Currently listening to: Finish Line by Fanfarlo, One Night In October by Little Comets
Reflecting on my older blog posts made me realize that, with time, this blog quickly became about me. It was created for a totally different purpose. I remember telling myself that I wouldn't diverge from the material. What the hell ever, though. I've decided I'm through with keeping up appearances. I'm going to say whatever the hell I want.
I'm seventeen and stark raving mad.
This hidden link right here leads to want I want for my birthday. Day One is actually on my birthday. I don't know if it would even be possible, having no idea what my schedule will be, but it would be beautiful. Kelsey's birthday is Day Two, so she could go too.
Fanfarlo sounds like Beirut, and that's totally cool with me.
Also, I will take this time to welcome all the new bloggers to the blogosphere. May you continue to post your hearts' decree for more than a month straight (it took me starting three different blogs before I actually stuck with it).
This song makes me think of 500 Days of Summer, which I, as posted earlier this month, was blessed with the opportunity to see at an early screening. Hopefully all of you reading this have gotten the chance to see it. I told Clarissa last night, "it's one of those movies that makes me really excited to fall in love one day."
So, I actually wrote this right after I edited my last blog post. Didn't want to post it without tinkering with it some more. I amended it from it's original version just a bit. After reading it, I am not entirely sure what the point is, but by 4AM when I was too tired to write anymore, I felt like I had said something meaningful. As a whole, the following is oddly self-indulgent and based off a pop song from the 90s. The inability to sleep can make things of this nature make more sense.
3:19 AM (July 22)
“She says, 'Baby, it’s 3 AM, I must be lonely.'”
How is it that certain people are happy, and certain people are unhappy? I understand the quasi-truth that “life’s not fair.” I know it’s not. Perhaps the idea is that is not fair now, as in, everyone gets their just deserves at some point. Although, how can one be sure of this? Fairness is relative, anyways. One gets an experience of young love, another gets an experience that makes them not believe in love at all. One person digs a hole, another falls in said hole. One person makes millions, another, of the same skill level, is perpetually stuck in a minimum wage job.
Does the universe have some weird way of evening itself out? Is life just like that episode of Seinfeld? People are on a scale, up, down or “Even Steven.” Of course, it could be argued that everything happens to us is based exclusively on our actions and choices we make. This, I think, is viable. However, seeing the parallels in my life, the timing of certain situations, I think sometimes that, God, or whatever force you think is arranging the universe, is composing human life for distinct reasons. For me, I look at my life and see literary devices, poetic devices as if an author if writing my life story with precision.
Life, for me, and perhaps for others, feels like a movie (or movies feel like life?). Looking back, I see events happening in a meaningful sequence. Sometimes metaphorically similar events happen simultaneously. You hear a song, watch a movie, read a book in the span of a few days of each other, all of which essentially say the same thing about life, have the same life lessons attached to them. Meanwhile, you are dealing with seemingly two unrelated situation that end up looking identical to one another, almost, like two lines are moving forward and parallel. How I've ended up responding to these events emotionally has been effected. Most days, I don't know how to feel.
I woke up, stomach upset from, I’m assuming, the dose of radiation I was given yesterday. My clock read roughly 3:02 AM and immediately thought of the Matchbox 20 song. I laughed, thinking about how that song, “I’ll Be” and “Iris” were the only songs I heard anywhere in 1998. I made a failed attempt to fall back asleep and, subsequently, looked on YouTube for a video of a performance of “3 AM.” I came across a rendition of Rob Thomas playing the song acoustic on VH1 Storytellers. Before he played the song, he explained how he had found this song to mean different things to different people; but that it was, actually, about his mother’s battle with cancer. Perhaps it is coincidence; perhaps it is just some fluke that I should overlook. But I can’t. I think about how my diagnosis came at such a fundamental time in my life, and how even a relationship I had could be easily compared to the procedures I’ve gone through. The entire experience has changed me, and will affect me for the rest of my life. The whole experience has changed the way I see "happiness." “I can’t but be scared of it all sometimes.”
So, is happiness “a mat that sits on your doorway”? Is happiness how you view life? Is it something determined by how you face a situation? Well, yes. I suppose that answers my first question. Humans experience events that are relatively bad and relatively good, based of societal definitions. But ultimately, I think the answer to my original question is certain people are happy and certain people are unhappy because of how they view the things that happen to them, that they make happen or however the hell you think it works.
I guess I should add that I didn’t realize Rob Thomas comes out and answers my original question in the song until I listened to the lyrics before starting the previous paragraph. Maybe that in itself is just my subconscious at work. Maybe it’s more.
Currently listening to: Meet Me In the City by The Black Keys
I had my official dose of radiation today. It has made me feel pretty sick, but it will pass. I feel horrible. Not having my thyroid hormone replacements for the past two weeks has given me a pretty gloomy disposition. My whole body is kind of like, "Wtf?"
Oh the bright side, my mom bought me the director's cut of Watchmen today.
So, here's a list of twelve things I feel like doing right now:
12. watching Lost In Translation 11. listening to The Black Keys 10. vomiting 9. sleeping for an extended period of time, say, two weeks 8. kissing the cute lab technician I met with, his name escapes me 7. having a meaningful conversation 6. taking a long car ride 5. being reassured that people (outside of my mother) care about me 4. splashing cold water in my face, then lukewarm coffee in that of a certain someone else 3. telling people what I really think of them 2. reading your list of twelve things 1. not feeling like shit
Currently listening to: Reasons to Love by Meiko, Rollercoaster by M. Ward
Last night, Courtney, Kat and I drove all the way to Landmark to see Away We Go and I noticed 500 Days of Summer was on the listings and I asked the ticket girl, "Is that really playing?" and she said it was some sort of pre-screening deal, so we got in line. She had just enough passes left for us but we'd have to find seats (honestly, I would have sat on the floor if I would have had to). And when we pulled out our wallets and asked how much it cost; she said it was free. And it was the most amazing movie I have seen in a while. Afterward, we took a scenic drive through Indianapolis using back roads and staying off the highway. It was very zen. I made a great On-the-Go Playlist.
Also, I got a web cam when I found out that I wouldn't get my MacBook in time for me to use it during my isolation for the next couple weeks. Now that it's all set up I don't have anyone to talk to. I want someone to change that.
Some of you may be unfamiliar with my comedic work.
I saw Whatever Works today with my dysfunctional parents. There was some insight from the film I'd like to share, but it escapes me now. I guess I'll just have to wait for some avid movie-goer to jack the script and put all the Woodyisms they fancy on the Memorable Quotes page on IMBD, and hope they took to this certain line they way that I did.
For now, I just have one thing to say.
Whatever it is that's wrong, whatever it is that hurts, whatever it is that's plaguing your mind and preventing sleep, whatever it is, it'll all come out with the wash.
Currently listening to: Cold Desert by Kings of Leon
These past couple days on the new diet have been nice. I'm starting to feel tired, though. Being off my medicine is starting to take it's toll.
I bought eight movies and a season of Seinfeld yesterday. And my dad's birthday present. We're celebrating his birthday this weekend. My mom's so sweet, she's making a cake that I can eat. I have no idea how, but I believe she can. She's magic.
I'm watching The TV Set. It's painful. Like, it's a good movie, but I feel so bad for David Duchovny's character. Sigourney Weaver is being a bitch.
Currently listening to: Use Somebody by Kings of Leon, Crawl by Kings of Leon
I could use somebody, I tell you what.
But I guess I'll go by Penny Lanes's apothegm. I believe it goes, "Never take it seriously, you never get hurt. Never get hurt, you can always have fun. And if you ever get lonely, you just go to the record store and visit all your friends."
I have an idea for a list: movie characters whom I wish were real people for me to befriend. It goes, roughly, as follows; Bob Harris, Rob Gordon, Amélie Poulain, Zia ("Wristcutters: A Love Story"), Phil "Duckie" Dale, Julia ("The Wedding Singer"), Lloyd Dobler, Miles Monroe, Harry Burns, Ricky Fitz, Gina ("Empire Records"), Susan Vance, Mercer ("The Go-Getter"), Jamie Bennett, Paulie Bleeker, Juno MacGuff, Brodie ("Mallrats"), William Miller, ect.
Currently listening to: I Summon You by Spoon, Florescent Adolescent by Arctic Monkey
The strangest things happen when I actually get around to reading Post Secrets. There is one that I thought I must have posted in my sleep. I mean, I totally mentioned to a certain someone that I wanted him to go with me to see that movie. Before I get bored with flirting with him, anyways. A stranger and I have something in common.
Anyways, I am eating all the iodine-saturated foods I can this weekend. Starting Monday, there will be no more of that for a few weeks.
So, I started watching "Gummo" with Clarissa the other night. We didn't finish it, but I watched enough that really shook me. It documented a desolated town devastated by a raging tornado in rural Ohio. There were children huffing glue, violently killing cats and partaking in prostitution rings. It was so surreal, a group of people so isolated from the world around them that they have lost all sense of morality. Do they even know other societies exist? Of course, Harmony Korine is a seriously disturbed and drug-addled individual, and his films are a skewed reality. However, Clarissa and I recognized the fact that there are towns in America, and all over the world, just like this. It was seriously unnerving.
Another thing about Harmony Korine; he directed "Mister Lonely," which is a lame excuse for art cinema. Chase gave it to me for Christmas or something one year just because he wanted to watch it. Not that Chase has any knowledge of film as an art. He just thought it sounded "indie," I think. Which is one of the many reasons he and I no longer speak.
Here's the voice the young suburbanite. We're an influential cross-section of the population. We are here with our loud music and spray paint and social networking sites and 30 Rock Season 1 DVDs. Between making Earl Grey and not making my bed, I want to share. I spend most of my time over-analyzing Woody Allen movies, dreaming of becoming the next Chuck Klosterman and discussing T-Pain remixes with my peers at Starbucks. It's a pretty glam life.
