Addicts Beware

I’m a book addict. I love the smell of dust or the scent of ink, the feel of the soft leather or the dry paper pages, I love the titles and the pithy sayings and the heartfelt stories—the life given to these objects. This is all to say that if you leave me in a Borders store for more than two seconds alone, you’ll have to leave without me; I’ll be buried in the Literature section, gasping in awe at editions of books and reading chapters at random. I had enough time alone there yesterday that I actually stumbled upon three lovely shelves of poetry and plays. I know, it’s kind of odd that there were only three small shelves, but I found gold anyway: two compendiums of Langston Hughes’ poetry. Yes. I was thrilled. Beyond that, I found a bunch of the titles I have on my list that must be finished before graduation:
The Canterbury Tales

King Lear

Gulliver's Travels

War and Peace

Anna Karenina

The Iliad

Don Quixote

Tom Jones

Les Miserables

Civil Disobedience (If I can get through it without bashing my head into a wall one too many times. I’ll quote Thoreau, but I really don’t like to sit down and read his work. Walden had me deeply annoyed for days.)

The Communist Manifesto

Middlemarch (A leap, no?)

Turn of the Screw

The Cherry Orchard

Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

Waiting for Godot

The Grapes of Wrath

The Glass Menagerie

The Handmaid's Tale

Invisible Man (Not to be confused with "The Invisible Man")

Sophie's World

Catch-22

Beloved

**The Color Purple**

Slaughterhouse Five

Atlas Shrugged

The Picture of Dorian Gray

Atlas Shrugged

The Poisonwood Bible

**Passage to India **

Vanity Fair *

This list was started about a month ago, and since then I’ve only completed…two. Yeah…well, * = started, and ** = Completed. I’ll update as I go! The Russian lit is going to be a hardship for me, but I’m really looking forward to many of these titles.

Oh yes, the moral? Don't let yourself wander a book store unless you have a purpose, or you'll end up like me--lost for an hour without any realization that you look crazy to people walking past as you mouth the words to the poem you're reading.

Adam and Me

Netflix is a wonderful thing. When I first saw a preview for the movie Adam, I knew that I had to see it. The reason was not entirely centered on the fact that Hugh Dancy stars in it, either. You see, the subject matter hits close to home. One of my very closest friends has Aspergers syndrome—a very close relation. Despite the fact that they have an extremely mild case, it still makes relationships difficult. When someone can’t tell how you’re feeling, you would be surprised how strained it can make a relationship. I wish that I could thank Dancy for his exquisite work in this film. Understanding what he is portraying, I can tell you that he was phenomenal, believable, and projects hope for those who struggle with or support someone with AS. It warms my heart to see someone who obviously has worked to understand the difficulties that stand in the path of these people.
Well, back to the film. It’s a touching illustration of what life is like for those with AS—and what life is like for those who love people with AS. The hardships, the humor, and the brilliance that often lie beneath this covering are all brought to life in the characters of Adam, a young twenty-something who has just lost his father (one of the two people who really know how to handle him), and Beth, a teacher who wants to be a writer, and who is struggling with the leftovers of a failed relationship and the turmoil of her father being on trial for fraud. It isn’t your typical romance, but I think that’s what makes it so special. The struggles, the hope, the change, the growth. It’s beautiful to behold. You won’t laugh the whole time, you won’t even always wear a smile. It brought me perilously close to tears on several occasions, but I can’t think of a worthier film to say that about.*
*In other words, get out from behind the glare of your computer screen, locate a copy, and enjoy—and learn.

Narcissism.

We survived, folks! Valentine’s Day is over, gone, done with, finished. Actually, as much as I may or may not have griped and groaned about it on here, I had a great day—a great single day, too. That’s right: you don’t need to be in a mushy relationship to enjoy chocolate. Shocker, right? I know. I thought I would be a complete narcissist and document my day on here:
7:00 Wakeup time. It’s Sunday. This is the torture imposed on me.
8:15 Leave for church. Late. Again.
8:35 Arrive at church. Five minutes late. (This is, actually, a record. We’re usually later.)
10:00 Chat with old people I don’t really know.
10:15 Escape from said old people
10:30 Home, meaning I’m checking Facebook.
10:40 Chatting with my brother about how much he hates Valentine’s day, and how he could ruin the day for others.
11:00 Aw, my dad made breakfast. He claims it was for “his girls”. His girls know that he was hungry, and was smart enough to realize that neither of us would produce any food for him. (Want a hot meal? Light your cornflakes on fire.)
11:30 Settle in on the couch with chocolate and a movie. Yes, this is the life.
1:00 Still eating that chocolate and watchin’ that movie.
2:00 Start that essay that’s due at midnight.
2:20 find out a friend is going to show up at my door. She’ll call first.
2:30 Surprise! Kate didn’t call. She’s here (and that essay isn’t finished…)!
8:30 After much chatting, gabbing, passing of gossip, and several Lean Cuisines later, Kate takes off for home.
8:31 I run to finish that essay that has been lurking at the back of my mind.
9:00 FINISHED. Good. On to more chocolate and to check my thousands of college emails.
9:02 A conversation is started online. I somehow end up watching an episode of “Monk” from Hulu while chatting about it with my friend from my Yahoo account.
9: 40 I’ve made it about eleven minutes into that episode. I loathe my internet connection.
10:00 I’m quitter. Giving my apologies to friend, I decide that since he’s at around 35 minutes to my 14, It’s pretty hopeless.
10:30 Night, all.

Yeah. I lead one exciting life. Hope you had a more exciting day than I did! Chocolate*!
*(I find ‘chocolate’ is an acceptable substitute for ‘cheers’ in such situations.)

(500) Days of Tortur-erm, Summer

So I’m currently swathed in numerous quilts, afghans and down comforters, surrounded by crumpled tissues and old tea mugs, and attempting to recover immediately from a cold that has been coming on for a few days now. Needless to say, it isn’t fun stuff. To pass some time and “rest up”, I popped in the latest movie that magically appeared in the teleported at the end of my driveway; you may know this as a mailbox. Anyway, back to the movie: (500) Days of Summer. Hm. Thoughts…I’ll be honest, those are few and fuzzy at the moment, but I’ll give it a go. I think I’ve watched too many of these films; you know what I mean, too many of these films that tell us that they know what love is. Especially the ones that tell us that they don’t know, because anybody who is anyone knows that you’re supposed to read between the lines, and that they really do think they know it all. Love is a good looking guy falling for a thin, blue-eyed beauty who has to stand on tip-toe to kiss him. I don’t know about all of you, but at 5’9” with a medium build and brown-as-mud eyes, this “love” isn’t in my future. The sad part is, this depresses me a bit. Maybe it’s just the cold, because I’m generally not like this, but I feel very alone for the first time in a very long time (in near and relative terms. I’m young. This means about five months, tops.). I think that the worst thing that can happen to someone in one of these moments is for them to think of someone.

No, not anyone. Someone from the past. Someone who wasn’t anyone because because because (I always have a million reasons for everything). Summer used the sweet, sensitive, searching Tom. This isn’t made okay because she found love and he finds a new love interest. Nope, she’s still a shmuck. Feelings are tender, and no matter how many children’s poems you write, words hurt. That’s why I think I love them so much—words are power. Words are power. Say it aloud and feel the strength. The word that everyone shrinks from in earnest is ‘love’. The simplest and most dangerous of all four-letter words, this can make or break a heart. Sometimes, this word doesn’t have to be spoken. Summer said it in a million tiny ways. It didn’t have to roll off of her tongue, it didn’t have to take her breath, it didn’t have to be forever. Those millions of ways lied. Tom was not innocent of this either, because what love that is true dies after 500 days? It’s true. This movie makes me sad, because I’m sorry for Tom, and I’m even sorrier for Summer. Tom will always have someone he’s pining after--he loves love. Summer won’t. Summer will always be the hurt little girl who found her power in chopping off her long, dark tresses.

Me? I’ll stick to words.

V-Day

Well, it’s that time again; the time when every lonely single feels unloved and alone. Yes folks, it’s the countdown to V-day, St. Valentine’s Day. Now, let me set this score straight: I’m not bitter about this day. Never have I found myself longing for a significant other on this holiday of pink and red. I just have always thought it was a little, well, silly. Truth be told, I think it’s kind of cute when you see young couples who are still in the relationships “honeymoon phase” exchanged their frilled nothings. I have little cynical thoughts about how long the relationship is going to last, but the moment itself is sweet.
So, to the point: if you’re going to celebrate this day, forget the frills and ribbons. I was listening to one of my many Pandora stations today (one that went from Sondre Lerche to all old and classic Jazz, somehow), and I was struck by the depth of the love songs that were playing. What girl wouldn’t melt at “Unforgettable” or “Dream a Little Dream of Me”? Well, those or some classic Billy Joel. They’re touching, sensitive, and perceptive.
For those of you with the literary girl in mind, I think sonnet 116 is just about the most romantic piece ever written. What about that breathtaking line of Emily Bronte’s: “Whatever souls are made out of, his and mine are the same”? I’m not overly romantic, but even my soul was pierced by that. Men: be a Mr. Knightly. Any girl of sense will adore you for it for a lifetime. Women: “men of sense do not want silly wives.” Thank you for sharing your brilliance, Jane Austen.