Gilmore Girls, Welcome to Netflix

Not long ago, my dad caught me in their basement watching an episode of Gilmore Girls.

"Again? How many times have you seen this?" He asked this not bothering to hide his dismay. It must be difficult to have a child with an obsessive enough personality that she enjoys watching her favorite TV shows over and over. Still, I find myself lacking sympathy for his plight.

The truth is, I have seen every episode of Gilmore Girls at least a dozen times. There have been many shows over the years that I've enjoyed. Some I've even loved. But Gilmore Girls takes the cake. Gilmore Girls is like that pint of Ben and Jerry's Everything But The.... on a bad day (though I admit GG and Ben and Jerry's are best consumed together). It's pure comfort food, people.

But it's also a really, really well-written show. The characters are believable and likeble. The dialogue is witty, intelligent and fast-paced.  The relationship dynamics keep things interesting. And I would love to visit Stars Hollow. (If only it was a real place.)

So even though I own all seven seasons, since some of my discs are scratched from overuse, I am excited to welcome Gilmore Girls to Netflix.

Earlier, I stumbled upon this tribute to Gilmore Girls. I think Stephanie does an excellent job of describing why women are drawn to this quirky, charming show.

So yes, Dad. I am watching it again.

QOD (Quote of the Day)

Apparently it's a two-post kind of day. Lucky you! Yes, you-- that one reader that stumbled upon this blog by accident. Don't you feel special? Like it was fate? Well you should. 

So here it is -- the QoD (get ready):

"The word that comes to mind is courage. Anyone can live by a formula. It's much harder to leave the straight and narrow. Yet many of us have found that we must leave. The imperative from deep within is too strong. Life beckons and to dishonor the call would be spiritual death."

- Dr. Marlene Winell

YES! Choose life. This makes me think of a song I have been listening to a lot recently:

"Well I was dying to leave this place I know. Traded it in for something I can relate to. I'll find out who I really am. It may take some time, but maybe that's okay, yeah. Trying to make my way past hope, do what I can with everything that I've been through. I'll take my chances to live again." 

LOVE that song. (It's called "I Should Leave Right Now" by an angsty band called The Dangerous Summer).

Life beckons, but some do not heed the call. Many probably don't hear it. 

But me?

I'll take my chances to live again, too.

A Flippant, Yet "Brilliant" Post

Er, that's "brilliant" in the British sense of the word. Alas, this post will not be brilliant in the American sense.

But that's okay. Because today I bought my airfare to London! That's right! Now I can jam to Fergie's London Bridge (what a life-changing song) while I make plans to hang out in pubs with the young upstarts of the Mother country. I'll order bangers and mash and say things like "bloke" and "blimey" and "cheers" and, of course, enthusiastic declarations like "that's brilliant!"

And I will practice my queen wave (just in case I need to use it) and buy the sort of fashionable hat that no one looks good in but one could get away with in London. Oh, and I can't forget to pay tribute to the Spice Girls!

Just kidding about the Spice Girls. But I am looking forward to riding the tube, buying baguettes and cheese at Tesco, walking along the Thames and admiring the way British men wear jeans that FIT them. No, I'm not kidding about that last one. Say what you want about the bad teeth-- those English blokes know how to work a pair of jeans better than any American guy I've seen.

Hmmm... I think it's time for that Fergie song. Cheers!

To See and Be Seen

Last week I had a strange dream. I won't go into details (since stock prices are more interesting to read than other people's dreams) but basically at one point in the dream, someone asked me what I want the most. After careful consideration, I replied that I want the ability to see others and to be seen.

This dream  followed an experience I had with a good friend who I used to confide in on a fairly regular basis. Last week, I sat across from him at his desk and shared one of the major changes I have made over the past few months. I knew he would not agree with my decision but I wanted him to try and understand my experience and the WHY behind my decision.

Unfortunately, he dismissed me quickly with eye rolling and a tangent that reflected a lack of empathy for others with different experiences than his. As I sat across from him, I began to feel invisible. He was looking at me but he couldn't see me. I fought the urge to stand on his desk and shout "I'm right here! LOOK at me!"

This week, I had another experience of telling a different friend about the same decision. With sensitivity, she asked thoughtful questions. She LISTENED and tried to UNDERSTAND my perspective. And although she, too, may not ultimately agree with my decision, she assured me that it doesn't change her good opinion of me. After our conversation, she thanked me and told me that she had gained a much broader perspective from hearing my thoughts. She could see me.

I know that I, too, have dismissed others at times. I have chosen not to see them, either to spare myself pain and discomfort or simply because their experiences were vastly different than mine and I did not care to try and understand. I not only missed out the opportunity to connect with these people; I also prevented myself from gaining new insights and broadening my vision.

One of my favorite parts from Lucy Grealy's brilliant "Autobiography of a Face" discusses how people were drawn to Grealy because she loved them for who they were rather than who she wanted them to be. She could see them. Acknowledge them. Accept them. Love them.

Seeing is suspending judgment while we patiently listen to another's story. Seeing is asking questions, and showing interest, care and concern. Seeing is allowing the person to be vulnerable in front of us and inviting him or her to be authentic. Seeing is trying to understand where they are coming from -- what experiences have shaped them? Why do they make the decisions they do? What do they want and what are their struggles?

Even if we're frustrated, hurt or angry, can we acknowledge them? Can we see them?

And do we seek after relationships where we, too, are seen? What makes you feel seen or dismissed?

Down with Positive Psychology?

Yesterday while perusing the Psychology Today website (it's a daily habit, I confess), I came across an article that perfectly summed up something I have been feeling. The article is called "Into the Dark: A Psychology of Soul, Shadow and Diversity" by David Bedrick. 

Bedrick writes, "I don’t know about you, but I can’t stand to see one more article or book saying there are '5 Keys to Success,' ' Elements for Being Happy,' or '6 Steps to Healing.' Not that these writings are without merit, but let’s face it, they often dumb us down. Of course it’s seductive to be given The Answer, especially when it’s the answer to everything we’ve ever wanted. But at what cost? What gets left behind?

To me, these teachings seem to leave out our depth and soul; they fail to account for most of the human beings on the planet who have few options, many of whom are women, children, and people of color; they also leave out our authentic lives and the crosses we must bear to follow our callings, our shadows, our death, our decay, and all that goes with it, and perhaps most urgently, our humanity—that which we share and which often brings us to the heart of the matter: the need for love."

YES!! THIS!!! Bedrick goes on to talk about how embracing the shadow side of life can teach us things. I'll try not to post the whole article here but I particularly loved this part:

"If we promote a psychology that equates health with light, happiness, lack of physical symptoms, and relationships without conflict, we dismiss and deny the truths and the important growth that can be found in the blues, in sickness, in conflict, in the dark. For example, while anger is often considered a symptom to be remedied, in anger is often a great source of power. Sometimes people need to stand up for themselves, resist inner-criticism, speak out against injustice, start a revolution, and make sustainable change by being able to use righteous anger to right wrongs. Or, while depression is often considered a symptom to be fixed through medication, deeper truths can often be unearthed in these low times. People often find values they have left behind or difficulties that have been heretofore unidentified. Depression can be a powerful invitation to look deeper into the self, a space free of the ambitions and activities of daily life to ask the underlying questions that have been ignored for so long."

Last week I attended a presentation on positive psychology. And while it was good and some of the information has merit, I felt something wanting. The reality is that yes, sometimes we have to act better than we feel and put on the happy face. But emotions are not good or bad; they are information. So when (not if) we find ourselves anxious, depressed, angry, hurt, etc., and we dismiss them or bury them because we find them unpleasant, we might be dismissing beautiful opportunities to connect with our deepest selves. The willingness to explore these emotions without judgment can lead to unimaginable growth as we come to know ourselves and value our individuality, our needs and our deepest desires and hopes. I also believe that this exploration can open the doors to true change - if we're willing to face the pain.

I Like This

Each week I read the New York Times Modern Love column essays religiously. I love them. Like if I had to choose between beaches (and I LOVE beaches) and the Modern Love column, I would be seriously torn. (And seriously confused about a world where I had to choose between them...). 

Anyway, I like this quote from Sunday's essay, A Second Embrace, With Hearts and Eyes Open:

"Neither of us sees the world in guarantees anymore. We recognize them as the comforting fictions they are. We accept that you can't always keep the promises you made when you were barely above drinking age. You can't know how you will change, or what life will throw at you ... But he and I have learned, because we have had to, the difference between the illusion of security and the liberating joy of the present, between obligation and choice. And choice, terrifying as it can be, is so much better."

I'll raise my glass to that!

(Also, I think the Modern Love column wins. Sorry, beaches.)

Glimpses

Several years ago, I read Elna Baker's The New York Regional Mormon Singles Halloween Dance (how's that for a long title?). I laughed. I cried. But that's not the point.

In the book, Elna (I feel like we're on first-name terms even though we've never met) talks about being quite overweight.  Like many, she's tried dieting in the past but it's never stuck. So she's resigned herself to being overweight. Until one day.

While at a carnival, Elna enters a fun house with different types of mirrors that alter reality. Standing before one of those mirrors in particular takes her breath away. The reflection staring back at her is that of a thin girl who is ... beautiful. For the first time she catches a glimpse of her beauty. And she can't stop staring.

Soon after, she signs up for a weight loss program and, thanks to doctor-prescribed Phen-phen, crash dieting and extreme exercising, she drops 80 pounds in about four-and-a-half months. (And yes, she's kept it off.)

I'm not really interested in discussing the methods Elna used for her weight loss or even her weight loss at all. I'm interested in that moment when she catches a glimpse of an altered reality and sees who she could become and it completely changes her perception of herself and empowers her to change. Yes, she still had to do the hard work. Yes, it didn't happen overnight. But what made the difference between all of the times she'd tried before and this time?

We hear it all the time: just believe in yourself. Simple. But rather trite, in my opinion. Because it's ignoring the fact that sometimes believing requires first catching a glimpse of what can be before we can really internalize it and allow it to alter our perceptions. It's often those small glimpses of what might be that motivate us, finally, to begin making changes and sticking through it when it gets hard.

And it's ironic that it's a distorted mirror that helps her realize who she is; an unreal reflection that somehow reflects a reality that speaks to her. How often are we unwilling to go after the things we want because we insist on seeing through ordinary mirrors? Sometimes catching those glimpses that help us cross that difficult realm from dreaming to reality requires us to get creative; we have to let our imaginations change the curve of the mirror or bend the light in a different way.

I am currently experiencing many changes. Although most are welcome, they are still intensely anxiety-provoking at times. But in the past few months, I've had many glimpses of who I am, who I can become and how my life can be -- it's still a distorted reality, a fantasy right now. But there is something real in the fantasy. And those glimpses are giving me the ability to push through the fear and self-doubt and see doors and windows where I could only see walls before.

It's beautiful.

Endings and Beginnings

It's been almost a year since I last posted. And you know what? I'm okay with that. I've never wanted my blog to feel like an obligation. Somehow that takes the fun out of it. And although I hope that the three of you who occasionally stop by enjoy the visit, really this blog is for me. So I write when I want to and I don't when I don't want to.

New topic: it's a new year. And, no, I don't go crazy and make 75 resolutions that would be impossible to keep (i.e., have defined abs in two months or make a documentary on African children with AIDS). But I have been thinking about endings and beginnings and what kind of life I want to create for myself.

I'm a sucker for well-written personal essays so I was excited when I discovered a gem of a book called "Ask Me About My Divorce," a collection of essays compiled by Candace Walsh. I have not read all of the essays, but so far, they are poignant and I find that I can relate (even as a never-married 31-year-old). Several of the women discussed how their divorces, though painful and often unwanted, led them to a sort of rebirth and a newfound freedom, a discovery of themselves and a newfound commitment to really engage with life. Endings and beginnings.

Throughout the past couple of years, I have experienced my own endings and beginnings. They are internal rather than external but they are real all the same. Some have been quite painful. I've experienced the death of long-held beliefs, hopes and expectations and the grief that comes with such loss. But I've also experienced a rebirth. An awakening. New beliefs are replacing the old ones and I feel the joy of liberation, even as I experience fear and uncertainty.

"That moment when it feels like you've lost everything can be the moment you realize you can create anything." (Jon Hastings, original post here).

Perhaps the most important thing I've learned (and felt) is that it is up to me to create the life I want. And what do I want? Pretty much the same things most of us want. Meaningful relationships with family and friends and meaningful work. New experiences. Love. A way to connect with myself and others. Possibilities. Choices. Authenticity. A life full of endings and beginnings and full engagement with them both.

No more locked doors. No more dead ends. No more suffering because "there is no other way" and "this is what's best for you." No more "wait and hope."

"Here was a path, an opening." (Nicole Hardy)

This year I look forward to a self-directed life. A year that I hope brings much-needed healing to wounds that have festered too long. A year full of possibilities and openings. A year of now.

Happy 2014.

2013 Theme

About a month ago ... er, or two months ago, I said I was going to write a post about my personal theme for 2013. Then a wave of apathy hit me I got busy and I "forgot" about it.

Until now. Fortunately, my personal theme has nothing to do with not procrastinating so here goes.

My theme has to do with metamorphoses, with possibilities and with change. Coincidentally, it's the Chinese year of the snake. While I like the idea of shedding old skin, I don't like snakes. Plus, a snake that sheds its skin is still a snake. Yuck.

So instead I've made my personal theme about butterflies. I know, it sounds a bit cliche and a little cheesy. But I learned something interesting about a caterpillar's transition into butterfly: when the process starts taking place these new cells pop up, called imaginal cells. The old cells don't like these new cells so they start attacking them. But more and more of the new cells are generated until the eventual transformation into the butterfly occurs.

I've been thinking a lot about change and about growth. Unlike the snake that sheds old skin but essentially remains the same, the caterpillar goes into the cocoon and emerges a butterfly -- but not without resistance. Change is difficult and it doesn't come without a fight. The resistance is often internal and external. But this quote from Anais Nin sums it up for me: "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

This year I am ready to change things up. Not just external things like my career and my geographical location. But also internal changes. I am ready to push through the resistance (in whatever form it comes) so I can emerge "a new creature." It's the possibility of change and the hope of becoming better that keeps me going.

Here's to 2013: a year of possibility.

Back in the Blogosphere Again... For Now

Hello, blogger my old friend... 

Yeah, so I took a year off to ... well, 2012 was not a year in which I accomplished much. So I guess I took a year off from blogging to think about doing other things, and then ended up doing meaningful things like watching TV and contemplating exercising.

The truth is, I was not sad to see 2012 go. Was it a terrible year? Did my house burn down or did a family member die? Did I run over someone's cat or eat too many vegetables? Thankfully, no. None of these tragedies occurred. 

Still, 2012 was, ahem, not the year of good mental health practices. Which means that if I'd had kerosene and a match or saw someone's cat in the road... Just kidding, of course. I'm afraid of fire and I like cats so I found other ways to be crazy. (After a while, it becomes an art. They do say practice makes perfect. They just don't specify what you should practice. Although I'm thinking crazy probably isn't on the list.)

Well.

Anyway, I feel like I should give 2012 some sort of farewell just to prove I did live through it. So here goes:

Best movies of 2012 (not in order)

Liberal Arts

Life of Pi

Lincoln

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

Hope Springs

The Amazing Spiderman

The Hunger Games

Favorite books read in 2012

My Name Is Asher Lev

The Fault in Our Stars

The Sky Is Everywhere 

When Women Were Birds

The Bell Jar

Moon Over Manifest

Okay for Now

Best bands discovered in 2012

Bon Iver

Blind Pilot

Florence + the Machine

Of Monsters and Men

Random things I enjoyed in 2012

Vacation in San Diego with the fam

Downton Abby (I will marry Matthew if Mary won't)

The Shins concert at Red Butte (too cold but the opening bands were fantastic)

White chocolate peppermint M&Ms (dang, those are good)

Meeting a new cousin, Kaija 

Seeing Hamlet at the Shakespeare Festival 

I think there are more things I enjoyed but I can't remember any of them right now. I'm not really a big "New Year's resolutions" kind of person (mostly because I, like most people, rarely keep them) but I do have a personal "theme" for 2013. A post about that is too come. 

In the meantime, hooray for a new beginning!

White Elephant

It's been a while since my last post. I'll have to play catch-up but not in this post. No, I have something special planned for this one.

My work Christmas party is tomorrow and there will be a $10 gift exchange. Technically it's not a white elephant gift exchange but silly gifts are acceptable. And, let's face it-- they're way more fun than candles, lotion, chocolate, etc. that you just don't need or want.

This year's find was truly great. The microscopic print next to the guy says "This jail hair has gotta go!"

Yeah. Classic.

Pride Goeth Before a Fall (Sometimes Literally)

Yesterday was Fast and Testimony meeting. As is occasionally the case with "open mic Sunday," there seemed to be an unusually abundant amount of wackadoos sharing their thoughts at the pulpit. Since I try to be careful about what I post on the internet, I'll just say that many of those who got up quoted a string of strange scriptures (and then expounded them), discussed their bizarre Facebook posts and shared WAY too much about themselves (and took a really long time doing so).

My roommate, who gets embarrassed for others easily, immediately pulled out her scriptures and started reading. I quietly wondered if singles wards are driving young single adults to new levels of madness because how could four out of every five "testimonies" borne be so weird? Then I worried that maybe the social awkwardness that seems to be seizing YSAs is contagious and I might catch it. Or worse, since I've been in the system for so long, maybe I've already caught it and I'm not aware. The horror, the horror.

While I was feeling sorry for those poor souls who clearly lacked any sort of social tact or propriety, my roommate tapped my shoulder and pointed to the scripture she happened to come upon (3 Nephi 18:22-23):

"And behold, ye shall meet together oft; and ye shall not forbid any man from coming unto you when ye shall meet together, but suffer them that they may come unto you and forbid them not; But ye shall pray for them, and shall not cast them out;"

We both looked at each other. CRAP. It was a sign. A warning.

And it got worse. Because when I was getting up to leave Relief Society, my foot couldn't support my weight (I think it had fallen asleep, like me, ha ha!) and I fell down. All the way down. On the ground. In a skirt.

Yeah. Pride goeth before a fall.

But still I wonder which is worse: Proving to the world that you're a klutz? Or committing social suicide at the pulpit?

Either way, I got the point, Lord. I'll try praying for them next time.

Halloween Special

The options for Halloween were 1) a tri-stake dance at the University of Utah (does it get any scarier than a bunch of 18-21 year-olds in bad costumes making sad attempts to flirt?) OR 2) PlanB with my roommates.

Without hesitation, I opted for Plan B.

We made brownies,playedwith glow sticks, and watched the 1967 classic, "Wait Until Dark." Starring the lovely Audrey Hepburn, I love this movie for many reasons. The over-the-top music. The thrilling suspense. The clothes (yes, Audrey could wear anything, couldn't she?).

But my favorite thing about "Wait Until Dark" are the cherished memories I have of watching the film with my mom as a child and later as a teenager. We loved to rent old movies. I remember our Audrey Hepburn phase well (we loved "Charade") but we also enjoyed all of the Hitchcock classics and the charming romances like "How to Steal a Million."

Those are some of my favorite memories and I'm glad tonight's Halloween festivities brought them back.

Who knew I could be in such a cheesy mood on Halloween?

On Patience

Lately I have been having the same conversation with the Lord. It goes something like this:

"Heavenly Father, I'm tired of ... [insert trial, problem, annoyance, etc.]"

The response? Nothing. Or, occasionally, "I know."

But recently a comment in Relief Society caused me to stop and think. "Patience," a sister said, "is when you are tired of a particular trial or problem but you keep going anyway -- without complaining."

I like this thought. I wish I could say that it's instantly changed my behavior to make my conversations with the Lord less whiny. This isn't necessarily the case. But it is helping me to stop and consider my blessings before I launch into the complaint section of my prayers.

And I think it's been making a difference.

Things that Make Me Happy

I was thinking about things that made me happy today. The weather was beautiful, which I greatly appreciated. But what I enjoyed most about today was listening to Lenny Kravitz. What can I say? Lenny just made me want to dance. Don't worry-- I didn't. But I wanted to.

Review: Moneyball

I will admit that while I'm not the biggest team sports fan, I do often enjoy movies about sports. They make me feel like I am part of the American experience without me actually having to sit in a stadium and be part of the American experience.

Moneyball is no exception. The movie hits a home run. (And yes, I did need to say that. If it had been about football, I would have said touchdown. If it had been about basketball, I would have said slam dunk. If it had been about hockey or golf, I wouldn't have gone to see it because some sports can't be saved even by movies starring Brad Pitt).

I was surprised at how engrossing Moneyball turned out to be. I was engaged the whole time (and no, it wasn't just because Brad Pitt was in it, although that certainly helped). It's a good story (and true, too) told in an interesting way and I left with a greater appreciation of how professional sports teams are assembled.

A Little Taste of Heaven?

Whoever said "eat to live, don't live to eat" has obviously never been to Salt Lake City's Bruges Waffles and Frites. Yes, they pretty much only sell waffles and french fries but they are THE BEST waffles known to man. OK, maybe not compared to the liege waffles in Belgium, but trust me these are good.

The first time I went, I tried the vanilla liege waffle with belgian chocolate baked inside and topped with strawberries and creme fraiche. It was delicious but today I had the pleasure of enjoying my waffle with creme fraiche and peaches (no picture, I'm afraid) ... and I must say, it was perfection.

A little taste of heaven? Next time you're in Salt Lake, stop by Bruges and decide for yourself.

The fries are good too. You just can't go wrong.

Review: My Name Is Asher Lev

Recently I finished Chaim Potok's My Name Is Asher Lev. Although I have always loved to read, few books have moved me as much as this book did. In this rather straightforward tale of a Hasidic Jewish boy who chooses to be an artist against his father's wishes, I discovered a complex and thought-provoking analysis of the creation, purpose and value of art.

Of course other themes are at play in the novel as well, but a particular passage about the purpose of art struck me. After an encounter with his unsupportive father, Asher Lev, the novel's protagonist wonders, "What did I have to justify? I did not want to paint in order to justify anything; I wanted to paint the same way my father wanted to travel and work for the Rebbe. My father worked for the Torah. I worked for -- what? How could I explain it? For beauty? No. Many of the pictures I painted were not beautiful. For what, then? For a truth I did not know how to put into words. For a truth I could only bring to life by means of color and line and texture and form."

Although there is nothing wrong with painting, writing or singing (or expressing whatever artistic gift one may have) for beauty, I love Asher's moment of realization that he has to paint to express truth. Of course, this truth is subjective; our perceptions of truth differ from person to person. But I believe that it is when we tap into that truth as we see it when the art we create becomes authentic, valuable and meaningful.

When I closed the book, I was inspired to ask myself if I am expressing the truth as I see it when I create my own art.

The English major nerdy side of me also manifested itself as I read the novel. The irony wasn't lost on me that the truth that Asher can't express in his words is so eloquently expressed in Potok's words.

If you haven't ever read it, I highly recommend this masterpiece.

Review: The Tree of Life

Warning: This is a long post. Read at your own risk.

To be fair, I can’t actually give a very informed critique of the new Brad Pitt film, The Tree of Life because I only made it through 42 minutes of the movie. And that, in my opinion, was being generous.

But I can tell you this: I hated each of those 42 minutes. Ok, that may be a bit of an exaggeration. After all, when you go to a movie you usually give it a few minutes to see where it’s heading before you start making judgments. Especially if it’s not your typical movie that introduces a character or two and presents a situation right from the get-go (Tree of Life doesn’t really do either of these things).

So I think I probably gave it 5-10 minutes before I decided it was going to be a really looooong two hours and 18 minutes. Really, I should’ve known from the descriptions of the film I’d read, referring to it as an “impressionistic,” “difficult,” “poetic,” “hypnotic,” and “artistically ambitious.” None of those terms imply entertaining, which is often what I want when I go to a movie. Even thought-provoking, artistic films can be entertaining on some level. So in a way, I should’ve known better. Here’s how it went down:

The film opens with a scripture from Job flashing on the screen. I settle in my seat. Immediately I know this was going to be a “serious” film. I briefly wish we had the second season of How I Met Your Mother at home instead.

But then it just gets better. And by better, I mean worse. After the scripture, there are various images. I would tell you what these images were if I knew. But I can’t help you. Some are recognizable—like trees, especially one in particular (I assume it is the Tree of Life from the title—go me!) but the other images are … weird, formless entities. There’s just no other description. These images are accompanied by a whispery-voice narrator asking profound questions about man’s existence. Yawn.

At some point we see Jessica Chastain’s character answer the door of her home and receive a letter, where we learn from her collapse and scream that it is bad news. We don’t find out what that bad news is until after several more images and weird whispery narrations. And by then we’re not sure we care. We want to know where in the he** Brad Pitt is because he’s 97% of why we wanted to see the movie in the first place.

And then we do get to see him! But he doesn’t say anything, just like no one else in the movie says anything and then there are more bizarre images. But we manage to figure out that Brad and Jessica’s (I didn’t stick around long enough to find out if what their characters’ names were) oldest son was killed. That was the bad news in the letter. And Jessica’s not handling it so well. And we see Brad a lot now but he doesn’t say much. So maybe he’s not handling it so well either but we’ll never know because suddenly there are tall buildings with glass windows and Sean Penn is there and now we’re following HIM around. Again, there’s no dialogue and we go back and forth between Sean Penn doing weird things (like wading in the ocean and then suddenly climbing rocks in desert).

At this point, I realize something important: I have given up on this movie. I wonder how long it’s been. I consider checking my phone but since I have a pretty good sense of time, I fear that it’s only been 30 minutes. And I didn’t come by myself so I don’t feel like I can just get up and leave. So I don’t think I want to know what time it is.

I consider other things I might be able to do in a dark movie theater when actually watching the movie on the screen is out of the question. Sleeping seems like a good idea but now there is this really loud opera song playing and I think it might be distracting. Hmmm. (For the record, there is absolutely nothing else to do in a movie theater).

Fortunately, while there were more images being shown on the screen (and they just got stranger and stranger), I looked over at my friend who looked at me at the same time. And we both started laughing (quietly of course). I knew it was over. She asked if I wanted to stick it out and I told her I didn’t mind losing the $8.75 I’d spent. We got out of there faster than you can say “Brad Pitt.”

Moral of the story? Go see Crazy, Stupid, Love. instead. Go see Planet of the Apes instead. File your nails. Read a book. Go to the dentist. Clean the bathroom. Weed your garden. Do ANYTHING besides see this movie.

Just sayin’.

Huh

Occasionally someone tells you something that makes you say, "Huh" because you have no other response.

This happened to me the other day at a work birthday celebration when a co-worker randomly mentioned that if I were to kill someone, it would be a crime of passion rather than a premeditated act. He went on to explain that I can talk myself out of of anything so if I murdered someone, it would be in an instant when I just snapped.

Huh.

The thing is, he's probably right. It's true that I can talk myself out of just about anything. When I am at the store and I see something that I want to buy but don't really need, I will often pick it up and carry it around with me while I talk myself out of buying it. And it usually works.

(That method would be rather tricky if I was in the act of a planned murder and I suddenly changed my mind.)

So I probably would just go postal one day. Watch out, everyone! I am a ticking bomb. Ha ha.

What was most odd about the conversation was that I didn't find it very odd at all. The truth is, I have been watching unhealthy amounts of Castle lately as a way to procrastinate working on my book, finding a hobby, learning a new language, getting a social life or some other proactive step to keep things "fresh" and "interesting" like the psychology articles recommend.

TV is less hassle than those other things and I do enjoy a good crime-solving show (even though they drive me nuts at the same time because of all the plot holes) so Castle has kept me entertained.

But I'm thinking that maybe too much of anything really is too much. Because when someone accurately assesses what type of murderer you'd be and you don't find it a little strange, not to mention disturbing . . . you need a new hobby.