Story of my afternoon

After much extensive reading, I took a break to watch two movies that both take place in two of the most beautifully romantic places in the world: Pane e tulipani in Venezia and Shirley Valentine in Myknos. Both movies follow middle-aged homemakers who've got absolutely rotten husbands and demanding children, so the women happen upon a much deserved escape and change of scenery.

One of the women continues to live happily in her escape while playing the accordion, and the other's husband finally assumes his role as husband and dusts his own shoes for a change.

My synopses fail miserably, and my left eyesight is three times as blind as it was two years ago (according to an eye visit), so there's not much of a conclusion here, only that:

my random selection of movies happened to be about two different cases of women being liberated from their deadbeat, cheating, and ungrateful husbands. That is all. And quite interesting too as I am waging my dear Aynnie's Virtue of Selfishness.

Experiment on my people

I temporarily deactivated my Facebook.

Two outcomes I expect:
1. Who notices besides my roommates
2. Who actually follows my blog (humanity rests on your shoulders if you do; I will mail you my Steel City Pops punch card... to get it punched for me)

So don't everyone go panicking at once about not being able to contact me, because you can. Via blog, cell phone, letter, or incarnate.

Within five minutes of deactivating, I clicked on my Facebook bookmark at least three times in between other tasks.

I am freeing myself of this holding ground Facebook seems to have sequestered me into.

My idea of "going off the grid." Hello South America!

So long, "friends."

JG - rectification

It has been brought to my attention by several of my readers that my focused commentaries on the movie The Great Gatsby were too critical and lacked a certain general appraisal.

I wish to appease this issue by simply agreeing with the masses: it was spectacularly filmed, the cast excellent, music and costumes absolutely enveloping and alluring, and the storyline one that matched the affluent of the 1920's. Yes, indeed. 

I too agree that it was a riveting film. 

In several of the party scenes I almost jumped from my seat to join the flapper dancing as if I were half-drunken on Gatsby contraband myself. 

In several of the scenes I cried with unidentifiable emotions so strong that I WAS DAISY. 

So yes, it was a jolly good film that I hope stays in the dollar theatre until the end of January. 

JG - Nick (in the movie)

I am frustrated the most by the movie's portrayal of Nick. Though he is the most uninteresting character, a sideliner in complacent observance with absolutely no consolation to offer any of the other characters besides his remarkable gift of  inescapable silence, in my personal opinion, and the movie portrayed that, though in my most lowly of opinions of him he ought to have been given more credit,

we are never to know that his hope ended in an institutionalized mental hospital in which he was treated for his insomnia, depression, alcoholic tendencies. 

That was not in the book, yet already it became the very first impression we are given of him in the first two minutes of the movie. Already, we have lost hope in Nick. He is useless to us, and we can only expect failure... unless we are to find some consolation by the fact that he is being treated for the repercussions of what was about to transpire validating the seriousness and greatness of what was to come... But I doubt that was the intent of the supposed "forwards" unseamlessly sewn throughout the movie, but that frustration calls for an entirely different blog post altogether. 

Oh Nick, all Nick had to do was reflect his position as the middle man, torn between two impossibles. The more Nick appeared, the more we grew to despise the others, because we were not in. And I think that is why I hate reading this book because I become Nick - the insider that is never really in - the outsider. But I think we ought to give Nick and ourselves more credit because we are more than just outsiders, we are involved, but we are not the insiders themselves. 

BECAUSE it isn't our story to tell. The reason why Nick is never in, the reason why none of us are really in is because Nick was present, he experienced, and he observed, so sure he was connected in that way, but he was just there. He was absent. He was boring. And he writes this story about his connection to the events and people of his past, but nothing has set him sail to a future. 

So now that we've come full circle, I don't think that we should be privileged to know what happens to Nick after those Golden-Egg days. I don't think it's fair to the characters, and I don't think it's fair to us as the audience to have an inclining as to what Nick becomes.

Why? Because it destroys the hope of J. Gatsby. 

JG - Daisy

Daisy is the coward. 

JG - death and hope

It didn't even really matter that nobody came to his funeral - Gatsby didn't care about them, he only cared about her. 

Nick was there, hopelessly committed to the man whose hopes left him no dismay, other than death that would separate him from being with Daisy. Even then, though, death wouldn't have defeated the hope he had because his love for her broke all bounds, set no bounds - his hope had no bounds. 

JG

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past. 

Wallop

"Wallop, sir, wallop! You don't wallop people in a well regulated city...

I'd just as soon be a pauper as posses a large fortune and have none of these enjoyments...

The man has only been any good to people he didn't know and after his death."


*Questions* Nostalgic about a future?...
About never knowing if we were any good to the present or even future humanity? Does it even matter? Our worry about our present impacts? Do we accept this turmoil today with the notion that tomorrow after we are gone we might have actually really done something worth the while? That hundreds of years later our mortal mundanity was actually immortally magnificent? How do we go about assessing this cruel conundrum? Is it about present fame or fortune? Or is it about simply knowing, giving us a peace of mind that our efforts were not in vain, but really for everyone, or at least someone in a different age of a different age trapped in the same repetitive situation? Is this how we transverse time?

On the more related note:
Again,
"The man has only been any good to people he didn't know and after his death."

So... Was the man ever really any good?

It does not even really matter, because it all comes down to personal preference:
Fortune or mental fortitude?

Walgreens

I called the Walgreens in Birmingham, Alabama, and my holding music was good ole soul.

I called the Walgreens in Fort Worth, Texas, and my holding music was good ole country.

Regional differences on the phone, love it.
Give me a ring, and we'll have a nice chat about regional differences, while in different regions, maybe take a regional roadtrip, eat each of our regional versions of BBQ, read the Greats while in completely unrelated regions, sunbathe in each of the regions, and call it a good summer.

DD - RN

"To rot under marble or to rot under earth is still to rot." Rameau's Nephew

Addicted

Hipolito

Without you, today's emotions would be the scurf's of yesterday's.

Iron and Glitter

Here's to month 2 of headaches, iron deficiency, calcium, and anemia. Adios social skills, hello pale eyelids, chipped fingernails, and fatigue.

17 more hours until I will go insane and make it rain with glitter... like I will literally get a cup of glitter and throw it into the air as I exit the building after my exam. 

exam week: MONDAY

The Black Plague = sudden unidentifiable illness, of course
8 hours of sleep = so this life on the other side without an induced Nyquill hangover
storage units = murder scenes and drug operations
textbook buyback =  stop changing the editions, just add supplements
Gabriel Garcia Marquez = Reid steps solitude
desperate food resorts in caf = pregnancy of twins named Yolanda and Harb
study groups of more than two = biggest waste of time, should at least charge admission
library = suckers

Still can't believe I didn't wake up at 5am for the first time since January.

THE LIBRARY DURING EXAM WEEK IS FOR SUCKERS WHO ENJOY SITTING 1/2 A FOOT AWAY FROM 5 OTHER DISTRACTING PEOPLE

My bed is quite comfortable, my tea free, and the bliss of a concentrated study time of concentration is exactly what I have orchestrated.

Yes soft pipes of Marquez-study, play on.

MMM

Midas and Morgan and Maecenas

because I want to read it again for the 5th time this year before the movie brutally distorts my perception
because I want to compartmentalize my perceptions
because I'm afraid the movie will actually be more exciting than it actually is
because I've constructed and deconstructed each of the characters every time
and I don't need the movie to show me how I'm supposed to have pegged them 
because you can't just take a work and make it into a mold with DiCaprio as the main
because...

Balance Sheet aka BS

Nothing ticks me off more than BP p.l.c.'s Balance Sheet. It sucks. Actually, BP's entire Annual Report sucks - the layout, the lists, and general form of financial information, and their index.

They should take note of ExxonMobil's beautifully laid out Balance Sheet, and other financial information. Someone needs to hire a different designer and information compiler. I would choose XOM over BP any day purely based on their financial information layout, and numbers, and revenue, and all other wonderful sorts.

Flauta

I've got flautas on the mind.

All I want to do right now is eat a big box of microwaveable flautas dipped in queso from Moe's. And a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts. And a passion fruit. I hate accounting.

Phrants

phrants = frantically searching for my pants

That moment when an unsuspecting visitor knocks at your door, and you are silently panicking "where are my pants?!"

PHRANTS!

Roommate's Speech Preparation

My roommate and I have extremely different speech preparation techniques.

My roommate has decided to take The King's Speech approach, as in practicing with music loudly blaring as she verbally practices.

Oh, this isn't just your average music, no no. This is Pat Benatar's "Love is a Battlefield."

My roommate rocks.

On a different note....
I've decided that it's best to not practice at all. It's because I limit myself to an exact verbatim of what I had practiced, and if I veer from what I had practiced, then I get completely lost. So, it's best to simply be well-versed in the information, and then passionately kill it with delivery. You should know it well enough to be able to talk about it for 7+ minutes from the heart - that is, if you treat every boring speech as if it were the next best thing. This approach minimizes the risk of actually messing up, looking like a boring fool, and nerves.

My roommate still rocks.

The Eighteenth of April

I was going over my recitations during my morning shower, and The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere just so happened to be on Thursday's list.

But, much to my dismay, I realized that I had completely missed "the eighteenth of April," and as we are now well beyond that date and in May, it has become another missed day of recognition.

"On the eighteenth of April, in seventy-five," wait a minute, its the ninth of May...

Project Envy

I'm really starting to dislike that kid in my Accounting class whose father is an accountant himself. Why? Because his father looked over his 50 page project and corrected it and helped him out where he needed it. And now he's finished and can't really help us with it himself.

Granted, he is making one of the highest grades in the class, but on the project? Really? What else has your parent helped you with? Would you like a spoon? A silver one?

Would he look over mine and everyone else's too? And then we'll talk about a fair chance... At cheating!

Call me barely making it reading through these 10-K's and Annual Reports. Es muy difícil para mí.

Art Modeling Conclusion

I feel as though I have overlooked mentioning a very important aspect of my employment history, that being art modeling.

Let me just say, hands down, that art modeling is probably one of the most excruciatingly painful student jobs on campus. (though it is the highest paying and most skill-less and mindless)

At 8am, two days a week, just imagine yourself sitting in an awkward position for an hour straight.

Leaning on the elbows might be the most painful pose. Somehow all of the blood leaves that joint and you can actually feel something in that funny bone.

Or maybe even worse, sitting cross-legged. Not sure if it's the blood rushing back or it's the fact that your poor ankles are pressed onto a hard wooden surface without moving. Basically, I just need to inhale Calcium and D3.

But maybe the most terrible feeling is the realization, after an hour of some horrid pose, that no one was actually drawing you in the first place. That might be the worst. Because you've been maintaining a certain pose that artists have instructed you to keep, and then they just left you out in the cold. Your efforts have been in vain, perhaps?

I am employed, and I was able to catch up on the morning news, read a few short stories, study for my quizzes, and take care of applications, so I wouldn't say that it was boring.

I also enjoyed studying the people studying me and seeing their finished product. Am I really that awkward looking in real life? Is my face really that unattractively long?

And to those whose final product never even really looked like me, I assume you were drawing my kindred spirit or my cousin?

Anyways, I hear art modeling in the nude is a pretty high-paying job.

Screw grad school, I've found my future career. And even lifelong, because the demand for the detail in wrinkles is pretty high.

Me! Me! I care about your schedule!!

I did this this this and this today, and tomorrow I have to do that these and those 20 other things.

Only this, that, whatever, I, don't, care, is standing between me and summer!

Good for you. Can you post the updated version on Facebook tomorrow, because I really care about your oh so packed and accomplished schedule.*

I'm dying to know just what you've done and what you've left to do.

Let's be real. All I really care about is which one of your 700 best friends since middle school birthday's happens to be today. #tbt HASHTAG IS FOR TWITTER

*Now, if you are one of those people who lag in the productivity department (take it as it is) and need social media to hold you accountable, then sure, I'll give you a pass. "Hey, did you really write the paper AND do the reading?" Replies, "Na, just the paper." Suggests, "I haven't read either; let's read it at the same time just in case we have questions."

But to everyone else, your gloating sounds a lot like goats bleating. And bleating. Bleat-bleating.

Or whatever way you are helping the human race with your drawlings.

Sorry, proud of you, my champs, but I'm not going to "like" your status. It just makes me nervous. And angry, evidently.

Alterior

Alterior is simply Ulterior with an Alternative method. Take that, Southern drawl vs. spell check.

Find: alterior

Replace with: ulterior

Yes, replace all 23.

Frindle.

Customer Service: on hold

Yes, I know there is a high influx of calls at this moment, and I will have to wait. I get that.

But couldn't you tell me what number I am and what number you have gotten to so I know if I can go take a shower within the 40 minutes I'm put on hold or I could just call back at a different time? I am about to change this aspect of every company's customer service.

And the music. Please, no music. The speakers are killing my ears. How about a beep every 10 seconds?

confession | challenge

Travis will help me through my accounting project. Here's to Calcium deficiency and chipped nails. It's 48 degrees in May, and I'm without a jacket.

Gargoyle bookends are supporting only 2 books now. If you can guess one of the books, I'll let you toss a coin into the fountain with me. If you can guess both, I'll let you toss me into the fountain.*

*temperature must be above 90°F
*challenge expires May 16, 2014

Third Wheel

Whoever invented the wheel, yet alone the third one. Geez.

A windy day's mind

What is it? What is it? that troubles you now -
the pale on your face, that furrowing brow.
Still, on the outside, for you are not here.
Into another world, your mind, it peers.

Wake up, wake up, the bluebirds are chirping.
Chirp for you, nature's symphonic beckoning.
See the view, its display for you to see,
And maybe once in awhile, you'll think of me?

Mailer Demon

Fitting how you receive a Mailer Daemon notification whenever your email doesn't send through.
I always read it as Mailer DEMON.
Because that's what it is, of course.

Broken glass in the laundry

As I hurried to the laundry room in the wee hours of the morn in hopes that my day's schedule not be filled with finding free washers, I was just throwing my last sock in, and that's when it happened. That's when I stepped on a piece of glass that lodged itself deep into my big toe. The resistance accompanied with dislodging it was quite remarkable, and the crimson blob about the size of a silver dollar was the most deeply romantic color I had ever seen.

Did I clean up the mess I had just made? No, I left my pool of blood in plain sight on the floor as a reminder to all that they should clean up their shattered messes before they go about leaving shards for innocent bystanders.

And then I'll wear my shoes next time.

I returned, and my pool of pride had been nonchalantly smeared as a halfhearted effort of someone's ponder about what had transpired in that particular laundry room.

Follow through is the key.

April is over

"Well, let it pass, he thought; April is over, April is over. There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love twice."

The Sensible Thing
F. Scott Fitzgerald

This is probably the most depressing short story I've read in awhile.

Another month has passed, and the passing of time is still not over. We can never let go of the things which we love the most. No matter the time, distance, or distractions, or even more distractions.

I expect May will pass just the same. April is over.