on her toes

NadineBells.com

2009-10-28T21:50:00.005-04:00

From now on, I'll be blogging at NadineBells.com. I'm not coordinated enough to maintain two personal blogs. It's not good for the narcissism either.

A boy once ended a quasi-date (one of those weird evenings that starts off as a nondate and ends up as a definite date) with, "Are you going to blog about this?" I responded, "Only if I can fit this into my 'Elegant Hairstyles for Every Bride' article."

I never saw him again. For non-writing-related reasons. And until this moment, over a year later, I did not blog about that night. Or about him. At all.

I scribbled in my journal. I spent midnights at the piano. And you had no idea. Because I was busy posting YouTube videos here.

It's a shame, really, that I'm at the mercy of such self-censorship. There are a lot of fun and crazy and frustrating moments that would make great online stories. But I want to be trustworthy. I want to maintain healthy relationships. As a general rule, I don't want to scare you away by making you paranoid that you're my next blog post. Unless you want to be. In which case, let me know. And I'll tell cyberspace exactly what I think of you.

I'll continue to tell stories. Maybe I'll tell even more than usual. A fractured memoir, if you will. You can blame Donald Miller for the life-chronicling. But I won't give all my secrets away. I'll leave that to OneRepublic.

I missed YouTube Tuesday yesterday. Appropriately enough, I can't embed this video from YouTube. I kind of love the first verse.

I need another story
Something to get off my chest
My life gets kinda boring
Need something that I can confess
'Til all my sleeves are stained red
From all the truth that I've said
Come by it honestly, I swear
Thought you saw me wink, no
I've been on the brink, so

Tell me what you want to hear
Something that were like those years
Sick of all the insincere
So I'm gonna give all my secrets away
This time, don't need another perfect line
Don't care if critics never jump in line
I'm gonna give all my secrets away

Dead Man's Bones: Proof

2009-10-22T12:16:00.007-04:00

See? I told you. A ghost sang "Like a Virgin."

And then Ryan Gosling sang that his body is a zombie for me. Z-O-M-B-I-E.

From Tuesday's show:

It's an acquired taste. Mostly brilliant. And slightly strange.

Don't diss Gosling's crooning. The man can do pop if he so chooses. But he turned down a spot in *NSYNC for an acting career. Wisest choice ever.

See more from the show over at NadineBells.com. Yes, folks. I'm moving onwards and upwards. Start updating your feeds/readers/bookmarks.

It Happened Tonight: Dead Man's Bones

2009-10-20T23:58:00.004-04:00

Yes, those are X's on my hands. Apparently the lady in line thought I said I was under 19. I ACTUALLY said that I probably wouldn't be drinking tonight. She grabbed her permanent marker and made the decision for me.

Straight edge for life, yo.

(Do kids say "yo" anymore? Did I just prove that I'm old by saying "kids"?)

It's flattering, having someone assume I'm 18. Because recently someone else asked me if I'd ever been married. Meaning I look like a divorcee?! Sigh.

You should also note that I brought out the plaid shirt. Just for Mr. Gosling. In return, he wore a three-piece suit. Have you ever heard girls scream because someone took off his suit jacket? I have.

I was wedged at the front between two strangers. On my left, the girl texted her friend: "This show is f@#$ed." On my right, the girl whispered, "Could there be a more beautiful man?" It was appropriate that I stood in the middle. Because I didn't find it insane, nor did I have any intentions of drooling. Although these particular well-suited musicians were quite attractive. Not gonna lie.

I'll post pictures soon. The show was sort of like Nuit Blanche packed into two hours on a single stage. A ghost sang "Like a Virgin." A guy bent a spoon with his mind. A woman jump-roped with a poodle. And a choir of child-sized ghosts sang backup.

And it sort of all made sense. Even when they shot a little girl, who then resurrected in silhouette, singing Nancy Sinatra's "Bang Bang" while Gosling whispered the lyrics in her ear.

Maybe you had to be there.

Sometimes it's inspiring to experience something so completely new and unusual. Something you can't box in or define. It was a collaborative, interactive, slightly rough-around-the-edges performance, with no room for big stars and egos. If the women didn't squeal, you'd have no idea that Gosling was an anybody.

P.S. His band mate is actually prettier than he is. But less accomplished musically. And less interesting. I can't explain it, but I'm not very intrigued by walking Ken dolls.

YouTube Tuesday: Gosling Tonight

2009-10-20T17:59:00.003-04:00

I'm in a rush. I can't be late for my date with Ryan.

I know I've posted this before, but I can't help myself. So endearing. So charming. So hilarious.

This is my evening, folks. Sixteen years later.

I Know I'm Sick When...

2009-10-18T22:48:00.008-04:00

I wake up at 10:30 and think it's only 7:00.
Food tastes like chunky air. And requires way too much effort.
Horribly horrible movies like "Must Love Dogs" distract me.
My only writing idea is stolen directly from a movie.
I operate in a zombie state, disinterested in both sleep and consciousness.
Information refuses to stay in my head.
I fantasize about breathing.
Tissues (of all brands) are my bestest friends in the whole world.
I justify this sort of nothingness as a blog post.

Goodnight, Moon.

Say Yes to the Dress

2009-10-16T21:23:00.004-04:00

I've had this conversation with two people now. So I might as well extend it to the blogosphere. It's about contentment. And settling. And tulle.

There's a recent phenomenon in wedding-gown shopping in which a bride ends up buying multiple dresses. She tries on a beautiful dress, thinks it's the one, and buys it. But then she finds another dress, the one she knows is the one. So then she's stuck trying to sell the first one. She suffers a financial loss, but it's worth it because she gets to walk down the aisle in sartorial perfection.

Some brides buy three or four gowns before the big day. Bridal consultants rejoice.

Such a shopping trend makes me uncomfortable.

Firstly, if you're not sure in the first place, why are you buying? Why are you settling? Why are you spending thousands on one deemed not good enough? Is it the panic that there just might not be anything better out there? Are you purchasing out of fear? Desperation?

Secondly, why are you still looking? If you think you've found the one, made the down payment, started the alteration process, what on earth are you doing trying on other dresses? And does this thought pattern carry over into other areas of your life? Will you keep looking at men after you've committed to the one you think is "the one"? Can you be content with your choice, even though it won't necessarily line up with the picture of magical perfection that floats in your head?

I will not settle. I will choose wisely. And then I will stand by my decision. This applies both to the dress I'll buy one day and to the man waiting for me at the end of the aisle. I'll be picky before I buy, not after.

P.S. I should be a wedding planner. And/or premarital counselor.

A Life in Paper

2009-10-14T17:24:00.006-04:00

I was completely uninspired to pursue job leads today. Sure, I applied for a job and posted a quick Gather.com item or two, but I had little desire to send out application upon application for gigs that barely pay and inspire even less.

It was time to purge.

When my space is cluttered, I can't focus. I feel defeated. So I spent my afternoon surrounded by stacks of paper, sorting through the paper trail created by four years of Toronto living. Oddly, I found things from 15 years ago. Paper must follow me.

My life in paper reads as half-fiction. Partly because I remember nothing, and partly because people send me lies.

P.S. I miss acting.

Things I found:

Wrapping paper that says "hottie holidays." It's covered in the floating heads of Joshua Jackson, Will Smith, James Van Der Beek, Matt Damon, Nick Carter, Usher, Leo DiCaprio and Andrew Keegan.
A program from Stratford with the lead actor's phone number scrawled across his bio.
A postcard of a cartoon Toby Penner. Oh, Jake.
The script from Oliver! I was Nancy in the SIXTH GRADE. And yes, it's the original copy.
Monologues I wrote in university. Including the children's story about suicide.
A napkin from East Side Mario's. I outlined the plot of a play on it.
Two fake love letters. I don't remember ever receiving them. But they're clearly written by a girlfriend, pretending to be the man we quasi-stalked one summer. He's now married. And on TV. I'm neither.
A letter that was probably supposed to be a love letter. But I was pretty stupid and didn't notice at the time. Boys, don't be subtle. We'll miss the awesomeness.
A clipping from the school newspaper that favourably reviewed a performance of mine. The "cancer baby" play.
A note from a woman at my parents' old church, strategically written to introduce me to her nephew. Hilarious. (Yep, I emailed him. And yep, we're still friends.)
A lot of thank-you notes. Apparently I used to do a lot of kind stuff. Huh.
A card that commented on my flirting skills. It took me almost 5 minutes to realize it was referencing a jazz opera I was in. I didn't recognize a single signature. Quiet panic.
Floppy disks.
The headshot of a middle-aged Kitchener-based actor I once worked with.
My Exer-Clean Launderers contract. Yes, I have proof that I once did laundry for a living.

YouTube Tuesday: Next Tuesday

2009-10-13T11:27:00.003-04:00

Is it weird that I needed a YouTube video to tell me that the venue of next week's concert is different than the one printed on my ticket?

Thank you, Ryan, for keeping me posted on the location change. I'm not in the mood for a tragedy. And I doubt you are either. It's about time we hang out in the same building, no?

The Bowl Master

2009-10-12T23:01:00.004-04:00

Thanksgiving is a big deal in my family. We all crash my aunt and uncle's place in Parry Sound. If you've never had a twenty-person sleepover, you're missing out. Big time.

I was playing Scrabble this morning. Probably the first word game played before noon in the history of our family. Six of us played. In teams. From the living room, music started playing. Piano. Guitar. Voices chimed in. Suddenly, my family was belting out Elton John's "Your Song." Everyone should sing while pondering a triple word score.

There was a toy gun at the board-game table. This has yet to be explained. I'd also like to know why the game Clue has so many bludgeoning weapons and no cyanide.

This was the first year for "Things in a Box." We used a bowl instead of a box, and dubbed the reader the "bowl master." It was a cousins-only game, with a 17-year range between the oldest and youngest. And the reader had to create the category. The results? The usual hilarity. See below.

If you become the most famous person EVER, it will be because:
I ate a Jonas Brother.
I'm a brail rapper.
I own the world's largest bee farm.
of science.

We also dubbed night "the dark time," asserted that "tuck yourself in" is an insult, and marvelled at how quickly time passes. I had no clue I was almost 30. But apparently I am. And will most likely remain single until then if I keep mentioning trailer parks to the eligible bachelors I meet under awkward circumstances. (More on that later.)

I'm thankful. For family and laughter and advice from the young. For support systems and black coffee and bunk beds. For pumpkin pies and pianos and hoodies. For godly wisdom and hugs and overlapping conversations. For joining fake bands. For plotting sleigh rides. For calling each cousin a favourite. For not wanting to say goodbye.

I am full. I am content. I am exhausted. I am thankful.

And I am too old to play midnight soccer.

Quote This!

2009-10-10T23:05:00.003-04:00

There has been too much brilliance uttered in the past two days to quote here. My brain can't contain it all. If any of you ever get the chance to hang out at my parents' house, bring a pen. Take notes.

"I'd like to see a live-action Care Bears movie. Sort of like Homeward Bound. With lasers coming out of their stomachs."

--------------------

"I won't marry you. Or a dead girl. Those are the two things crossed off my list."

--------------------

1: Those are your non-alcoholic options.

2: What are the alcoholic ones?

1: We don't have any.

--------------------

"I want a Serta chair. With memory foam. Then I can get rid of my bed."

--------------------

1: Ooh, look at me. I'm a fancy lady.

2: I didn't say that.

1: I know. That's why I'm mocking you, not impersonating you.

--------------------

1: You should make a hat like that.

2: Or I could buy a hat and glue yarn to it.

--------------------

"You just made two-thirds of the pizzas accommodate the pickiness of one-fifth of the people. You will never win the Nobel Peace Prize."

--------------------

1: You shouldn't have kids for 24 years.

2: So I shouldn't have kids until last April?

3: I think she means 24 MORE years.

Subway Cooties

2009-10-08T22:02:00.007-04:00

A few days ago, I saw the strangest and most uncomfortable form of physical affection on the subway. I can't get it out of my mind. So I'll share it with you.

Really, I should draw pictures. But I won't.

She was leaning against his shoulder. Her eyes were closed. His arm was around her.

Sweet.

His arm reached over her shoulder, his hand touching her face. Prodding it. Playing with it, as though her skin were made of soft clay. He pinched her cheeks. He pulled at her lower lip, then her upper lip. He stuck his fingers in her mouth. For a moment, I thought he was going to knead her face into a new one.

Not once did he turn to face her. He just stared straight ahead, rearranging her features with his public-transit-infected fingertips, while she quietly stirred against him.

This continued for the entire duration of my ride. I'm assuming he's still tugging at her flesh somewhere.

Moral of the story: sometimes love is gross.

My Story

2009-10-07T22:36:00.008-04:00

I'm starting a new journal. Not because I feel the need to start over fresh, escaping themes and preoccupations plaguing the present one, but because said present one is full. Cover to cover. It's a remarkable tome of two very eventful years. And not just hormone-induced "oh, she's a girl" eventful. There's some heavy stuff in there. Fear, death, heartache, anxiety. With joy, risk-taking, fearlessness, infatuation and optimism rounding it out. Some of it almost reads as fiction. I am not the Nadine of 2007. For this, I am thankful. I am moving forward.

Maybe I'll quote from it one day. In short cryptic doses.

I'm hesitant to write the first entry in the new one. I don't know what to say. I feel as though there should be something significant going on in my life or my head before I start to scribble. I don't want the first page to be boring.

I don't want my life to be boring.

I recently discovered Donald Miller. I know, I'm a little slow. And I think I love him. I want to hike up a mountain with him and tell him all my secrets. And then we can sip wine and talk about story and why I desire an epic tale of my own. I crave memorable scenes. Strong characters. I want to be able to define what I want and then pursue it passionately. I want to sacrifice. I want my story to make me a stronger woman in the end. I want my life to read as a redemptive and meaningful narrative.

And as Don and I walk down the mountain, he'll tell me how to get a book deal.

YouTube Tuesday Bonus: Breaker High Theme Song

2009-10-06T23:14:00.003-04:00

I feel like I should apologize to Ryan Gosling for excluding this little ditty of brilliance from the previous post.

Breaker High forever.

YouTube Tuesday: Nostalgic TV Theme Songs

2009-10-06T17:00:00.002-04:00

Dawson's Creek

Confession: I'd still choose Dawson, the over-analytical, too-wordy-for-his-own-good, slightly self-absorbed filmmaker teeming with endearing optimism and impossible dreams. Don't balk. This lets you have Pacey. Everyone wins.

And the theme song still rings true.

Arthur

I grew up without cable. So after-school TV options were limited. I watched Arthur. Yes, while I was in high school. It was educational, okay? Better than a drug habit.

And sometimes I still get the theme song stuck in my head.

The Beverly Hillbillies

So....a few weeks ago, I mentioned that I watched a lot of retro TV growing up. Someone asked me if I knew the theme song to The Beverly Hillbillies. I said yes. He asked me to sing it. Did I mention were in a cute little cafe? Surrounded by strangers?

So I sang it. In the cafe. Yes, I did. I have no pride.

Bonus: Chip 'n Dale: Rescue Rangers

If you're a musician and choose to cover this song, I might love you forever. You have been warned.

P.S. I was a Chip gal. Because he was practically Indiana Jones.

Permission to Just Be

2009-10-04T19:20:00.000-04:00

I will not apologize for taking it easy this weekend.

But I was very thankful for a vacant schedule. An impromptu pizza party was just what a friendship needed. Because this morning's sermon was written for both of us. And sometimes I just need a face-to-face heart-to-heart over a slice of pepperoni. (No offence to the Fido and Google Chat folks who also contribute to the health of our relationship.)

In some ways, we find ourselves at identical crossroads. In others, we're in opposite worlds. It's what makes us work. And we're comfy. The sort of friends who can hang out in slippers. Who can doze while watching a movie. Who can be real and say embarrassing things and be shockingly honest about the desires of our hearts. Non-bloggable stuff.

Not long after I left her place, my friend's life changed with one phone call from Italy. And I was so glad I was there this afternoon. Because we knew this day was coming. Not necessarily this soon, but it was inevitable. Life is short, no matter how long and full it may seem. And saying goodbye is never easy. But somehow the grief face-plant is softened knowing that there are folks taking ownership of your pain. We're all in this together.

I wish I could turn a blog entry into a hug. Because I would.

Frail: One Year Later

2009-10-03T19:57:00.003-04:00

Sometimes it's hard to blog about life. I don't always know where to draw the line. Or when it's too soon. That's why I talk about guys hypothetically and tell fun life tales as memoir chapters rather than tell them as they're happening. Sometimes I need to know the ending before I start typing the beginning.

So when I was posting silly YouTube videos here, I was writing about ultrasounds and blood tests in my journal.

And when I told awkward tales of trying to become a jogger, I excluded the part about my new-found obsession with weight-bearing activity. That I think about my spine when I run.

It's time to talk about my skeleton.

I'm not ashamed of my bones. I marvel at the intricacies of human design. Doctors don't understand my situation. I'm one of those medical mysteries, I suppose. No rhyme or reason. Or when they do find an almost-reason, that reason doesn't have a reason. And while I'm not ecstatic about the diagnosis, I'm at peace. I'm a broken human in a broken world. I don't deserve special treatment. Some children are born with cancer. I cannot complain.

This past week, I visited my endocrinologist to review my bone-density-scan results from earlier in the summer. It was scary. It was that moment of truth: Was I getting worse? Were my bones thinning at a terrifying rate? Would I need to take drugs intended for postmenopausal women? Was I going to become Samuel L. Jackson in Unbreakable?

She looked at the chart and made a few notes. She frowned. But that's what she does. She even frowns while humming happy tunes.

"Oh!"

It was a happy "oh." I leaned over her desk to see what she was looking at.

"You have osteopenia."

This is bad news if you thought you had healthy bones. This is incredibly good news if you thought you had osteoporosis just seconds earlier. Osteopenia indicates that you're at risk for developing osteoporosis. For me, it means that my adventures in calcium, vitamin D, greens+ supplements, birth-control pills and weight-bearing exercise have paid off considerably. My bones are stronger. Denser. I'm moving backwards. A very good direction.

As my brother Nathan encouraged me, I can finally start pursuing my lifelong dream of playing professional football.

So there. I will be conscious of my bone health for the rest of my life. But so should everyone.

I look forward to my future with this body. I think it suits me.

Frail

2009-10-02T20:00:00.002-04:00

I received good news yesterday. But the good news makes no sense without last summer's bad news. So here you go. Another chapter for the memoir.

INT. ENDOCRINOLOGIST'S OFFICE - AUGUST 2008

She was frowning. Skimming over the files in front of her, she didn’t bother to look up to ask her question.

“How old are you again?”

“Twenty-five.”

She grunted and continued her reading. Her frown intensified. I braced myself for a lecture. For the accusation that I was an over-Googler, a hypochondriac whose self-diagnosis had just abused an all-too-generous medical plan.

I could take her ridicule. Even her rhythmic grunting didn’t intimidate me. I knew she would roll her eyes, but I didn’t care. For the sake of my own (questionable) sanity, I had to know. I telepathically dared her to admit that, yes, I had reason for concern, but, no, a 25-year-old has no business fretting over an old woman’s disease.

She stopped reading. Her face was now twitching, the corners of her mouth so severely down-turned that I feared her face might invert itself. She kept her finger on a list of three digits and shook her head.

She finally looked me in the eye.

“You have osteoporosis.”

Too Lazy For Pie?!

2009-09-30T12:30:00.004-04:00

The most disturbing verse in the Bible:

Some people dig a fork into the pie
but are too lazy to raise it to their mouth.
Proverbs 19:24 (The Message)

YouTube Tuesday: Auditions

2009-09-29T16:19:00.004-04:00

I love audition tapes. But not bad American Idol auditions. Acting auditions. Maybe it's the former drama student in me, but I love figuring out what it is that gives one actor the edge over an other. I want to know why Jessica Biel didn't get the Agent 99 role in Get Smart. (Okay, that's easy. Because she can't act. And isn't funny. And can't act. And isn't Anne Hathaway. And can't act....)

Evangeline Lilly auditions for Lost:

What I love most about this? She's mourning Jack's death. Yes, folks, he was originally going to die in the pilot.

Crazy that this was her first audition, huh? Love her.

Oh, and Matthew Fox auditioned for Sawyer!

Hugh Laurie auditions for House:

I firmly believe the show could not exist without him.

Zachary Levi auditions for Chuck:

Can you imagine being sent the script for Chuck? How could you not audition? And if you didn't get the part? An eternity spent in tears.

Zac had nothin' to worry about. It's him.

P.S. He's been cast as the "dashing bandit" in the new Disney musical, Rapunzel. Chuck sings! And the songs will be written by Alan Menken (Aladdin, Beauty and the Beast, Newsies). I will watch.

Rachel McAdams auditions for The Notebook:

I would love to be a casting director, discovering brilliant talent and giving young actors their breakout roles. I heart McAdams. She doesn't reek of fakeness. Just loveliness. (Yes, I just coined the phrase "reeking of loveliness.")

Note that both women featured in this post are Canadian. Not intentional, but fun.

Monday's On My Mind

2009-09-28T22:30:00.001-04:00

Stuff I'm thinking. On a superficial level. That's as deep as my brain goes this evening. It's a little sore.

Dancing with the Stars has lost its novelty. I don't care enough to accidentally watch it.
I suddenly like Castle. I think I'm obsessed with anything writer-related.
Paul Gross on Eastwick = poor man's version of Jack Nicholson. Too bad. I once loved Paul.
I need to learn css and html and everything code- and design-related. My ideas cannot magically appear without knowledge. And so I shall learn.
I will not write a 650-word article for $4. Now you know.
I took Tylenol tonight. I haven't had a headache in months. It's been so long, I'm not even complaining about this one. I figure it's time.
Coffee will be waiting for me in the morning. Yes, folks, I have an official writing-related reason to leave my apartment.
I need new shoes. But writers don't need shoes. We just need slippers. Shopping trip averted.
The new "cocktail lounge" across the street is actually a sports bar. I am so confused. If I need to hang out with questionable characters late at night, I'll stick with the pub next door. It has karaoke.

Sunday Afternoons No Longer Incude Naps

2009-09-27T21:30:00.002-04:00

I'm pretty exhausted. It's a happy exhaustion, the kind that comes after a long, full day. And because I'm overwhelmed at the thought of writing anything creative and quirky and inspiring this evening, I'll recap my day for you. And then I'll go to bed. Deal?

Prologue: Last Night

Last night was a late one. By choice. I hung out with Nathan and Sam (my brother and his girlfriend) at Sam's new place, eating pizza, watching State of Play (highly recommended, especially to writers and Rachel McAdams fans), and speculating as to what some people might assume "my type" is. I'd love to know. What sort of fella do people think I'd want to spend ridiculous amounts of time with? If you say "nice boy," I might vomit.

As I was leaving, I met a group of tall, handsome, drunk gentlemen in the elevator. They invited me to go out with them. I declined. I'm starting to develop a complex; I attract crazy strangers. (Hint: "drunk" is not my type.)

The bus was late. I was home by 12:50. I was in bed by 1:30.

Today

This morning, I chased the bus and made it to church early so I could dedicate my morning to adorableness in the nursery. Twin toddlers, both extremely blond (one with curls and one without) teetered around in their matching BabyGap hoodies. My heart melted. And then I tried to teach them about the Ark of the Covenant. Epic fail.

I went out for Thai food with Nathan and Sam and friends (a fantastic married couple) from church. I really like peanut sauce. And mangoes. And fun people. So lunch was a super-success. (Using the taps in the restaurant's washroom was not a success. Apparently you need an engineering degree to wash your hands.)

We headed to Word on the Street, a book and magazine festival celebrating its 20th year. The books were not free. Nor were the magazines. But someone did give me a mini chocolate bar. While at the festival, I met up with a friend from college and a friend from university. Delightful. I like watching my worlds collide. As an added bonus, I also saw Polkaroo. And Margaret Atwood.

Post-books, we headed over to Kensington Market to buy tea. After much searching, we found my favorite tea place. It was closed. While disappointing, it prevented unjustifiable splurging. Had I brought my camera with me, I would have snapped a pic of the larger-than-life Scrabble game that took up the middle of the car-free street. But I didn't.

And after five-and-a-half hours on our feet, we called it a day. As we made our way to the subway, we ran into another friend and her boyfriend on Yonge Street. Because I know everyone who lives in Toronto.

So now I'm sitting at my desk, thankful for ice-cream trucks, old friends and new, frittata leftovers, and the promise of fast-approaching sleep.

Next weekend is Nuit Blanche. I don't know if I'll survive.

Back to Marshmallows

2009-09-26T15:25:00.001-04:00

I'm pretty good at being poor.

When I was in university, I had no money. I was a scholarship kid, letting random organizations financially reward me for being smart. My first year ended up costing me a total of $63. This included my phone bill. I've never been handed fistfuls of dollars by mommy and daddy or trust funds when times got tough.

(I'll never let my mom live down the summer she sent me $20 when I had a mere $13 left in my bank account. On the bright side, I lost 5 pounds.)

When I was in my third year, I was broke. Really broke. No one knew, because there was no need to stress people out when I wasn't stressed out. God provided. I didn't starve. And I graduated. Happy ending. The only notable moment of poverty-induced unhappiness was a trip to my local grocery store. I was craving sugar. Desperately. It was nonnegotiable: I needed my fix. And I wanted a lot of it.

Sugar is expensive and unnecessary. It's the first thing I'm cutting out of my current shrinking budget. And I understood that then, too. But I needed that quick high. Must have been essay-writing time.

So I bought the largest bag of no-name marshmallows I could find. Pure sugary goodness.

Watch these kids. I understand their pain. Sometimes you just need a marshmallow.

Oh, The Temptation from Steve V on Vimeo.

Another Chapter for the Memoir

2009-09-25T18:50:00.000-04:00

The end. Also known as "the beginning."

A few months ago, I quit my subtitling job of four years for a slightly more lucrative position at an online mall. "Editorial Assistant" was good for the ego, and granted me the financial security that allowed Fridays off for writing projects. Some of you envied me. Others applauded the move; I was finally moving up in the big bad workplace world.

But something was off. I was going through the motions, dragging myself to work every day. My daily routine felt destructive to my spirit. I operated in a state of defeat, mourning stunted creativity and envious of those who thrived at their day jobs. I just wanted to write.

Fast-forward to last Wednesday.

When I left the office on September 16th, I left it for good. I said goodbye to my "grass is greener" gig with no backup plan. I am free-falling career-wise, and I'm excited to see where I land. But maybe insanity does that to a person.

I've known this for a long time: None of my dreams line up with conventional 9-to-5-ness. And at 26, I'm already weary. I'm tired of having those dreams nag at me. Of having tiny regrets start to creep into my daily life. I don't want to sit back in 20 years and ask myself why I didn't just quit my job and go for it.

So I quit my job. And I'm going for it.

I'm a writer. The kind who likes to see "By Nadine Bells" printed alongside her words. I have a unique voice, but I never market myself. I'm not sure why. I'm about to find out. And I have a million little ideas swirling around in my head that I've never pursued, mostly for a lack of available time. Well, I have time now. No money, but time. And time IS money. So really, I'm set. And I'm already comfortable with the idea that most of you won't understand this life upheaval. That's okay. To the few who do, I love you. Honestly. I could hug and kiss you all. Right. Now. (Or maybe give you an awkward high-five. Whatever.)

This is also my opportunity for that life makeover that everyone secretly wants. No more excuses. My schedule is what I make it. Already I'm penciling in regular exercise, time with God, healthy-meal prep time, piano breaks and jaunts to my local library.

I'm starting to feel alive again. And that's priceless.

My name is Nadine and I'm a freelance writer.

P.S. Will write for rent money.

My Life as a Movie: One Week Ago

2009-09-23T18:20:00.001-04:00

I survived the beginning. The middle. And last Wednesday, I left Meryl Streep sitting in the back of the limo and walked away from it all.

Welcome to the big beautiful question mark that is my life. Details will follow.

[image source]

YouTube Wednesday: Sam Tsui

2009-09-23T14:23:00.004-04:00

I know it's not Tuesday. I make my own rules. And then I break them.

This kid is my hero of the day. Or heroes. Seriously, watch these. And then pick your jaw up off the floor. Whew.

(Don't tell anymore I spent most of my afternoon watching this guy's YouTube channel. Sigh.)

Don't Stop Believing

Have you seen Glee yet? No? WHY NOT?! The musical is back, folks.

Michael Jackson Medley

Can I Have This Dance? (High School Musical 3)

Poor Zac and Vanessa can't compete. And it's their song.

The 2009 Primetime Emmys

2009-09-21T00:02:00.002-04:00

Emmy-viewing stream of consciousness. From Orillia.

I heart Neil Patrick Harris. So much. Opening number = success.
Tina Fey looks abso-freaking-lutely amazing. Better every year.
Neil said "dagnabbit." Officially my favorite person EVER. For now.
"Here's hoping Kanye West likes 30 Rock."
Tina Fey and Jon Hamm. Together. The way things should be.
"Comedy is just drama with less smoking."
All the Supporting Actress nominees are wearing hilarious eyewear. I don't know why. But I like it. (Amy Poehler's idea, apparently.)
Kristin Chenoweth is adorable! "I'm unemployed now, so I'd like to be on Mad Men. I also like The Office and 24." I think we'd be friends.
Comedy writing....30 Rock. I weep for Flight of the Conchords. But I'm still happy. Happy weeping.
Jon Cryer wins?! Oh, Duckie.
Justin Timberlake should quit music and become a regular SNL member. Just sayin'.
Toni Collette: "This is insanely confronting." WHAT?! But okay.
Blake and Leighton cannot dress themselves. They're better in fiction.
Rob Lowe. Turned down Grey's Anatomy for Dr. Vegas. Ha!
I love Steve Carell.
Alec Baldwin?! Again?! I still love Steve Carell. And Jemaine Clement.
Reality TV. Hmm. Jeff Probst. I approve. Sort of.
Jeff just told me to do what I'm doing. The whole "go for your dream" thing. Thanks, Jeff.
The Amazing Race. I can live with that. (Anyone wanna be my partner for next season's race? I'm good with heights if you agree to eat the weird-animal testicles.)
Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgwick. Sigh. If I ever end up married to someone I need to walk a red carpet with, I hope we're like them.
I want to watch Grey Gardens. Let's have a Little Edie party, shall we?
Dr. Horrible and Captain Hammer make an appearance. I heart everyone.
Jessica Lange. I still want to see Grey Gardens.
I've never understood the Kiefer Sutherland appeal. Maybe I should watch more 24.
Grey Gardens. Okay, okay, I get it. I'll watch it.
I should probably watch Little Dorritt too.
Jon Stewart's writers win. As they should.
The Oscars' opening number just won an Emmy. "This is ridiculous." I'm still impressed with Hugh Jackman's song-and-dance skills.
Ricky Gervais. He should host the Academy Awards. Or anything. Maybe just host a dinner party and invite me.
Yay for The Daily Show. Jon Stewart can join Ricky and I for dinner.
MICHAEL EMERSON!!!!!! Please watch Lost, folks. Please. One season left.
Cherry Jones. Supertalent.
In Memoriam. Sarah McLachlin is exquisite. And there are too many deaths. I don't like it. Stop the dying, folks. (RIP Michael Crichton. Patrick Swayze. David Carradine. Natasha Richardson. Paul Newman. Ed McMahon. Farrah Fawcett. Bea Arthur. Walter Cronkite. Michael Jackson....)
The Mad Men writers win. I would toast them, but my Diet Coke is empty. As is my ice-cream bowl. Someone, get me more ice cream!
Glenn Close is a glorious example of how to age. I'd be happy to look that elegant...tomorrow.
Glasses. Everyone is wearing them. EVERYONE. So I'm halfway to an Emmy already.
Bryan Cranston. Two years in a row. For a show I've never seen. "I feel like Cinderfella."
Bob Newhart = wonderful.
Best Comedy: 30 Rock. Tina Fey forever. I want her dress. And her career.
Sigourney. I like that she wore red with red hair. (So did Debra Messing. Also gorgeous.) Two thumbs up.
Best Drama: Mad Men. Cheers.

The end. You have no idea what just happened. So let me sum up:

Neil Patrick Harris makes me want to hug the world.
Writers who win awards make me want to write and win awards. Or write and win paychecks.

It Happened Last Night: U2

2009-09-18T22:20:00.001-04:00

When the stage starts smoking, you know something awesome is about to happen. And it did.

I highly recommend spending a Thursday evening with 60,000 strangers. Preferably ones who freak out with united enthusiasm for "Mysterious Ways." (Oh, and make sure that you spend that same incredible evening with your dad.)

Seeing U2 play live has been on the bucket list since the list's first day of existence. And now I can die happy. As if Bono knew the importance of such an event, he sang my dream set list.

The acoustic rendition of "Stuck in a Moment You Can't Get Out Of" was breathtaking. I'm still intimidated by last night's flawlessness. It was seamless, passionate and straight-up rock 'n' roll. Both spectacular and intimate.

An open roof. A packed Rogers Centre. One thunderous voice singing "Amazing Grace." A cappella. Followed by "Where the Streets Have No Name." Chills.

P.S. The Edge wore plaid. Sigh.

YouTube Tuesday: Swayze

2009-09-15T16:16:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was a sad day. Patrick Swayze died. And while I've never been a real Swayze-swooner, I will always have a soft spot for Johnny Castle.

(He was married to his wife Lisa for 34 years. He was only 57. That's some crazy/awesome life math. Here's the couple dancing together. Sexy.)

The Dirty Dancing soundtrack is a classic. Did you know that Swayze WROTE "She's Like the Wind"? Take it away, Pat....

Somewhat related: I don't understand why weddings seem to dictate the playing of "(I've Had) The Time of My Life." It sounds more like an anniversary song to me.

I'd rather play Dirty Dancing's "Yes" at my wedding. Lyrically it seems far more appropriate. Even though such appropriateness might be slightly inappropriate. But not really. Because I know what you'll all be thinking. Creepy friends. Stop thinking about my wedding night.

Monitor This: Flame-Broiled Blogging

2009-09-14T23:32:00.005-04:00

Has your monitor ever rebelled against you by bursting into flame? Mine has. This evening. And now my apartment smells like burnt wires and dead computer.

Toby MacBook sits back and laughs. Stupid PC.

image source

Best Sandwich Ever

2009-09-11T21:25:00.000-04:00

[via Funky Lunch]

This is suddenly a food blog. I apologize. Unless you like food. In which case, you're welcome.

Tomorrow's Haircut

2009-09-10T21:13:00.007-04:00

The Sienna Miller look. No hairbrush required.

Earlier this week, a phone conversation with my mom:

ME: I'm getting my hair cut on Friday. To look good for Bono.

MOM: I'm pretty sure he won't see you way up there.

ME: Sigh. I know.

MOM: He's a married man. He shouldn't be noticing.

ME: You're right. I should wear a ponytail so I don't distract him.

Journals: 1999 - 2001

2009-09-09T22:45:00.003-04:00

It had been a good long while since I'd cracked open an old journal. But now that I'm back in writing mode, I'm suddenly inspired by the frustrations and infatuations of the teenage me. Yep, I'm my own research.

For the sake of my own dignity (and the privacy of the unaware), I won't publish the journal entries about the "perfect" young man who knew how to iron and who hated processed cheese. My standards were hilarious when I was 16.

I could so easily write a book on how the lives of teenagers are not unseen episodes of Saved By the Bell.

~ June 4, 1999

Most awkward sentence ever:

I should probably be feeling violated or something, but I feel pretty.

~June 4, 2001

I could have been a rock star at 18. But I said no.

Not many people are stopped in a RadioShack and asked to record with a bunch of strangers. Yep, God has the most awesome plan for my life. It felt like tonight he confirmed that.

~June 15, 2001

Brains are still sexy.

He creeps me out. He's all muscles. (I mean, instead of having a brain.)

~June 24, 2001

YouTube Tuesday: Randomness

2009-09-08T22:33:00.003-04:00

Next Time I Fall

This song popped into my head the other day. I don't know why.

When I was little, Peter Cetera creeped me out. Mostly because you can see saliva spewing from his mouth when he enunciates in the official music video for this song. And when you're 10, that's the grossest thing EVER.

(YouTube must think so, too. That video is suspiciously MIA.)

Like a Donut

This is pure genius. If you didn't have my childhood, I ache for you. Watch at 2:10.

I may have gone to a Donut Man concert when I was 13. By choice. Without parents. That's right. No one dragged me.

Would You Rather: Gaga vs. Bolton

Lady Gaga wrote a song for Michael Bolton. My brain just imploded. I. Don't. Understand. Is this a career-killer-comeback song in one?

"Murder My Heart"?! Sheesh. Give me a midnight and a piano and I'll give Bolton something to cry about. Uh, maybe.

P.S. Best Michael Bolton moment: the opening of The Crying Game. "When a Man Loves a Woman" plays over the credits. This is brilliant by the end. Trust me.

Cupcake of the Day

2009-09-06T20:18:00.004-04:00

[via Nick^D's flickr]

Mmm. Yes, please.

Maybe I should host a Cookie Monster Party. B.Y.O.M.*

*Bring your own milk.

"That Girl"

2009-09-04T23:12:00.013-04:00

Last night, I wasted a good hour just waiting for the phone to ring.

I'm that girl. The one mocked in romantic comedies. The lonely girl on a Friday night, anticipating a call that doesn't come.

I wasn't expecting a call from a boy. That would be too much. Just a girlfriend who said she'd call back. And didn't.

Sigh.

P.S. Someone told me that I remind them of Gossip Girl's Blake Lively. I'll assume that's a compliment and not a jab at my character.

Home Office Inspiration

2009-09-04T22:20:00.003-04:00

[via white trash beautiful]

This weekend, I will be at home. This is by choice. I refuse to let you feel sorry for me. Music will blare. Dark chocolate will vanish. Decisions will be made.

Some of those decisions will have to do with creating a workspace that's both lovely and functional. Others will have to do with purging my darling apartment of unnecessary clutter. This includes the closets. The sheet music. The stacks of unsorted paperwork.

Believe me, you don't want to be here for the chaos.

Today is the Day

2009-09-03T23:40:00.001-04:00

This song was my pep talk today.

I was having a "reevaluate everything" moment a few days ago. I thought about the people I admire most: the dreamers, the risk-takers, the God-trusters. Conversations in the past month or so have been reinforcing my desire to fearlessly embrace life's great adventures. And while it's easier to say than translate into reality, I really do having nothing to lose. If there's ever a time when I can throw myself headfirst into the great unknown and madly pursue whatever it is that makes me tick, it's now.

Today is the day, indeed.

I putting my fears aside
I'm leaving my doubts behind
I'm giving my hopes and dreams to You
Jesus

I'm reaching my hands to Yours
Believing there's so much more
Knowing that all You have in store for me is good
Is good

Call Me Lucy

2009-09-03T22:07:00.004-04:00

My life is still like a movie. Assume away.

P.S. I don't own a pink dress.
P.P.S. Nor do I frequently hang out in closets with pants-less men.
P.P.P.S. My FAVORITE Sandra Bullock "Lucy" is in While You Were Sleeping. I'm pretty much her. Minus the coma guy.

YouTube Tuesday: (500) Days of Awesome

2009-09-01T22:38:00.004-04:00

I stole this from Beth. Because I have no original ideas today. And it's Tuesday, thus requiring some sort of YouTube element here.

This is the best scene of the summer. (Not taking District 9 into account. That movie just kind of hovers above the rest.) I find it hilariously appropriate, as I'm about to turn off my computer and curl up with Sex God. I highly recommend chapter six to all of my girlfriends. And to my future husband. Just sayin'.

P.S. Go watch (500) Days of Summer. Or don't. I'm not the boss of you. But if I were.... I'd make you see it. Twice.

Almost Jerry Maguire

2009-09-01T21:05:00.005-04:00

I think I'm going to start blogging cryptically, using screen shots from popular movies instead of filling this space with words. This way, you can come to your own creative conclusions, assuming that my life is far more sensational than it actually is. Everyone wins. I think.

Deal? Deal.

P.S. I miss the pre-crazy Tom Cruise. He was pretty awesome, wasn't he?

Sunday Stuff: The Sequel

2009-08-30T22:40:00.001-04:00

Just some really fantastic randomness that's stuck in my brain, begging to be released. And so I release it.

I need a shoe rack. It will probably have to be custom-made. I am debating between starting a handy-gal blog to chronicle my attempt at such a creation and the easier option of asking someone who knows what he's doing. Yeah, I said "he." Don't shoot me, girls. ("She's so hot she's making me sexist" just popped into my head. Go watch Flight of the Conchords. Now.)

I spent a lovely day with a newly engaged friend yesterday. They have a great proposal story. But not quite as extreme as these. (Number 5 is pretty awesome.)

Mail Goggles is pure genius. And is the perfect follow-up to a recent conversation I had with a friend about drunk-dialing. Personally, I'm more terrified of exhaustion. I have plenty of email drafts that will never be sent thanks to some remarkable post-midnight self-control. (Quite appropriately, I believe I was introduced to this Gmail Labs feature in the wee hours of the morning.)

One day my email drafts will be compiled into a book. Or a one-woman play.

Addictive vs. addicting. The grammar mystery has been solved. I actually once rewrote a sentence to avoid having to use either word.

I'm a writer. Just thought I'd throw that out there. You know, in case you were wondering.

Toby MacBook has a very boring laptop sleeve to hang out in when we travel places together. This would make him more fun. And give him a little more personality. (Barry's Farm, as a general rule, makes me want to spend money on things that protect gadgets I don't even own yet.)

Sometimes conversation with kids is awkward. Me: "Are you from Toronto?" Her: "No, I'm from Canada." Me: "Where in Canada do you live?" Her: "Far away from Myrtle Beach."

My favorite Natasha Bedingfield song EVER is "Stumble." Probably because she mentions spelling. Among other things.

I need to buy a real domain name and go pro with this whole personal-blogging business. This is really just a "note to self." Feel free to ignore.

This upcoming week is going to be a tough one. I can already tell. But a good tough. The kind that will make me reevaluate my time, my priorities, my day-to-day non-negotiables. Career and ministry updates will follow shortly. There will be more weddings, folks. Because I'm an expert.

Sigh of Relief: I'm Not Special

2009-08-29T19:12:00.005-04:00

(This is a follow-up to this post.)

It's been confirmed: I'm not special. Pavel the Lover loves everyone.

The Torontoist has been tracking his "career." He's the protege of the infamous Dmitri the Lover, the scum bag whose answering-machine message brought him international attention of the most unflattering nature.

Pavel has a new email address. A new card. But it's the same story. I'm just thankful Pavel didn't whip out his phone, as he is prone to do. Violence would have ensued. And I'm not sure if I'm cut out for prison life.

I should write a "what not to do" guide for guys. Business cards offering sexual satisfaction would be mentioned in chapter six. Passive-aggressive defensiveness would be listed in chapter four. Assessing a girl's singleness by randomly asking, "So how's it going with that guy?" would be in chapter two. The silent treatment would be a blank chapter in the middle. Asking a stranger if she has a boyfriend in the loudest possible voice on the bus would be in the introduction. Running across the street to declare your baby-making intentions would be the final chapter. And arbitrarily accusing an old friend of having a George Clooney obsession would make for a lovely epilogue.

Sigh. I guess I just need to accept my irresistibleness.

Tales from the Inbox: Sentence Structure

2009-08-29T09:00:00.000-04:00

Up until this week, the shortest email I'd ever received was:

great

But then someone sent me this:

T

Seriously, folks, send me sentences. You're killing me here. (Or start with words. Whatever you can handle.)

Rescue Me

2009-08-28T15:58:00.005-04:00

Song of the day. For 5.87 reasons.

One of those reasons is Fontella's suit. Another is that Beth came to the rescue. Again.

Fake Boyfriend, Real Concert

2009-08-26T20:30:00.002-04:00

Ryan Gosling and I have been a fake item for quite some time. Probably since the days of Breaker High. He and Christian Bale were the under-the-radar actors I swooned over while everyone else pined for DiCaprio and Pitt.

Bale got married and became Batman.

Gosling stayed single and started a band.

And now Gosling's band, Dead Man's Bones, is going on tour. And when they come to Toronto in October, children's choir in tow, I will probably be there. Not to faint or squeal or send telepathic love notes, but to support a local boy with an original sound.

It's hard to explain to some people that I wouldn't actually date Gosling. Ever. I know enough to say no. I'd hate to have to break his heart.

So I'll watch The Notebook and cry. I'll recommend Lars and the Real Girl to everyone I meet. I'll support his music. But I won't go home with him. Sorry, folks. This is one anticlimactic fake love story.

P.S. Listen to the single "My Body's a Zombie For You." Kind of amazing.

P.P.S. Let me know if you want to go. While I'm usually cool with going places solo, I feel as though I need to assert my non-romantic interest in Gosling by bringing a date.

P.P.P.S. Tickets go on sale tomorrow.

YouTube Tuesday: Baby Got Back

2009-08-25T22:50:00.003-04:00

Caitlin Crosby is pretty darn swell.

And for those of you who don't like butt references, here's a Bible song.

An Explosion of Adorable

2009-08-24T21:24:00.001-04:00

I heart Zooey.

Take her band, She and Him, add her (500) Days of Summer costar, Joseph Gorden-Levitt, throw in some fancy footwork, and you get a delightful dose of cinematic happiness.

Tales from the Inbox: Spell Ya Later

2009-08-24T21:20:00.001-04:00

A few years ago, I was sent this short message from a guy I hadn't seen since the fifth grade. I'm afraid I didn't respond too eagerly.

Yah long time for swure. what part of toornto do you live in? maybe you would like to hookup sometime? :)

Funny, I don't remember telling him I lived in "toornto."

I try not to be a writing snob. But I have to draw the line somewhere. That line is "swure."

The Other Blog: Pop Culture, Anyone?

2009-08-23T19:13:00.005-04:00

Amy Adams bringing my life to the big screen in Julie & Julia.

Most of you know that I write. All the time. And everywhere. What you probably don't know is that I have another blog of pop-culture goodness that you should be reading. And maybe even commenting on.

Read Canada Pop Culture Blog. Join the discussion. Don't agree with my sometimes-snarky angle on celebrity gossip? Then call me on my crap in the comments. Hang out with me at work, folks. My blog needs more friends.

If you read now, I'll be kind when you're famous. Promise.

Sunday Stuff

2009-08-23T18:49:00.004-04:00

Another "stuff" post. 'Cause I like stuff.

This article makes me giddy. If you haven't seen Julie & Julia, I highly recommend it. Not only will it desensitize you to the boiling of live lobsters, it will inspire your inner blogger. Book deal, here I come!
Liv Tyler and I could be twins. I pretty much wear this exact outfit every week. Minus the sunglasses.
Read Sex God. I'm serious. I keep trying to quote from it, but I can't. Because I end up wanting to transcribe the entire thing. It is a little awkward to bring up in conversation, though. "So I was reading Sex God last night...."
I received a sad email recently, one that hinted at a young marriage in significant trouble. Maybe they need to kiss more. Or better. (The Onion rocks.)
Why is everyone talking about the darkness and goriness of District 9? I thought it was excellent storytelling, evenly paced with solid action sequences and heartbreaking character development. I wasn't even slightly disturbed. Which now disturbs me. Quick, someone reassure me that it's completely normal to not freak out over exploding humans.

District 9

2009-08-21T14:24:00.004-04:00

Best movie of the summer.* I'd go again. And I don't double-view very often.

Sharlto Copley is phenomenal. Both insufferable and heartbreaking. More people should name their sons Wikus.

*Followed by (500) Days of Summer, Star Trek and UP.

Creepy

2009-08-21T14:07:00.003-04:00

Edward Cullen Life Size Twilight Silhouette Vinyl Wall Decal.

From vinylfruit's Etsy shop.

It's SOLD OUT.

Why would anyone want a silhouette of a vampire in their bedroom? And doesn't a wall-decal boyfriend significantly hurt your chances of finding a real one?

Kids these days. Sheesh.

I miss Jonathan Taylor Thomas.

Step Away From My Coffee

2009-08-20T18:10:00.001-04:00

I was in line at Starbucks. The man ahead of me ordered a venti coffee. While he sorted through his change, the barrista poured my grande and placed it on the counter beside his.

He paid. And then he took both coffees.

"That's her grande, sir."

He didn't flinch. He didn't apologize. He didn't make excuses. He just handed me my caffeine and carried on with his day.

Some people really need their java in the morning. And will stoop to strange lows to double their dosage.

J Corridor

2009-08-19T22:52:00.006-04:00

Not long ago, a friend of mine posted some of her gorgeous photography on Facebook. The photos were of an engagement shoot. As I admired her lovely work, I realized that I recognized the man in each shot. Vaguely. Then I saw his name.

I had the same locker throughout my entire high-school career. It was on J corridor, the perfect location for sprawling out on the floor and doing homework, and for hanging out with friends during lunch hour. It was a central location so loved by my friends that three of us ended up sharing my locker, leaving notes on my locker door about the genius of Heath Ledger and the swoon-worthiness of certain never-to-be-mentioned church boys.

The boy with the locker beside mine was quiet. Timid. At least around me. I always felt guilty, the way my social circle would take over the space in front of his locker. Almost every day I'd have to move just to give him access to his belongings. He never once complained. He didn't even make a face.

I liked him. Not a "like" like. Just a quiet respect for a quiet guy I knew absolutely nothing about.

But thanks to Facebook and my online stalking skills, I now know that he's getting married. And that his boyish grin matured into an unexpected handsomeness. And I'm oddly excited for him. For somehow rising above the adolescent shyness and becoming an almost-husband.

Congrats, my J corridor friend. I apologize for the four years of inconvenience. And for the show tunes I'd sing at lunch. I hope you at least appreciated my cockney accent.

Honey, Let Me Sing You a Song

2009-08-19T21:30:00.003-04:00

(This is instead of YouTube Tuesday. Apparently with age comes a lack of blogging.)

Remember this guy? From the Brooke Fraser concert? (The concert I went to alone, even though I was with friends? I don't think I told that part of the story. Oh, well. I'll save that one for the memoir.) Well, he's still rocking the fedora.

(Matt Hires has since opened for Eric Hutchinson, too. And since he opens for ridiculously amazing folks, I have no choice but to dig the guy.)

I'm not going to pretend that he's the next big thing. But the chorus of his signature song still resonates with me a year later. So for this, I'll keep tabs on his career. His album just hit iTunes. Good on ya, Matt.

The 27 Club: One Year Left

2009-08-17T23:39:00.003-04:00

Today I turned 26. I always feel so productive on my birthday, accomplishing that seemingly impossible task of transitioning into an entirely different age. It takes so much out of me that I won't attempt such a miraculous feat for another year. So in 365 days, I'll feel productive again as I turn 27.

If I happen to embrace rock-stardom this year, the great age shift of 2010 could mean trouble.

Because 27-year-old rock stars die.

So let's assume I have one year left. Because I'm practically Bon Jovi, remember? And considering I'll be a rock star for my final year, picture me as the image of pure awesomeness. But probably without tattoos. I'm too practical and indecisive. Even with the knowledge that I won't have to worry about wrinkly ink.

This is what I've gotta do before I join the 27 Club:

Finish a screenplay. Preferably the one I just started. (I'm a writerly rock star.)
Meet the Boy Behind the Wall. And neglect to tell him about this blog. When I'm gone, this url will be sent to him. It's in my will.
Uh, create will.
Get an agent. A literary one.
Travel somewhere I haven't been. Maybe get a stamp on my passport.
Play the piano. And sing. Because that's what rock stars like me do. And maybe pick up a guitar and pretend to be cooler than I am.
Find a romantic lead for my biography. Tearfully confess that I can't marry him, as I'm about to die and have no interest in leaving the man I love a widower. He should marry someone who survives her twenties. Unless he's anticipating joining the same tragic club.
Run a 5k for real. Just to prove that I can be a sexy, fit writer. And maybe to outrun impending death.
Read a novel in French. I want to die a little more bilingual than I am today.
Send fan mail. To everyone. And respond to all of mine.
Take more photographs.
Leave a fantastic pile of journals, notebooks and email drafts for someone to compile into the above-mentioned touching, hilarious, and exasperating biography. Scribbled hints at a life well-lived.
Enter Club 27 with no regrets. No "what ifs." No hesitant tiptoeing where Nancy Sinatra-esque stomping should be.
Be up for the adventure. Laugh a lot. Love without abandon. Take risks. Write it down.
"Well done." That's all.

Twenty-six is going to be good, folks. It has to be. It might be all I've got.

The Perfect Man

2009-08-13T20:28:00.003-04:00

[via .Fleur d'eclectisme]

How to Pick Up Girls

2009-08-12T22:21:00.004-04:00

I was walking down the street. In a dress. A man approached me. An older, slightly scruffy gentleman with a European accent. Because I was listening to my iPod, he had to tap me on the shoulder to get my attention.

"Excuse me. You have no idea how elegant you are. Here's my email. I want to show you how desirable you are, too."

With that, he handed me his card.

Make your next sexual experience a sensual adventure.
PaveltheLover@*****.com

I smiled, took the card and thanked him. Because I could think of no other appropriate response. I don't hit strangers. Unfortunately for him, I rarely email them either.

Oh, Pavel the Lover, thanks for giving me a great story to tell. Good luck with the ladies.*

*Withdrawn.

Annie Leibovitz Does "Mad Men"

2009-08-10T20:54:00.006-04:00

Don and Betty's Paradise Lost. Sigh.

I live in a world of Robert Pattinsons.

I'd rather live in a world of Jon Hamms.

We Are Golden

2009-08-09T18:02:00.002-04:00

This song is stuck in my head. Yes, the video is bizarre. But doesn't everyone dance in their underwear when they're alone? No?

Saturday Stuff

2009-08-08T13:34:00.009-04:00

This is sort of my Friday, as yesterday was filled with the sorts of fun distractions usually reserved for the weekend. So I'm writing. And planning. And attempting to be productive.

So here's some random stuff to keep you occupied while I pretend to be a writer:

Yes, there's an animated bird on his hand.

And people are dancing in the street.

I'm still obsessed with this movie.

I hope I'd be this strong: Those Aren't Fighting Words, Dear
I'm a nerd: 73 Ways to Become a Better Writer
I know these chords. I'm practically a rock star.
I should probably own this shirt. Because it's kind of true.
Touching Strangers. Photographs of strangers posing together. Genius concept.
Every once in a while, I get the brilliant idea that I should be a house-sitter. I could live overseas, water some gardens and walk some dogs in exchange for free lodging, and write a novel.

Say It Loud

2009-08-08T00:20:00.004-04:00

"I'm single, okay?" I shouted, emphatically quoting myself in a hypothetical conversation. Sometimes you need to make a point, even when the situation's fiction.

"Uh, Nadine, would you like to say that louder? Maybe stand on a soapbox?"

I was so caught up in the girl-talk-while-walking that I hadn't paid much attention to my surroundings. It was dark. The neighborhood was sketchy. Men stood in small packs outside poorly maintained bar patios. And I was stating, essentially, that I was available. To them.

Shoot.

So I shut up and went inside. And played Rock Band.

P.S. Beth's post resonates with me tonight. I'm tired of being "great, but...."

P.P.S. Totally unrelated, this post almost made me cry today. John Hughes was a great man.

In Love with "Summer" and "Adam"

2009-08-06T23:40:00.003-04:00

I saw (500) Days of Summer. Now it's your turn. Go. Now. It's wonderful and heartbreaking and hilarious and awkward and optimistic and....

And I think I love this movie. In advance.

This Evening

2009-08-05T20:25:00.002-04:00

[via let's run away forever]

I know it breaks all of those "the bedroom is only for sleeping" rules, but I'm a rebel. Tonight I'm writing from my bed. And it's fantastic. So there.

Cottage Gal

2009-08-04T20:42:00.003-04:00

Every once in a while, I grow concerned that my city-girlness is reaching the point of no return. I worry that I'm climbing the ladder of higher and higher maintenance, and that one day I'll be incapable of functioning without eyeliner, hairspray and laptops. But all it takes is a weekend away to reassure myself that I can still wash off the makeup, jump into a lake late at night, burn to a crisp while writing by hand on a quiet dock, and share my heart at 2 a.m while mosquitos suck my blood. I can swap out the aspartame habit for a cold beer in the hot sun. I can consume my body weight in potato chips. I can play rowdy games, lip-synch to Bon Jovi (Nadine's hair + lake water = Bon Jovi's mane), make faces at a cute vomiting baby, and eat that smore that fell on the ground. With no hesitation.

You can take the girl out of the city AND you can take the city out of the girl. So good to know.

Dear Julia's cottage, I think I love you.

And because it's YouTube Tuesday, here's Bon Jovi at his best. We're practically twins.

P.S. I caught a fish. And put him back. Then caught another....

Cottage Bound

2009-07-31T15:02:00.002-04:00

[not an accurate representation of my weekend destination]

My bags are packed, I'm ready to go....

image source

Lately

2009-07-30T23:40:00.000-04:00

image source

The Usual

2009-07-30T21:49:00.011-04:00

I ordered a spinach salad with chicken today for lunch. The guy at the counter looked at me and smiled.

GUY: Didn't we do this earlier this week?
ME: Yep. I guess I'm pretty predictable.
GUY: But you were wearing something different.

Apparently take-out guys notice these things. I hope he liked Monday's dress. 'Cause today was a jeans day.

And while some gals would be unnerved by such observation (and subsequently persuaded to cut back on spinach salads), I'm considering this an opportunity to finally be a "regular" somewhere. Because my new work neighborhood is full of strangers. I miss the convenience-store man who used to ask my coworkers about me when I failed to visit his little haven of junk food and carbonated beverages.

It's fun to be known.

Little Joys

2009-07-30T20:15:00.000-04:00

(via RedVelvetArt.com)

Two Truths, No Lie

2009-07-29T18:10:00.000-04:00

(via most beautiful darling)

YouTube Tuesday: Motion City Soundtrack

2009-07-28T08:41:00.002-04:00

This has been the summer of live-music bingeing and iPod dependency. For the past few weeks, Motion City Soundtrack has been slowly making its way into the "I heart" category.

Their MySpace bio won me over. I officially heart them.

Motion City Soundtrack, the most influential rock band in the history of the world, has been destroying the hopes and dreams of small children everywhere since 1997. This quintet of ex-Sears catalog hand models reside for the most part in Minneapolis, Minnesota; where it is always a pleasant 78 degrees and sunny. Errol Bumpstead, an 8 year old student at Wildwood Elementary school in Mahtomedi describes Motion City Soundtrack as, pretty good if you like that stuff. Justin Pierre, Josh Cain, Matt Taylor, Tony Thaxton, and Jesse Johnson comprise this feat of musical excellence. You, the reader of this brilliant paragraph of writing, formulated by a state college-paid education, can find out more about this academy award winning band as well as astrophysics and the whig party by visiting their website: www.motioncitysoundtrack.com. Enjoy yourself. - Nixon Fappleby

Charmed

2009-07-27T22:00:00.003-04:00

(via Her Name Was Lola)

Song of the Day: Use Somebody

2009-07-27T21:50:00.000-04:00

I don't know why I avoided the Kings of Leon bandwagon for so long. There was no real reason for holding out.

This song. I love it. So much.

Rock Star

2009-07-26T18:14:00.001-04:00

image source: TADA's Revolution

Soggy Sunday

2009-07-26T12:55:00.003-04:00

Boot Umbrella Stand

Song stuck in my head: Raining on Sunday. For a very obvious reason.

Today's adventure with preschoolers involved kazoos. I convinced them we were spies. And then we snuck up on the bad guys and terrified them with our awkward buzz-happy blasts. Very Gideon of us, no?

Quotes of the day:

BOY 1: This is my magical orange. It keeps saying, "Not a chance."

BOY 2: I like bread in my milkshake.

BOY 3: I don't want a cookie. I brushed my teeth really well this morning.

History, Fashion, Geography & Chuck

2009-07-24T22:42:00.003-04:00

Rock On [ROM Edition]

I went to the ROM today with my parents to check out the Dead Sea Scrolls. If you like reading and learning and trying to wrap your head around history, I highly recommend it. I am perpetually humbled by how little I know about...everything.

Most surprising, though, was that my favorite exhibit ended up being the geology one. Maybe I'm becoming my dad. There's something about brightly colored rocks that inspires me. And I should probably start investing in gemstones. (For those not in the know, my dad was a geologist once upon a time. He still has the rock cabinet to prove it.)

Earlier in the day, as I was waiting for my parents outside the museum, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was one of my best friends from high school. With her husband. These random meetings happen a lot to me. I once ran into old youth-group friends on a street corner at 3 a.m. And I'm NEVER on a street corner at 3 a.m.

The Sartorialist Lite

As a follow up to this post, I'd like to reassure you all that I did survive my evening with Scott Schuman (The Sartorialist). I wore a dress. He did not scoff at me. Major win.

If I were to have a "What I Wore" style blog, it would be Poladroid-style. Because it redeems the non-amazing lighting situation in my living room. And gives me the hipster edge I need.

New Zealand...Rocks

I think I want one of these posters. Because I love Murray. I also love New Zealand. Probably. Note to self: Visit New Zealand and confirm this suspicion.

Nerd Herd Forever

And I'm excited for Chuck's third season. Behold the poster of awesomeness.

Almost Sisters

2009-07-23T23:33:00.004-04:00

Canada Day at the farm.

Photo by Byron, another awesome cousin.

I went out for dinner this evening with my lovely cousin Grace. Conversation was effortless and real, the kind I'd imagine one has with a sister. Except that we don't fight over clothes or curfews. We were so wrapped up in conversation that, even seated beside a window, we didn't notice the sky grow dark. Or the turnover of diners around us. Suddenly it was 10:00.*

Sometimes you just need a heart-to-heart with your almost-sister. Tonight was one of those nights.

*We probably should have tipped better, considering we hogged a table for four hours. Or at least ordered dessert.

Nirvana vs. Rick Astley

2009-07-22T22:40:00.002-04:00

This takes Rickrolling to entirely new level.

Three Cool Things

2009-07-21T23:05:00.000-04:00

I'm going to meet the Sartorialist tomorrow. Yes, THE Sartorialist. The one who took this picture. Talk about fashion-brilliance pressure. Eek!
Sarah and Dave make me happy. Congrats, guys!
This movie has the potential to rock my nostalgic little world:

That is all. Carry on.

How Nadine Will Die

2009-07-20T20:25:00.001-04:00

My impending death in one image:

Remember when I used to run? Yeah, I barely do. Since a total upheaval in my work life, I haven't had any sort of consistent exercise. At all. And my eating habits have fallen by the wayside. So I thought to myself, "Self, it's time to get your butt in gear." I recruited Jillian Michaels. And for 20 minutes this evening, I fantasized about being dead. Because she's killin' me, folks.

Oh. My. Word.

(No, I'm not trying to lose 20 pounds. So don't get all "losing weight is one thing, losing perspective is another" on me. I just want to not die of disuse atrophy.)

I'm typing this merely to hold myself accountable to taking care of myself. So I'll be jogging, "shredding," consuming massive quantities of veggies and pursuing a little more sleep in the coming weeks. You have permission to yank me away from the computer* and take the chocolate out of my hands. And are more than welcome to go for a nice long walk with me.

How long? This long.

*Unless I'm in the middle of typing the world's greatest sentence. Give me a minute to finish being brilliant, then pull me away.

You've Got Mail

2009-07-19T19:20:00.001-04:00

A few evenings ago, as I was typing away (a habit of mine), I noticed that a new message was awaiting me in Gmail. And then another. So exciting.

Unfortunately, when I ventured over to my email account, the anticipation of a friendly hello or witty commentary came to a pathetic halt. My inbox was merely filling up with emails I had CCed myself on, sent from another account.

I email myself. So sad. So very sad. And then I forget about it. Also sad.

But the CCing was me being efficient and productive and professional. It's a lose-lose-win.

My memoirs are going to be fascinating. [Insert momentary sarcasm.]

Today: Dr. Draw

2009-07-18T09:52:00.002-04:00

It's that time of year again: Beaches International Jazz Festival, anyone?

I'll be there. Today. Listening to this guy. Because he's amazing. And I like amazing people.

Lang vs. Keaggy

2009-07-17T14:17:00.004-04:00

I love this for 3546.45 reasons. Here are of 3 of those reasons:

Jonny Lang + guitar = the way things are supposed to be
Phil Keaggy + guitar = legendary
"When Love Comes to Town" = U2 at their finest

I should crash GMA Music Week sometime.

P.S. Some Johnny Lang guitar solos for you. I'm a bluesy mood this afternoon.

I Like Indie Flicks

2009-07-16T20:05:00.002-04:00

And their soundtracks.

"At one point they put all the songs on top of each other... I didn't like it. At all."
~Bart Fogelaby, Rolling Stone

My Mother's Red Hat w/Alicia Silverstone & Alanis Morissette from Alicia Silverstone

Remember Gerbert?

2009-07-15T20:20:00.000-04:00

I do.

That's all. Carry on.

Sartorial Happiness

2009-07-15T08:54:00.000-04:00

Source: The Sartorialist.

On the streets of Paris. Love. Every. Detail.

(Including the part about the streets of Paris. Anyone wanna go?)

YouTube Tuesday: LEGO

2009-07-14T09:00:00.000-04:00

"Keep on brickin'."

My To-Do List

2009-07-13T20:57:00.000-04:00

(via iLove)

There Goes a Year of My Life

2009-07-13T20:24:00.001-04:00

Choosing outfits for work, nights out, dinner parties, holidays, gym and other activities means the average female will spend 287 days rifling through their wardrobe.

source: Telegraph.co.uk

The iPod supports these findings. As does my reality. And I'm not even dolling up for nights on the town. I'm just trying to reconcile my closet and my brain. They don't get along well.

Lyrical wardrobe issues:

I've been wondering what you're thinking
And if you like my dress tonight
~Scratch, Kendall Payne

Fifteen minutes left to throw me together
For Mr. Right Now, not Mr. Forever
~Settlin', Sugarland

You change your mind like a girl changes clothes
~Hot N Cold, Katy Perry

See her, heavy makeup and cut T-shirt
Every girl out wants to be her
But they look the same already, why adjust?
~Rock & Roll, Eric Hutchinson

THIS is an MJ Tribute

2009-07-12T19:51:00.004-04:00

She wrote "Man in the Mirror." And knows how it should be sung. And how Michael Jackson's legacy should be honored. Like this.

I Love You, Too

2009-07-12T17:57:00.009-04:00

Douglas Coupland - Atelier

(Read about his brilliance here)

I was walking down King Street with my mom. I was in a sundress, on my way to be charmed by the von Trapp family, and in a very good mood. A stranger, not watching where he was going, ran into me.

GUY: Sorry. I love you.

I smiled. And kept walking. And when he was out of earshot, I told him I loved him, too. Just not that way.

This weekend was a wonderful one, filled with laughter and heart-to-hearts and mini-adventures and challenging late-night conversation. Douglas Coupland's exhibit was involved. As was Scrabble. And new friends. And old friends. And YouTube. And lipgloss. And sunshine. And long walks. And streetcar rides. And patios. And plenty of coffee.

And everything kept coming back to love. Not necessarily that of the romantic variety (although it certainly came up), but love nevertheless. Friendships and why they grow stagnant. Needy individuals and why we're scared to invest in them. Failure to trust God with life and love and every tiny desire of the heart.

"Love takes the initiative." Church was so good today. So aligned with everything in my heart and head right now. The importance of the pursuit of God above every other pursuit. Stepping away from the bubble of self and choosing to actively love the outsider. Over lunch with my mom and two new friends, I saw the teaching come to life. It's not about me. That's not why I'm here, to just sit around and think about what I want and need and don't have.

I've always loved the story of Ruth. But now I think I love the woman Ruth too.

(If you've got 50 minutes to spare, listen to "The Odd Couple." All thumbs up. Not that I critique my Sunday mornings. For discerning sci-fi fans, Bruxy may have opened with, "On the eighth day, God created Battlestar Galactica.")

The Hills are Alive

2009-07-11T10:52:00.003-04:00

This afternoon, my mom and I will solve a problem like Maria.

And we probably won't each drink a pot of coffee. Like yesterday. Or stay up until 2 a.m. talking. Like yesterday.

Bottled Water & Dancing Babies: Together at Last

2009-07-10T07:40:00.003-04:00

I prefer tap water. AND breakdancing babies. Best of both worlds.

This might be slightly creepy. Or 100% genius. I can't decide.

My MySpace Face

2009-07-08T20:03:00.003-04:00

I keep forgetting about MySpace. I still use it to check out bands, but I don't log in anymore. Maybe it's a good thing. This profile pic is a little old:

Nothing says "be my cyber-friend" like a trucker hat. And mullet wig. And fake pearls.

And you thought you knew me....

YouTube Tuesday: Sounds Like Summer

2009-07-07T23:15:00.009-04:00

It's summer. Sometimes weathermen forget this. I keep forgiving them. And they keep betraying my trust.

And sometimes Charleston the iPod forgets this, and chooses to play dreary tunes more appropriate for bleak winter afternoons. I risked shuffle mode today. It managed to find the most random sad songs. Even from Wicked:

Ev'ry so often we long to steal

To the land of what-might-have-been

But that doesn't soften the ache we feel

When reality sets back in....

Oh, and you may have noticed a complete lack of Michael Jackson coverage here. I'll talk about him soon. Promise. I just hate feeling hasty about these things. Feel-good summer music, however, can be posted in mere moments. (Um, and I left my house at 8 a.m. and got home at 10:45 p.m. Not a whole lot of time for blog brilliance today.)

P.S. I got books in the mail today. Beth, I blame you. A good blame.

P.P.S. I also overhead some fantastic news. But this probably isn't the greatest forum for sharing things I've learned through eavesdropping. Okay, it probably is. Maybe later.

And now, I give you the sounds of summer. Just a handful. Yes, music fits in my hand.

Streetcorner Symphony

I have a soft spot for Rob Thomas. I don't know why. But I could listen to him all day. (And why doesn't he age?)

The wedding-article writer in me is fascinated by his 1999 wedding to his wife Marisol. Edwin McCain was there. And played "I'll Be" for their first dance. Um, amazing.

Summer of '69

In university, my roommate and I Googled Bryan Adams just to confirm that he, in fact, does remember the summer of '69. Turns out he was 10. For the mathematicians out there, that makes him 50 this year.

I wonder how many people have Googled me....

Sweet Home Alabama

Sounds like summer. Straight-up. And I'm not even from the South.

All Summer Long

And because of the above song, I love Kid Rock's summer ditty that rhymes "different things" with "funny things." I think he'd be a fun BBQ guest. I'm sure Kid grills a mean burger. (Just keep him away from the "funny things.")

Bucket

When my friend first told me about this song, I didn't believe her. "A hole in my bucket"? Really? Apparently, yes.

Oh, Canadian Idol. Look what you've done.

BONUS:

Kiss a Girl

One day I'll try to explain why I think "kiss" is one of the greatest words a songwriter has in his arsenal. It's the K, that hard, sucker-punching consonant. That same K makes the F-word such a strong and strategic vocabulary choice. (Okay, so I just explained it. Wasn't that difficult.) "Kiss" is sweet and powerful and makes your head spin. All in ONE SYLLABLE.

Preemptive Answer to Prayer

2009-07-06T21:06:00.003-04:00

I couldn't find a rather important piece of paper this morning. I'm talking "medical-records important." (No, I'm not dying. So calm down.) I had approximately three minutes before I would miss the bus. Instant shift to stressed-out mode.

I wanted to swear and pray at the same time. Which can be awkward. Although it's very possible. Believe me.

"God, I don't--"

And there it was. I didn't need to finish the thought. And I caught my bus.

God and I need a date. Tonight. He finishes my thoughts, and yet I still so often fail to trust Him with them. ("God, it's not you, it's me." Always the case. And yet never a deal-breaker. He sticks around.)

With Rings on Her Fingers....

2009-07-06T09:00:00.003-04:00

I met three women yesterday. All remarkable and engaging and sweet. We were waiting for our ten little preschool terrors to arrive when conversation shifted to ring fingers. Left hands. Each of them sported an impressive sparkler.

I had nothing to contribute. Nothing. No insightful anecdote, no opinion. I just oohed for a moment and smiled as they talked about diamond settings and proposals. I wasn't bitter, uncomfortable or envious. It's just so outside of my reality that I felt my musings would be coming from a completely unqualified source.

Although I did have the amusing thought that it would have been a great day to decorate my hand with something like this:

Should marriage be in my future, my only ring dream is that Mr. Awesome choose something rather lovely that will make him want to hold my hand for approximately forever. The end.

(I think UP got to me. I'll get over the mush shortly. Promise.)

"UP" for an Adventure

2009-07-05T16:11:00.012-04:00

I went to see UP this afternoon. In 3-D. Alone.

It was wonderful.

I used to go to movies by myself at least once a month. But in recent years, the habit faded with an increasingly overwhelming social and work life. Suddenly there were no opportunities to just stop by a cheap theater on my way home from work and watch a quirky flick solo.

I've missed that.

I don't know how to explain it without sounding insane. For most of you, the thought would never cross your minds to spend two hours in the dark with strangers. But I'm not most of you. And oddly, I'm more likely to feel lonely when I'm stripped of my freedom to just be a little spontaneous and independent. One of the perks to getting older is learning to be comfortable with just being myself. I'm not an insecure teenager anymore, and kind of like hanging out with the woman I've become. She's pretty cool sometimes. She has bizarre ideas, makes random observations, has the heart of a child, the brain of an old woman, and can be giggling on the inside while appearing nonchalant to all those who pass her by. And she occasionally cries over animated old men.

I still love watching movies with friends, I really do. But sometimes I want to get caught up in a story without worrying about how I'm responding to a flick. When you go solo, no one holds you accountable for your laughter, mockery or tears. No one debriefs with criticism when your heart's all light and mushy. Sometimes I just crave an honest reaction from myself.

Friends used to call this solo-watching "pulling a Nadine." I highly recommend it. Everyone should do it at least once.

Okay, on to UP. This post should probably be a two-parter. I apologize for making you read paragraphs. (No, I don't. I lied.)

Delightful. Poignant. Christopher Plummer. And I cried. Twice.

I wasn't expecting to be moved by this great little geriatric-action-adventure flick. Because I had heard rumors of audiences tearing up, I assumed that I would remain cold-hearted and emotionless. Because that's often the case. The expectation of tears ruins it. Not this time.

It hit surprisingly close to home: What does adventure look like? What happens when our lives don't pan out the way we once dreamed it would? What is failure? Is part of growing up seeing our dreams change shape, our priorities shift, our deal-breakers readjust? If you had asked me last year what I'd be doing right now, I would have told you I'd be writing from somewhere that required a passport. Maybe with a boy and/or wombat in the tent next to me. (Yeah, I don't blog about everything, folks. Because my head doesn't always take me to places that are fair to others.)

I've landed in those places where I've mercilessly banged on the piano or scribbled in my journal, "I wanted an adventure, but NOT THIS ONE." But since my life is like a Pixar movie, the adventure I end up living is always far greater than one I could imagine. And with plenty of awkward character development to keep things interesting and moving in a generally forward direction.

As I walked out the theater this afternoon, I realized I'd be as perfectly happy with Ellie's adventure as I would be with Carl's. Because there's no point in having an adventure if you're not sharing it with someone. Even if that adventure doesn't look like the one you thought you wanted. And even if that someone is a rather annoying little boy who just needs a merit badge.

(In somewhat related news, I'd totally be open to a movie date to see 500 Days of Summer. Not necessarily a literal date. Unless that's how you roll. I heart Zooey.)

Signs...

2009-07-04T16:15:00.006-04:00

...is a great movie. I mean, if you believe in both God and aliens.

Seriously, though. Joaquin is fantastic and intense and not-yet-crazy. Mel is charming and paternal and not-yet-crazy. Abigail Breslin is adorable and precocious and not-yet-overexposed. It's the perfect balance of scary and thought-provoking and entertaining and achingly sad. And did I mention that Joaquin isn't crazy?

Plot holes? Yep. But I can handle 'em.

Maybe it just reminds me of the night I turned 19, sitting in a dark, drafty theater with a few friends, terrified of crop circles and enamored with tin-foil helmets. (I believe that theater collapsed shortly thereafter, crushing a few innocent folks to death. The venue was its own horror show.) I also appreciate the frequent usage of plaid by the Costume Department.

Independence Day TV is a little awkward. And I'm tired of accepting Bill Pullman as president. Too strong of a Newsies connection for my brain to wrap around.

P.S. Am I the only one who's amused that Phoenix plays an ex-pro ballplayer and happens to hang out in a cornfield? How very Field of Dreams of him.

TiLF: Things I Love Friday

2009-07-03T21:03:00.003-04:00

Sleeping in.

And then rolling over and sleeping some more.

Eric Hutchinson.

On piano. On guitar. I think we'd be friends. But you already know this.

Rob Thomas.

With and without Matchbox Twenty. I think I might love his new album. Time will tell.

iTunes gift card.

My family celebrated my birthday on Canada Day. Even though the actual date of my birthday is August 17th. That gives the rest of you plenty of time to figure out how to celebrate me.

(The iTunes card is merely enabling me. So addicted. Next up: Motion City Soundtrack.)

Dark-chocolate-covered coffee beans.

I like to eat my caffeine just as much as I like to drink it.

Writing.

Without direction, deadline or expectation. Sometimes it's nice to just let the brain go nuts.

Natalie Portman in Garden State.

I love this movie. And if I were a boy, I'd want to marry Natalie.

Google.

Paul Rudd.

Rumors of Zac Levi being Gargamel in the 3D Smurfs movie.

I'm so conflicted. And amused.

Doug the piano.

Even though he's almost broken. I guess 20 years is a long life for a much-loved digital piano. He's my therapist.

(A piano is a great gift idea. So if you love me and have a few grand to spare....)

myvintagevogue's photo stream.

I spent way too much time oohing and aahing over photos today. Next time I'm invited to the Oscars, I'm going vintage.