day.

time to go to the bank.

to balance my checkbook.

to cook a meal. or clean my room.

to answer all of your questions (they're coming i promise).

to face my twizzler addiction head-on.

to thank each and every one of you for the startlingly powerful and kind comments you bestow on me. to bestow the same on you. as you so richly deserve.

to escape.

to read five books at once.

to call for haircut.

to take a breath.

did i mention that monday was my first day off in three weeks? i'm coming back to you. to myself. deep breath. ahh, see there was time enough for one.

man oh man. fathers.

have you ever heard an actor say, "if you can do anything else [besides act], you should"

well personally, i think that's total bullocks. the best actors should be able to do damn near anything and yet choose to act.

that being said, when you've gone to acting school for four years, it is very easy to feel completely unqualified in a real, working-world setting.

i was telling my father this. and so he sent me the following email.

A while back when we talked, you were upset because you did not feel that you were qualified to do anything. I have been thinking about your concern for some time now and composed the first of two lists. The first list is suitable for printing and putting in a pace where you will see it on a regular basis.



Enjoy, Love Dad.

Sunday, May 18, 2009

Meg

I thought about this for some time and decided you are well qualified to:

Be you
Write your own story
Smile
Sing
Have fun
Love
Be loved
Make a friend
Be a friend
Volunteer
Inspire
Dream
Make dreams come true
Touch a heart
Touch a world
Dance
Be seen
Observe
Process
Compete
Be strong
Be weak
Feel
Stand tall
Be independent
Be political
Support
Laugh out loud
Understand
Bring insight
Create
Be beautiful
Show compassion

Congratulations, you are qualified to do all of the above, or some, or none, your choice. You are also qualified to add to this list at will.

Love, Dad

Man oh man, am I lucky.

Thanks, Dad. You're so right. I am pretty darn qualified.

And pretty darn lucky to have you.

who am i? (a detailed overview).

Okay.

So.

You've been reading this blog for some time now (or you're brand new) and you're wondering who this nutty gal is that refers to herself as the brunette bombshell.

First of all, let's be clear..I refer to myself as a brunette bombshell and boy-oh-boy does that little thing referred to as an "article" by the grammar gods (I looked it up) make all the difference. In truth, the title should probably be the wild and wily ways of a sometime brunette bombshell because most days I am anything but...but that's the brilliance of creative license--you get to twist the truth.

My name is Meg and I'm twenty-three. (now twenty-five, euf). 

Actually, my full name is Meghan, but in the fourth grade when we moved back to Houston (from Dallas) I requested that I be called by the shortened version. My family pronounces my name May-gn so even the nickname comes out May-g (which I prefer to Meg {with the e-sound you'd find in the word let}). I was born and raised in Houston, Texas. Three things distinguish me as a Texan: 1. a undeniable love of Mexican food, 2. the desire to have all beef cooked to the sublime medium-rare (okay, well, i'm a vegetarian now, but when i ate meat, medium rare was the only way to go); and 3. a strange pride in scrapes and bruises (battle wounds). I never ever thought I'd miss Texas, but like it or not it's home. And parts of it I'd give my left arm to have where I am now. Bluebell ice cream. The luxury of a driveway in which to wash your car. A car, in fact. Supermarkets with aisles that go on for days. Luckily, my parents still reside there so I get to return every once in a while.

My parents are both originally from New York--my dad from the Bronx and my mother from a small town upstate that is completely on an Indian Reservation. I have one brother who is four years older than me and in some ways my complete opposite. He's much smarter and gregarious in a way that I'll never be. But he's the engineer and I'm the actor (go figure).

Where am I now? Well, New York City of course. I've lived here for five (almost seven) years now (deep sigh, I can't believe it's been that long). Four of those years were spent at college. One year ago I graduated from Juilliard with a Bachelor of Fine Arts from its actor training program.

I spent my childhood dedicated to three things: 1. sports 2. the pursuit of make-believe and 3. reading as much as I could. My love of acting was a product of the latter two endeavors. And when in sixth grade I met a teacher who seemed to think I had potential--well that was it, some sort of path erupted before me. I spent middle school engaged in speech and debate (a very specific sort of acting competition), which then led me to the academic high school with a strong acting department. When I applied to college (14 of them--most basic liberal arts schools) Juilliard was always the unattainable pipe-dream. I never said the name of the school aloud, nor did I allow anyone else to. I auditioned for the school in Chicago and knew immediately that something felt right. And so I allowed myself to dream. To dream of a life in acting school. To dream of a life in New York City. To dream of what I had never dared imagine. And when the news came two weeks later that I'd been accepted, I was over the moon--so over the moon that no other offer of acceptance from any one of the myriad of colleges and universities could pry me from my now fixed point, Juilliard. And you know what the really ironic thing is...I visited Juilliard after my acceptance and I didn't like the school. It didn't feel right as it had in the audition. I don't know that I've ever told my parents this. But I do know my father describes this day as one of the worst of his life--the day he realized I was leaving. I think perhaps we all sensed that there was something not quite right--(and let me be very clear that this was my experience) not quite right for me. But hindsight is twenty-twenty.

While at Juilliard I developed my nasty, little eating disorder (heretofore known as Ned). So I can't really evaluate my time at school because it was all experienced through the perspective of this ghastly creature which began to destroy everything that made me me. All I can say is that the school (as I'm sure most performing arts schools are) was a hotbed for eating disorders and my graduation was not a joyous experience--it was the inevitable jump from a sinking ship.

That being said Juilliard gave me innumerable tools to excel technically as an actor--necessary tools. And now in this year after school, when I am for the first time putting my health before all else, I am gaining the life--and the life skills--that I believe will make me a better actor (and more importantly, a better person) than I ever dared hope.

I am a hostess. A sometimes salesperson. A once-a-week-nanny. Hell, I'm actually a blogger. And I like the idea that I might just be a writer. I am everything but what I went to school for. And right now I'm okay with that. Because I know that--well, that won't always be the case.

This is the year I am failing. For the first time in my life. I am failing brilliantly and freely and nothing has ever been so exciting.

This blog is my account of my failures. My successes. A celebration of the little things. It is a love letter to myself as I heal--as I put myself back together. It is a love letter to the family I dream of having. This is my memory book for the future.

(post-edit changes marked in bold)

a glorious little thought on this glorious little monday.

then, when it seems

we will never smile again,

life comes back.

author unknown

photo via ffffound

god is in the details.

i had lunch with my dear friend steven today.

he thinks my life should be made into a movie: the story of a twenty-three year old woman trying to find love in the big apple. the twist being this twenty-three year old acts as though she's forty-five.

example: camera cuts to subway. lead reading book. book is "How to Begin Your Life Again!" 

essentially the film would be a combination of two of the most common stories found in films, 1. young girl falls in love for first time; 2. middle age woman finds love again after life falls apart

does this make sense so far?

i know, i know. it needs some work.

but this is all to say...we were brainstorming real life details that make my life quite...well, interesting. like the time i fell down the subway steps and spent a month doing everything i could to stop myself from laughing or sneezing. or...the time i went for drinks at the Ritz unwittingly carrying with me a renegade laundry sock.

or like today...

when i discovered i live next to a male whorehouse.

hmm. hmm. hmm. mmmm.

i need your help (or at least your questions)

inspired by this post by the remarkable kathleen and then again after reading a blog about how to make one's blog better (and goodness knows, that i do want that), i have decided to do a post about me to provide some background to new and old readers alike.

and i thought...well, if there's anything you want to know. ask me. and so your questions will be my launching pad.

this is my way of saying: ask away, i'm an open book (for the most part).

post-secret follow up

I thought the end of Ned would be like getting hit by a dump truck, in the best possible way.

It would be a moment--one, single moment--that would knock me on my ass (or damn near kill me {as long as we're going with the dump truck metaphor}) and literally change my life forever. That was the best-case-scenario--that was what I prayed for. 

I'm starting to think it's not going to be anything like that. I'm starting to think it's happening now. And will take a very, very long time. A life, if you will. But it will not be my life--it will simply be one part of it. The end of Ned is a gradual coming to--an ascent into consciousness, the compilation of countless near-obvious realizations.

And I'm starting to think that this whole Ned thing...well, maybe there's a reason it's happened--happening.

For those of you who've read The Time Traveler's Wife, do you remember the scene where (bear with me I've loaned the book out so I have to paraphrase) Clare at twenty has just begun dating Henry. And they're at some club and she wanders off to go to the bathroom and runs into Henry of the future (the Henry she's known all her life--the Henry she grew up with) and she says to him, I miss you, I wish you were the one who was here right now--I don't know this other person. And in return he says, but who you are--this time you spend with the twenty-eight year old Henry is what makes me who I am today--the man you do love so much. I need you Clare. Do you remember this part? I'm absolutely butchering the poetry of it all but I'm just trying to make a point. 

Well, for better of for worse Ned is shaping me. He has made me who I am today. And he is creating the woman my Henry will one day fall in love with. Yes, there was a time when Ned made me unbelievably selfish, unbelievably unreliable and unbelievably unkind. But that time has passed. And for the first time in my life I'm beginning to think that I am, actually, quite strong. 

Now, let's be clear, I am not romanticizing Ned. Ned is bad. Very, very bad. I wouldn't wish Ned on anyone. Ned robbed me of whole years of my life--countless would-be memories. But I am making the choice to be thankful for how I am now responding to 

So, remember this post? Well, my post-secret really was what was written on the card, but there was more--I promised you more and I never delivered on it.

Well, okay, here goes:

About a month ago I decided to stop acting. Not for a long. Just a year. Maybe two. I was having a near impossible time reconciling Ned with the audition process. And I knew as long as Ned is an ever present force in the room with me, I'll never be able to give it a proper go. And I want to give acting a proper go. But I need acting to be my decision. I need to come to it when I am ready--not simply because it's the next step on some pre-prescribed path.

I think I scared my parents. I think they're afraid I won't go back. What I tried to explain to them is I will. That in my gut I believe this is actually the best decision I can make for the future.

And so now I have a year to fail brilliantly and make impossible mistakes. And all I want to do is travel. I have nothing tying me down, so what better time is there?

So I'm looking into teaching English abroad and while I've surreptitiously gathered information from a few of you (thanks girls!), if anyone else cares to weigh in on the subject...well, by all means.

Phew, now that I've gotten all of that out of my system, maybe words will come a bit easier now.

 

quote found at this little blog

which i've just discovered and

am falling in love with

I've had nothing to say of late.

I'm sorry.

Actually, I think...I've had one thing that I haven't been able to say.

And that one thing has led to everything. 

And everything is overwhelming so now I'm grasping for anything.

And left with nothing.

But nothing is never nothing. It is always something. And something is a place to begin...

meaning? more to come..

i've been holding out.

and that's not fair.

blond or brunette?

glancing through the new issue of in style i came across the 2009 sexy poll, in which the following question was asked:

what's sexier:

blond or brunet? 

and the winner? 

well, with a whopping 78%, we brunets took the prize.

whoa nelly, one giant step for brunette bombshells everywhere

and then one terrifying second where i thought maybe i'd been spelling brunet incorrectly all this time.

i gotta go calm down. this is a lot to take in.

ps: i do not smoke.

nor should you.

it's bad. and causes cancer.

gym.

so ned's been better lately. and i've been more forgiving of him. 

we're learning to live together peaceably. 

and i'm beginning to think he's not such bad guy. 

he has good intentions. but manifests those intentions in very unhelpful ways.

and then there's gym. 

gym and i haven't seen much of each other lately. 

and while i know gym is a good guy--a good guy who's actually good for me...well, this girl has a thing for bad boys, ya know?

so i'd been thinking about the book club a lot lately. 

and this led to a dream about an exercise club (yes, an actual night-time dream).

 and i happened to mention this to my girlfriends at brunch last week. and they seemed to think this dream could become a reality. 

three reasons why:

1. gym is really good for all of us

2. this way a week won't turn into a month in which we don't see each other

3. a reason to not sleep in until noon

and so a dream, an idea, a reality was born. 

we met last friday. 

and elliptical and i had 45 minutes of oh-this-isn't-actually-hell bliss. 

and i got to talk to vic and carolyn about life a year after school. 

and then again this morning. and wednesday is looking very promising.

we have big plans. 

dates with central park. 

dates with my newly acquired New York City Ballet Workout DVD (Dancing on Thorns really rubbed off on me). 

and with the pool. pools are such a commodity in this city of ours. so water aerobics and laps and good ol' water fights are in the near future. 

oh. sigh. i can't wait.

alone.

i'm feeling awfully lonely tonight.

and awfully grateful that tomorrow is another day.

he will know where to find you

Micaela of dolce vita (one of my very oldest and very dearest blogging friends--she's from Texas too and we're kindred spirits we are) brought the following chunk of poem to my attention:

taken from "At North Farm"

by John Ashbery

Somewhere someone is traveling furiously toward you,

At incredible speed, traveling day and night,

Through blizzards and desert heat, across torrents,

   through narrow passes.

But he will know where to find you,

Recognize you when he sees you

oh Micaela, you know me so well. Perfection, the poem. 

and so all i can say is, okay,

images via vi.sualize.us

inspiration

i've been feeling a little lackluster, myself and after A Cup of Jo's Joanna posed the question, what inspires you, I got to thinking.

well, lots of things. but sometimes, all i need is a really great quote

or to pull a play off the shelf and read aloud the scenes i've ear-marked

so today i pulled down the books of poetry by jeffrey mcdaniel, the splinter factory and the forgiveness parade

now, i'm not often a big poetry person. but his words constantly have me high-lighting and scribbling and starring in the seconds after they've taken my breath away. his stuff certainly isn't for everyone: it's not traditional or flowery, but it's potent in a really satisfying way. 

i was tempted to type out every poem right here. but i don't have the time. nor, i'm sure, do you. so here are fragments and favorites brought to my attention by my trusty magic-marker arrows, marked from years ago.

...but I'm just a broken promise in a pawn shop,

and this is just a secret that happens to involve you...

...I don't wish I was in your arms.

I just wish I was pedaling a bicycle 

toward your arms...

...I'll start telling you lies, and my lies will sparkle,

become the bad stars you chart your life by...

...I was prepared to chase

after you and whisper you have beautiful

footsteps when the truth is you make

my toes tingle like the capital of Venezuela.

I know loving me isn't easy--the all-night

helicopter parties, the glow-in-the-dark

haircuts, but when I look at you

it's like praying with my eyes....

...I guess there's two kinds of women.

Those you write poems about, and those you don't...

...I'm sorry all the kisses I scribbled 

on your neck were written in disappearing ink, sorry

this poem took thirteen years to reach you. Sometimes

I thought of you so hard one of your legs would pop out

of my ear, and when I slept, you'd press your face 

against the porthole of my submarine. I wish that just once,

instead of joyriding over flesh, we'd put our hands away

like chocolate to be saved for later, and deciphered

the calligraphy of each other's eyelashes, translated

a paragraph from the volumes of what couldn't be said...

...Some days I miss you so much

I'd jump off the roof of your office building

just to catch a glimpse of you on the way down...

...I hate when people ask if she even knew I was there. 

The point is I knew, holding the one-sided 

conversation of her hand. Once I believed the heart

was like a bar of soap--the more you use it, 

the smaller it gets; care too much and it'll snap off

in your grasp. But when Grandma's last breath

waltzed from that room, my heart opened

wide like a parachute, and I realized she didn't die.

She simply found a silence she could call her own...

uploading this video was an act of love

but i needed you all to understand that i fell in love with new york this weekend.

it happened on sunday. the weather turned and with it my eyes opened.

and i was walking through central park, past strawberry fields when a sweet, sweet sounds turned me around and pulled me straight into what is more often than not, just a hotbed of tourists.

tourists there were. but i nestled right in with 'em and held my camera way up high over my head and moved my lovely little behind in time to the music. bliss it was.

please bear in mind this was filmed with my camera and you're hearing it through a computer. this group was amazing. this video does not do them justice, but you'll get the idea.

i'm loving new york this week. the beatles will do that to me.

(ps: "I'll Get You" is one of my favorite beatles' tunes ever--the bridge just kills me! the other being, "I've Just Seen A Face")

but this video took 5 hours to upload--5 hours for two minutes! what's wrong with my computer? 

oh disney, my disney

A couple of things have led me to this post.

First: my inability to load a video to blogger, which led to youtube, which led to youtube searches.

and

Second: a four hour nap at 7 pm tonight (woops, it's two am now and I might be up for a while); that being said my best work is done in the wee hours of the morn when the candle burns from both ends (whatever that means).

What can i say? Sometimes the stars align and a post is born.

So I was on youtube and decided to search for the film Newsies--it's been on my mind as of late and since itunes doesn't have the soundtrack a girl has to make do however she can.

My friends. Let's be serious for a moment. Have you seen this film? 

option a: no

my response to option a: no?! (shock and indignation). Amend this immediately. Our very friendship hinges on this.

option b: Of course, any mid-eighties to early-nineties child worth their salt has.

my response to option b: Ahh, good man/woman. So right. And the code to contra, they all know the code to contra (though the time period might lean a bit earlier on that end--eighties, not so much nineties) 

Are you still reading this? Are you as confused as I am? Bear with me--it is two in the morning. 

Okay, so seriously if you haven't seen the movie, I've included a brief clip below to wet the palate. 

And if you have seen it, then this is just to tickle your fancy.

1. Okay sooo...I don't know anything about dancing. but I'm pretty sure this dancing is sick--sick in new millennium vernacular meaning, off the chain. 

2. Christian Bale was an insanely good looking teen.

3. And now, this is where the post turns serious: why doesn't Disney make films like this anymore? This movie was about the newsboys strike of 1899 in New York City (source: good-ole Wikipedia), meaning...this movie was actually about something--something important and meaningful and exciting. 

Hanna Montana, Lizzie Maguire, High School Musical. Are you kidding me?! Disney, what happened? When did you become so...so...vapid. Okay, so no, Newsies wasn't a rousing commercial success (but helloooo...you shouldn't have released it on the same day as Fern Gully {I could have told you that}). Disney, this isn't just about Newsies--this is about a time when you stood for something--when the stories meant something--when it wasn't all direct to dvd junk--or about the promotion of one child star at the expense of all else. I long for Cinderella and Mulan (did you see Mulan? oh, another truly exceptional animated film--one of the last greats. Or what about An American Tail with the much beloved Feivel. Okay so yes, Pixar is still making the greats, Finding Nemo (a personal favorite). But Pixar left you Disney--think about it. Remember the glory days when Walt (bless his soul) would fire animators for almost imperceptible errors in continuity? The man had standards. Bring those standards back.

All I'm saying is when my kids grow up on Disney films, as they will, they will be the films of yester year. So in ten years or so I'm gonna need you to unlock that magical vault in a really big way. Because Wizards of Waverly Place: the movie, part 345 just ain't gonna cut it. 

Postscript: ironically enough the choreographer and director of Newsies is the man in charge of the High School Musical movies. Obviously, the man has chops. And listen High School Musical has a time and a place, but it is what it is, you know?

Post-postscript: another great movie from back in the day that's worth another visit, The Sandlot. Quite, quite funny. And yes it made by Fox.

pppppps: Is this not the sweetest thing you've ever seen?

i have a confession to make

i'm feeling terribly inept technically.

i want to share a video from this weekend.

it's only two minutes long. but blogger doesn't seem to want to upload it. i even tried to go the youtube route, but it appeared the upload might take weeks.

how do i do it? any ideas?

"my apartment is basically a couch, an armchair, and about four thousand books." the time traveler's wife

I suppose I should admit I finished this a week ago. Sitting in my favorite cafe, eating organic greens, tears careened down my face. 

The night before, I had cried so hard and tried so valiantly to not disturb the roommate that a high-pitched whistle (much like a tea kettle when it sings) arose from some place deep inside.

I don't have much to say about the book. It was pure poetry. Brilliantly written. 

It was difficult to get into because I wanted to understand the logistics of the time travel. And other times I had a hard time falling into the images because another part of my brain was going, my god--that turn of phrase--how did she just do that?

It was heart-wrenching in all the right ways. And it got me thinking about time and life and our different ages: sometimes I feel like I'm failing my eight year old self--the little girl who has yet to get to this point--the little girl who is still out there in the world (back in 1993). I want to be better for her. 

Yes, it may be hard to get into. But it's worth it. 

Want to know the moment I fell into the book--the exact moment I fell in love:

pages 70-71:

After an interval of tickling and thrashing around, we lie on the ground with our hands clasped across our middles and Clare asks, "Is your wife a time traveler too?"

"Nope. Thank God."

"Why 'thank God'? I think that would be fun. You could go places together."

"One time traveler per family is more than enough. It's dangerous Clare."

"Does she worry abut you?"

"Yes," I say softly. "She does." I wonder what Clare is doing now in 1999. Maybe she's still asleep. Maybe she won't know I'm gone.

"Do you love her?"

"Very much, " I whisper. We lie silently side by side, watching the swaying trees, the birds, the sky. I hear a muffled sniffling noise and glancing at Clare I am astonished to see that tears are streaming across her face toward her ears. I sit up and lean over her. "What's wrong, Clare?" She just shakes her head back and forth and presses her lips together. I smooth her hair, and pull her into a sitting position, wrap my arms around her. She's a child, and then again she isn't. "What's wrong?"

It comes out so quietly that I have to ask her to repeat it: "It's just that I thought maybe you were married to me."

Now I'm onto The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri. The woman I babysit for said it's one of the best things she's read in years. It was sitting on her shelf. We're doing a book trade. She gets The Time Traveler's Wife for a while and I get The Namesake (one has to figure out ways to save money you know). I'll be sure to let you know what I think.

Keep the suggestions coming. My list is growing long and I'm loving that. And my pile of books on the windowsill is climbing. I will update the post on books soon enough to include all your fantastic suggestions.

image via ffffound

ahhhh, pari

i've decided that when i move to paris,

i will live in this room.

hmm. mmm. mmm. mm. a girl can dream.

image via {this is glamorous}

i think?

dear husband-to-be,

i've been thinking of you lately. and missing you. and wondering if it's possible to miss someone you've never met.

if there is such a thing as past lives then i must know you. and missing you makes perfect sense.*

sometimes i'm so thankful that you don't know me right now. that you weren't there for the dark period. that you don't know this ugliness in me.**

and then other times i know that this ugliness is not an ugliness at all. and it's shaping the woman you'll one day marry and i want you to be here for it. because it's important. and defining. and because you'll help me. you'll help me heal.

as a child i hated to dream. the dreams were either bad: nightmares. or disappointing: i'd wake to find they hadn't actually happened. no good came of night-time dreaming.

but last night i dreamt of you. i dreamt of you and it was good. and what i remember--what i remember more than anything else--even more than the butterflies in my stomach--i remember fitting into the crook of your arm. literally and metaphorically. and nestled there i knew i was home.

and so when i woke this morning i was anything but disappointed. you're near. i feel you near. come closer.

i miss you. come back to me,

your wife-from-countless-other-lives-before-this-one

*the thing about past lives (in my limited understanding) is that all your lives are populated by many of the same people. the people may take on many different forms, but their energy--their spirit or soul--is the same. so your husband in one life may very well be your husband in 80% of your other lives.

**this ugliness in me...well, that's ned. if you're confused as to who ned is look to my sidebar. and there you'll find many a link which will help clarify this grotesque and mystical creature.