August 8, 2014 § Leave a comment
August 4, 2014 § 1 Comment
It is satisfying to close a book you just finished only for a moment.
After that moment, you realize that you will need to start again at page one to meet those characters again.
August 1, 2014 § Leave a comment
I have read many books since I last posted here and watched a few movies. More importantly than both of those items, I have made a lot of memories and felt a lot of different things.
Because my job is an hour drive from where I am living currently, I take a train that is convenient to both places. This is where I do my most thoughtful emoting.
I have felt exquisite joy. I was sitting in a train car watching the scenery which I have passed every day for the past seven weeks. I was listening to my new favorite band, Jukebox the Ghost. My phone was buzzing in my lap from text messages from my friends to whom I had relayed the day two. And my cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling. When people use the phrase “idiotic grin” they could have use me as an example, for at the moment, I felt like the corners of my cheeks were comically turned upward for being alone on the train. Even sillier, there were moments I would bundle my legs to my chest and laugh giddily.
I have felt terribly angry. I don’t remember about what, but I remember that I no one sat next to me that day. That is a very rare things because this is the kind of train where people end up standing because there are no seats. But I was alone. I thought that I must have been producing a very negative energy, something I have begun to believe in through my first year of acting training. My aura, then, created a blockade around the seat beside me, which was both a blessing (who wants to sit next to a stranger on a train) and a curse (why doesn’t anyone want to sit next to me).
I also felt heavy with sorrow. It was an unusual kind of sorrow though. It was not over anything concrete, simply the fact that I could not have what I wanted, despite never being explicitly told I couldn’t. That kind of sadness is the most frustrating. It is the kind of sadness that makes a person lose their faith in the idea of hope. It makes them lose hope all together.
But this summer, free of performance and free of professional splendor has allowed me to live in a world where I am only Margie, or sometimes Miss Margie. Or Marge. Or Marginator, or Margarita, or one of the countless other names the kids call me because “Margie” is a little too hard for them.
I became a real person this summer, making a real people friends and real people money. Soon, I’m moving into a real person apartment with real person roommates. And I guess what I mean by real is “adulthood.” A song, titled the word to describe the stage of your life in which you are an adult, contains a lyric that has stuck with me the whole summer, “From adulthood, no one survives.” From reality, no one survives either.
And I am experiencing real people emotions all along. I have felt the real struggle of passion against convention and the struggle of pleasure against duty. I have also felt the union of those four items.
This post, nonsensical as it is, is simply to say I’m still here. I’m still real.
June 28, 2014 § Leave a comment
A lonely 22 year-old laments loving.
My tale of love: nothing happens.
But I want to account for all the times I thought it could happen with a man that I found irresistible. Here is something I would like to say first. To be in love is probably the most amazing feeling. I imagine it as waking up each morning to see someone. You actually want to wake up. You don’t need to sleep anymore. You need to see them
To love is another can of worms. It feels awful to love someone, especially when you know it is futile. Your gaze, smile, primping, laughter–it means nothing to him like his being does to you.
There’s a man who stands outside the train station selling papers and he comes up with sweet catchphrases so you will come over to buy them. I always think about walking over and just handing him five dollars for making my commute worthwhile. Today, he said, “For two dollars you can take me home. Not me! The paper.”
Immediately, I thought about him. Him. Sam, who fills me with euphoria and disgust at the same time.
“Sam could take me home for two dollars.”
That was a lie though. Sam could take me home for free.
I have loved Sam for two months. I am revolted with my “crush” on this man. Not only are the prospects of a relationship or a date abysmal, but I am sure that he knows and pretends he doesn’t in order to remain friends with me.
I’ve never been in love. That’s very clear. And in fact, I’m so old that it feels unattainable. That all my ideas of love have been dashed by treating romantic comedies as unacceptable standards. I prowl for a partner, not for dalliance and because of this, I always, always have a stick up my ass.
Is my love worth even two dollars at this point? Could the man selling papers sell me so someone could take me home on a Friday night?
I also have concluded I’m not pretty. There used to be times I’d look in the mirror and nod, thinking that perhaps today was the day that some stranger would be captivated by me. Those times don’t happen anymore. I now am adroit at accepting the mediocrity in my beauty. Suddenly, my skin is inflamed constantly and my eyebrows look like cave paintings.
It is bizarre that we, as humans, experience love.
You’d think evolution would destroy that heartache and the devastation of loving and not being loved back. You’d think that my past could have prevented this present of loving Sam and wishing for him to even touch me. I have become a sponge saturated with the saccharine that makes up Precious Moments and Carebears.
Remember how the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile for you?
Yeah. I do. I’ll remember that for awhile.
June 23, 2014 § Leave a comment
I know, I’ve been away. My life has been a series of cacophonous events and then catatonic pauses. So, I apologize. I need to attend to my lovely blog (and lovelier followers) once more.
Since I am on summer break, I’ve decided to break into the reviewing market. So, right now, I’m going to do movie and book reviews of things I read and see over the summer and perhaps throw in a couple event, play, and recreational things as well. Here is my to-do list of movies and books I have already seen/read since my summer began last week.
- Orange is the New Black: Season 2 (2014)
- Happy-Go-Lucky (2008)
- Submarine (2010)
- Frances Ha (2013)
- Terms and Conditions May Apply (2013)
- The Trip (2010)
- Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore, by Robin Sloan
- Norwegian Wood, by Haruki Murakami
These reviews will be coming quite steadily from my blog very soon. I also have two lists going of the other books I’ll be reading and movies I’ll be watching. My Netflix queue is quite figuratively bursting at the moment. I also take long train rides every day, so I have been reading a lot more quickly than usual. My lists are as follows:
Movies (selections in no particular order)
- Prince Avalanche (2013)
- The Kids Are All Right (2010)
- Much Ado About Nothing (2012)
- Jeff, Who Lives at Home (2011)
- Annie Hall (1977)
- Fargo (1996)
- The Viscous Kind (2009)
- The Empathy Exams, by Leslie Jamison
- The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, by Junot Diaz
- The Master and Margarita, by Mikhail Bulgakov
- Atonement, by Ian McEwan
- Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte
- The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest, by Stieg Larson
So yeah. Am I being ambitious? Yes. Will I finish everything? Probably not. But hey, a girl can dream.
May 5, 2014 § Leave a comment
Don’t get me wrong. I love reading. I just never have enough time. Over spring break I was actually able to sit down with a book and read it straight through. I hadn’t done that in so long.
Tomorrow, I will be picking up a shipment of books I got from Amazon. Five books to be exact. They are, in no particular order:
- Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore by Robin Sloan
- The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov
- Confessions of a Casting Director by Jen Rudin
- The Empathy Exams by Leslie Jamison
- Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami
I am so excited to have brand new books, as I always am. But I need to be held accountable for them. What’s the best way to make sure I get things read? In the midst of exams, work, and obligations, I always pick up a book only to put it down at a place where I’m not even attached yet.
Do I set a deadline? Do I carry it around with me everywhere no matter the size of the book (or my purse for that matter)?
How do I read a book??
April 30, 2014 § 1 Comment
A commentary on intelligence and the arts.
I joke about being dumb because I’m an actor.
“I got to art school. I’m not meant to do math.”
I think people think I’m stupid. At least some who know that I’m an actor and I must be delusional to think I can make a career out of it.
But I got to art school because I was smart enough to know where I’d be happiest. I don’t talk about my achievements in high school: that I was in Cum Laude and garnered other academic achievements.I tried to be a teacher’s pet and desperately wanted to get A’s on everything I could. I am an intelligent young woman.
I got to art school because I worked my ass off at everything. I didn’t have to worry about my acceptance being revoked because I was a senior and (of course) I got senioritis, but kept pushing forward with my work.
I got to art school because I knew myself better than any other teen. I could pick out my traits and understand. I am empathetic and can look at each person as someone with only good intentions. I give people the benefit of the doubt.
Most importantly, though, I got to art school because I tramped through a private school for fourteen years where I was a nerd and a suck up and I succeeded. I rose above, I conquered, I did it. Despite being an outcast, a girl who was probably a little too passionate about theatre, and the daughter of a teacher, I succeeded.
So, yes, 2+2=4 and that’s the reality of it.
I can do math. I’m not just an arts major. I am a lot more important than you think I am.