Movie Madness

I can't quite articulate why, but everytime I'm in a video store, I feel some sort of obligation to rent a serious, important film.

My day started off to a soggy start. I was determined to not hate my life this morning, so I dressed up a little, wore more jewelry and makeup than usual, and packed fun food to snack on (Mini Wheats, grapes, a discounted chocolate bunny). Unfortunately, the Philippines didn't get my "let's make Thursday happy" memo and I was sent the crappiest of all crappy files to work on. It was so bad I refused to work on it. I've never done that before. So they're going to resend it tomorrow. Hopefully without the hundreds of errors.

Anywho, I left early (since I didn't really have anything to do) and ended up in Blockbuster. My favorite way to unwind is to be anti-social and just hang out in my apartment and read, write and watch movies. I can't pack my weekend with social engagements. I need a certain amount of nothingness to prepare me for the coming week.

Maybe it's because I live alone. When I'm hanging out with other people, I'm all about the fun movies. But when I rent DVDs just for me, I feel this unspoken pressure to watch classics, award-winners, critical and cultural gems. So there I was, staring at copies of A Streetcar Named Desire, All About My Mother, A History of Violence and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. And I just couldn't do it.

So I gave myself permission to impulse rent. Way too much of my life is thought out and over-analyzed. I just felt this need for cinematic breathing room. I wandered every aisle and picked out the three that caught my fancy, and tried not to second-guess anything. Here's what I picked:

1. Bull Durham. Because I like baseball movies. And Susan Sarandon. And I haven't seen it.
2. Sylvia. Because I like true stories. And Daniel Craig. And Gwenyth. And because my woes as a writer are nothing compared to Sylvia Plath's.
3. The Upside of Anger. Because subconsciously I must have a thing for Kevin Costner (who plays a retired ball player. I tell you, the man is obsessed with that sport: Bull Durham, Field of Dreams, For the Love of the Game). And because I like intimate family dramedies.
   

There. Not a Gone With the Wind in the bunch. No Brando, no Woody Allen, no foreign languages.

I will eat dark chocolate and watch as a fan, not as a student of film. I love weekends.

Easter: My Style

Hey everyone. Clearly, I can't do the consistent blogging thing. I'll try to catch you all up on my weekend.

A side note before I begin: I had no idea that my shopping woes would evoke such a strong reaction from everyone (yes, I received emails as well as comments). I appreciate the offers of stylists and shopping buddies (and may well take you all up on the offers), but please be assured that my rants are merely rants and I don't actually spend my days hating my shoulders or wearing paper bags. I am generally well-dressed and quite satisfied with my figure. And I do enjoy shopping alone and trying on random items as long as there's no immediate event I have to dress for. The end.

My Easter:

Wednesday

I decided to take Thursday off (I had Friday and Monday off - paid even - so I figured I'd take an extra day off and give myself a five-day weekend). So Wednesday evening my dad picked me up, making sure that we arrived in Waterloo in time for me to watch Lost with Joel. I must admit, since revealing Jack's piano-playing ability, I'm even more smitten with Matthew Fox. It's nice to see a real man on TV. I've been very anti-man-boy lately.

Thursday

It was cold. Dad took the van to Mississauga, so Mom and I did the transit thing, trekking across K-W to the Passport Office. My bones were cold for the rest of the day. But my passport will arrive by the end of the month, which means I can go somewhere. I've never been in a plane. I'm tired of being deprived. I shall fly.

I love hanging out in the kitchen with my mom when I'm home. Thursday was something my mom called a "bean stack" (a layered torilla and bean dish). Then we all watched The Prestige, and stayed up way too late. Because that's what I do when I'm home. I eat and stay up late. Every time. And end up debating whether or not a dinosaur could actually fight a shark.

Friday

Mom and I headed to a craft show. We met up with a woman who lived with my family when I was about 10. She looked the same to me. Of course, I'm not quite the 10 year old I was, so there was a little more staring on her part, but all was well. I bought honey-cinnamon butter, and then immediately regretted it because I try to keep sugar out of my house. (That's my version of discipline: Out of sight, out of mouth). Oh well.

Ruth (that's the woman's name) and her friend came over for dinner. I think there was nonstop talking for a good five hours. More good food. And chocolate cheesecake. After they left, my brother brought out Risk and promptly took over Australia before any of us knew how to play. That's one way to win :) The game was short, and followed up with more cheesecake.

Saturday

I bought two pots and a knife. Because I'd rather shop for my kitchen than for my body. And I got my haircut. For some reason, no stylist can cut my hair short enough. Maybe I should pull a Britney....

Mom and I did some menu planning for the rest of the week, we made lots of food, we ate lots of food, and then we played Risk again. But this time, my dad sat it out, choosing instead to don his Montreal Canadiens sweater and pray for a miracle in front of the TV. It didn't come. At least his pain was eased the next day by the Leafs elimination. Risk took 5 hours. I was begging for someone to attack me. Please, end my pain.

Sunday

Everyone (including Nathan and his girlfriend, Sam) went to Koinonia. I call it Hillsongs Jr. It was a pretty great choice for Easter Sunday, as it has a pretty vibrant and joyful vibe. Nathan then headed back to Peterborough (he had a presentation Monday), and the rest of us headed home to get ready for our Easter bash on Monday. I think I did the dishes 6 times. We ate homemade pizza in front of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. And then Mom beat me at Scrabble. By one point.

Monday

Everyone came. A little late, mind you, and 6 people couldn't make it, but 17 members of my mom's side crammed into our house and had a jolly time. Yes, I just typed the word "jolly." Good food, great conversation, more dishes to wash, and the perfect amount of choas that only comes from putting a small crowd of people in a room and letting them all talk at the same time. I think I was part of three conversations at the same time at one point. And then my cell phone rang. There was no one there, so I yelled, "I don't love you" into it and everyone turned and stared at me. That's one way to get everyone's attention. And then I explained to my grandma that it was a wrong number, not an ex-boyfriend.

After consuming plenty of sugar (and more cheesecake), the party started to dwindle, and I headed back to the T-dot, where my fridge was empty and where no one could distract me as I tried to get ready for bed.

Tuesday

Back at work. In my stretchiest jeans while I detox from my recent bout of gluttony. The day was rather uneventful and (thankfully) quite stress-free. This is what I learned:

• Sleeping Dogs is screening in Toronto this weekend. At the Royal (on College): Fri/Sat/Sun at 7pm, Tues at 9:15. Go see it.
  
• Larry Birkhead is the father.
• You know how Amazon remembers the things you look at? Thanks to the randomness of my job, it currently lists my recent views as:
• Of Mice and Men
• Drake's Devil Dogs (yes, the snack food)
• Donovan's Greatest Hits
• La Bamba - Trini Lopez
• Commando Double Stick Strips Accessory (yes, this was work-related)
  
• "Milk-chocolate flavored" is not the same thing as milk chocolate. I have never thrown out candy before. So gross.
• John Travolta has to be wearing a toupee. There can be no other explanation for his mane.
  

There. You're caught up. I had a fantabulous weekend. My fridge is now restocked. And there are only three days left to my work week. I could get used to this...

"What are you doing and why aren't you doing it faster?" - Joel

Mallrat I'm not

Before I begin:

My apologies for the inconsistent blogging. I just realized that my last blog was quite depressing; with no follow-up, I'm sure most of you have assumed that I've plunged into an isolating, anti-blogging depression. I assure you, my week got better and I've not had any of my work deleted by L.A. since last Monday.

Back to today:

A friend at work and I were discussing my perpetual shopping dilemmas. I am in such desperate need of a wardrobe that, upon entering any shopping centre, I get overwhelmed. If I look at pants, my brain gets obsessed with the fact that I have no shoes to wear the pants with. Or shirts. And if I look at shirts, I can't get over the absence of a good bra. Or necklace. And if I look at necklaces, I get all depressed because there's no point buying jewelry when there's nothing to wear it with. And so I go home empty-handed. On top of these mental blocks, my body seems to be half a size bigger or smaller than clothing is designed for. And if I were to gain or lose that perfect half size, my legs and arms would still be abnormally orangutan-like, my feet would still have arches that seem to curve away in repulsion from all footwear options, and my shoulders would still better suit a linebacker.

Our shopping conversation ended with a very simple conclusion: I am Woody Allen at the mall. The calm, laid-back, intelligent woman that I can sometimes pass for morphs into a neurotic, indecisive, jittery mess. (And those changing-room mirrors screw with my body image to the point where Woody and I could be twins).

So today, after work, I took a deep breath and made myself shop. I was not allowed to leave the mall without buying something. Which means that I tried on piles of clothing, almost putting my back out with the awkward neck- and armholes that didn't align with the actual positions of my neck and arms. I tried on long, baggy sweater dresses that made me look like a ballet dancer who let herself go. I tried on short little jumpers that made me look like I haven't been shopping since the third grade.

I have too much personal style to wear the crazy trends. Nothing looks like me. And my style isn't flamboyant by any means. It's just not uber-trendy, super-tight, hip-hop-video ready. Maybe I watch too much America's Next Top Model, but as I was shopping I kept trying to accurately define in a catchy soundbite what my style is. I think I got it:

My personal style is Audrey Hepburn at camp.

Yep, that's me. I like classic, well-made, well-fitted clothing. I like scarves, solid colors and tasteful stripes. I don't like things that only work for one season. But I'm not glamorous enough to be a true Audrey. I wear neutrals. Brown is my obsession. I like a little ruggedness: the odd hoodie, chunky sweaters and khaki capris. So I'm Audrey at camp.

It took four agonizing hours (and $150), but I came home with four shirts, two tanks, a bracelet and three pairs of socks. No pants, no shoes, no bra. But at least it's a start.

I may be the only girl on the planet who has to convince herself to shop more often....

Long Day

I arrived at work at 7:45 this morning, well aware of the tedious workload I was facing. You see, I spent my day working on a file that was done by people who do not know English very well. They do not know that Oz is a fictional place, that the New York Ballet is a company, not a dance name, that it's Rodgers and Hammerstein, not Rogers and Hammerstein.

Essentially, I spent my day fixing other people's work.

And I titled song after song after song (a dance montage project).

After almost 11 hours of staring at my screen, I went home. My eyes were bloodshot and I was slightly jittery (my healthy lunch gone by 11am, I resorted to caffeine and Smarties to get me through the rest of the day).

I decided to meander home and take an extra-long route. This may not make sense to most people, who, after a really long day, want nothing more than dinner and their couch. I, however, saw myself as having two options: I could be computer-screen tired or fresh-air tired. So I walked for about 45 minutes, checking out the local architecture (I love looking at houses), and zig-zagging my way up and down the streets near my place. Then I ate a lot of vegetables. To compensate for the earlier sugar.

Then I checked my work email. This is never a good idea. Ever. LA emailed me (not literally the city; a guy from the LA office). He decided that my musical montage project didn't need the songs titled. My hundreds of subtitles were deleted with the stroke of one button, leaving only the narration of aging dancers. "The lyrics weren't plot-pertinent." I wonder what would happen if I told him that he is not plot-pertinent.

So now I'm heading to bed. After reading some Truman Capote. And a monologue about hallucinations and Keanu Reeves.

And I will wake up at 6 and do it all over again. At least tomorrow is musical-free.

Just Because.

Best Christmas present ever: a little white cassette player (that still works beautifully). And with it was "Carman: Yo Kidz," the coolest tape for the coolest kid on the planet.

And today, I would like to share with you all a video from the album. Hilariously starring Hanson lip-synching to Carman. Yes, this is for real. Way before Hanson was Hanson (outside of their last name).

PS I loved this song because "shut up" is in the lyrics. My parents were giving me permission to be profane.

Coolest Thing Ever

Check this out.

And The New York Times, too.
So close to fame. So far from fortune.

Secrets

Okay, so there's this tagging going around that challenges people to share 5 secrets with the world. Here's my problem with this: 1) I'm pretty open-book, 2) Most of my secrets are only half secrets. A friend from university might not know something, but my family does. And 3) Real secrets aren't for posting online. This said, I'll do my best. I have a feeling this will be more "Nadine trivia" than actual secrets. And because they're not big and juicy secrets, I'll even list six:

1. I have always been a reader. When I was in public school, I could easily make it through one of The Babysitter's Club books in one sitting. And one character, Claudia, had candy hidden throughout her room (her parents had banned junk food). So I did the same. I hid little chocolate bars I won in Sunday School behind the books in my bookshelf. There's nothing more exciting than finding a forgotten Aero bar behind Little Women.
   
2. I own a Hanson album ("Live and Electric"). On purpose. Did you write a hit song when you were 11? I didn't think so.
3. I love infomercials. I pine for a Magic Bullet. And I own Windsor Pilates DVDs (yes, I use them, and no, I did not order them. I bought them from a store). I think I'm just a sucker for all things before-and-after (Oprah's weight-loss shows make me want to lose 100 pounds. But I don't want to die, so I don't do it).
   
4. I have washed my face every single night before going to bed since I was 10. This includes on mission trips and when camping. I can't sleep without a clean face.
5. Sharon has always been my favourite (of "Sharon, Lois and Bram" fame). I wanted to be her.
   
6. I grew up in a household that respected most styles of music. Except country. And so as my subconscious rebellion against my father, I would spent afternoons at my friend's house, watching Billy Ray Cyrus videos. This one was my favorite. Can you blame me?

Church and the Movies.

I hate going to church alone. I love going to the movies alone. On Sunday, I merged the two and went to The Meeting House. And you know what? I actually had a pretty great time. Of course, being the single girl all alone, the sermon would naturally be "Sex and Singleness." I have a lot of respect for a sermon that opens with the song "Let's Talk About Sex," and, in the course of the teaching, includes the phrase "crushing of testicles" without once sounding glib or immature. Yeah, Bruxy rocks. And for the first time since arriving in Toronto, I feel like my friends would actually enjoy themselves. Or at least not get the creeps. I guess the whole "church for people who aren't into church" thing is true. It was packed. And since the sermon was a part of a series, I'll be back next week. It's so refreshing to be enthusiastic about church again. And no, not just because it's about sex, people. Sheesh.

As someone who spends quite a bit of time at the movies, it was pretty powerful to be worshipping God in a theatre. It sort of put things in perspective for me; It's about God, not movies and dreams and Jake Gyllenhaal's eyebrows (see below). In fact, lately I've come to the realization that I could give it all up. I could drop the life I'm currently living/dreaming of in a heartbeat and follow God's leading anywhere. I just want to be where God wants me and who He wants me to be. Nothing else.

And then I hung around and saw Zodiac (which has nothing to do with astrology, for those who are anti-horoscope). It's long but completely worth the numb butt. There's something very intriguing about a film that's based on case files. Yes, case files. It's a true story that's never really been resolved, so the film can't go there. Highly recommended. Not scary, but captivating. And do I really look like Chloe Sevigny? I guess if my hair was long, blonde and stringy...

March 2nd. Version Nadine.0

6:00

Alarm goes off. The DJ is announcing school closures. “If you don’t have to go outside, don’t,” is what I hear. I want to call in sick/slushed in. To make the best case, I figure I’ll get ready for work and have the weather stop me. Yesterday, I had to walk home in half a foot of snow, with the wind knifing me in the face.

6:45

Showered, dressed, makeuped (word of the day). I’m eating breakfast. The TV weather guy says it’s gross out. Theweathernetwork.com says it’s gross out. My window says it’s gross out.

7:11

I’m on the bus, heading to work. I left a rent cheque and a small list of bathroom-repair issues for my landlord in the drawer in the table in the entryway. And I left my laundry in a heap on the floor so I can do it the minute I get home.

7:50

At work. No delays, no real weather issues at all for transit. My pants are soaked from the flooding at the intersections. While I don’t want to be at work, I know I’d feel guilty sitting at home and leaving the massive workload to the few who chose to come.

10:31

Mom calls. She thinks I’m at home. I’m not. The sun is shining and the streets are drying up. It’s nice to talk to someone who’s not bitter/tired/stupid.

11:00

Wondering why anyone would want to watch TV on their cell phone.

12:00

So hungry. I go next door and order herb chicken on Caesar salad. I’m too lazy to actually walk to Queen St. where the selection/quality/prices are better.

2:00

I’m providing feedback for new subtitlers. It’s painful. I want to smash my face against a brick wall. I talk to one of my supervisors. There will be an intervention next week (read: shape up or you’re gone. And no, it’s not MY job that’s at risk).

3:00

Smarties and Diet Coke. My drug combo. I need rehab.

4:30

I’m out of there.

5:00

Grocery shopping. My favorite kind of shopping. I buy nothing with sugar or flour or caffeine; I’m trying to detox from my crappy week. I limit myself to 5 tomatoes.

6:00

I’m home. There’s a note under my door from my landlord. Everything is fixed. Which means she saw my crappy laundry-strewn decorating style. I love my landlords. Day-of repairs deserves an award.

6:15

Doing laundry. I run into the boy. The one behind my wall. After more than a year and a half, I see him. And he’s very good-looking. Darn. I’m in sweats that are 6 years old (and from +20 pounds ago). I’m the queen of the first impression. No formal introduction, but I think I’ve figured out his name from sorting through the house mail.

7:00

Yoghurt poured over grapes and cut-up apple. And green tea. I feel almost human again. And I Swiffer. Mentally plan an omelet for tomorrow morning. Because I’m a planner.

9:00

Finally done laundry. There’s nothing on TV except Top Chef reruns. So I’m half-watching. Misery is on later. I read the book, so I may watch it. Or I may go to bed. But that means I have to put my sheets back on. I may be tired, but not tired enough to go to all that effort of going to bed….

My Love of Oscar

Okay, so I tied for third in the office Oscar pool. I would have done far better if the person who organized it didn't weight the categories differently. Last year, each successful prediction was worth one point. This year, Best Picture was worth five, smaller technical awards were worth one, and the acting and more prestigious awards fell somewhere inbetween. So even though I picked the surprise win of Marie Antoinette for costumes, I also didn't pick The Departed as best picture. Oh well. I believe the pot was worth a whole $20. I made $26 last year, so I'm still the biggest winner ever.

Some thoughts:

• The Dreamgirls medley was slightly more interesting than the actual movie.
• Helen Mirren was smokin' hot. Not just for her age. She rocked that gown. And totally deserved her win.
• Apparently the Academy is also slightly creeped out by Eddie Murphy (I thought it was just me). Even though he was my pick (I was trying to be strategic; it wasn't a wish list), I was so happy for Alan Arkin. In fact, I bought Little Miss Sunshine today in his honor.
• I love Ellen. I don't care what the critics say, I think she was pleasantly non-offensive. The awards just felt so grown up and classy. I can hardly remember the year of Chris Rock...
• Marty Scorsese deserved it.
  
• I had no idea Clint Eastwood spoke Italian. And I wouldn't mind a photo of him with me on myspace (Ellen's strength: audience interaction).
• When did Jack Nicholson first grab that front-row seat? How does he manage to reserve it every year? And what's with his new Britney-esque (read: no hair) 'do?
• Al Gore has an Oscar. This cracks me up. He was actually one of the most charismatic personalities there.
  
• Oh, Ryan Gosling. You didn't win, but Will Ferrell sang to you. And you sat beside Meryl Streep. So really, you did win.
• I called the screenwriting awards. Now I just need to write something. Or show up on Canadian Idol. But my worst nightmare may come true and I'll have to fend off the advances of Ben Mulroney. So. Much. Gel. (Nah, there's less Ben-hating than there used to be. I think I just want his job).
• Forest Whitaker thanked God. Jennifer Hudson thanked God twice. I'm glad Denzel's not the only one...
  

And semi-Oscar-related thoughts:

• The Independent Spirit Awards were fun. And Ryan won (as did his Half Nelson costar, Shareeka Epps). Best song tribute ever: the Dusty Springfeld-esque "was a crack-headed teacher man." Yeah, go see Half Nelson if you want to see a great indie film.
• Christian Bale is on the cover of GQ. He'll be at the Oscars one day soon.
  
• I swear, people, it's all about Breaker High (Ryan) and Newsies (Christian).
• I bought Little Miss Sunshine and The Devil Wears Prada today. They were super-cheap at Shoppers Drug Mart. Who would have thunk it?
  
• I tried to watch Gone With the Wind yesterday afternoon. But I fell asleep during the opening credits. I guess I was more tired than I thought. I will watch it in 2007. Promise.
• Today, I discovered that pretty much my entire office has an obsession with Ryan Gosling/Rachel McAdams. Someone saw Rachel (pink hair and all) on the subway this weekend (she was working in TO), and all of a sudden, everyone has a McGosling sighting. They know where they eat, where they live, where they rent their DVDs. We are a sad bunch. Boys included. At least I fit in...

Since I stayed up way too late last night, I'm aiming for an early night tonight. Around 2 in the morning, a car alarm in the parking lot outside my window went off. It was one that also accompanied a flashing light. Needless to say, I was a bit of a mess this morning.

Nadine's Predictions

Okay, folks, what you've all been waiting for: 2007 Oscar Predictions from yours truly.
I handed in this list with my toonie at work, so I've got some serious cash riding on its success.

In alphabetical order:

Actor - Leading
Forest Whitaker - THE LAST KING OF SCOTLAND

Actor - Supporting
Eddie Murphy - DREAMGIRLS

Actress - Leading
Helen Mirren - THE QUEEN

Actress - Supporting
Jennifer Hudson - DREAMGIRLS

Animated Feature
HAPPY FEET

Art Direction
DREAMGIRLS

Cinematography
CHILDREN OF MEN

Costume Design
MARIE ANTOINETTE

Directing
Martin Scorsese - THE DEPARTED

Documentary Feature
AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH

Documentary Short
TWO HANDS

Film Editing
UNITED 93

Foreign Language Film
PAN'S LABYRINTH

Makeup
PAN'S LABYRINTH

Original Score
THE QUEEN

Original Song
"Listen" - DREAMGIRLS

Best Picture
BABEL

Short Film - Animated
THE DANISH POET

Short Film - Live Action
ERAMOS POCOS (ONE TOO MANY)

Sound Editing
LETTERS FROM IWO JIMA

Sound Mixing
DREAMGIRLS

Visual Effects
PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: DEAD MAN'S CHEST

Screenplay - Adapted
THE DEPARTED

Screenplay - Original
LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE

Wednesday

The week is more than half over. For this reason alone, I could celebrate. The weather has also been non-painful, which means that I've actually been getting a little exercise. And Vitamin D. So good.

There was a moment at work today when I put my head down on my desk and muttered to no one in particular (and heard by only a few trusted co-workers), "I don't know if I should kill somebody or take up drinking." And then I went back to work. I did not kill anyone. I did have a Jones soda, though. I figure I'll start with the bottle shape and move up from there :)

On a much lighter, non-doomed note, my name is featured in Variety! Okay, so it's just a passing credit at the end of the Sleeping Dogs review (which is a pretty big deal in the first place), but somehow I was credited as the art director. I am considered "above the line." I am no one's assistant. Of course, this title is completely exaggerated (they gave the actual art director the title of production designer), but I'll take what I can get. Man, I should print that out and put it in a portfolio. I made vomit out of soup and bought polyester suits from Value Village. I love promotions that happen after the fact: no added responsibility.

I ended up getting out of work by 3:15, which was a nice way to end my stressful morning. I also finished my spectacular eggplant & turkey casserole I made this week. Maybe I should go to some Martha Stewart academy. And now I'm mulling over Oscar nominations, trying to make my predictions for the office's pool. I won last year and have a handbag named Oscar to show for it. Unfortunately, the bag's pretty much worn out, so I'm feeling the pressure to win again. I'll post my predictions before the awards air.

Why am I still not on IMDb? My dreams are so small....

Tomorrow

I know that single people are supposed to hate Valentine’s Day, but I don’t. I never have. The only semi-annoying memories I have from the day revolve around me trying to get past awkward adolescents making out by my locker in high school. Apart from that, I’m all for the chocolates, the extra love songs on the radio, and the flimsy My Little Pony cards floating around.

Some joys of Singles’ Awareness Day:

• The “Perfect 10” valentine Ian gave me in kindergarten. I don’t even remember who Ian is, but that card rocked.
• The construction-paper heart envelopes we made every year to hold our cards and goodies. During class time. Public school rocked.
• The candygram from Christian Bale.
• The year I convinced someone that my boyfriend didn’t believe in sending chocolates. I had some sympathy for about five minutes. Until the guy realized that I didn’t have a boyfriend the day before.
• “Boy Free Since ’83.” I made that shirt in university. I could have made a fortune selling them.
• Oh, the Campus Crusade Love Panel. So much fun. Too bad I wasn’t on it. The single girl always got scooped up shortly after.
• The red and pink Smarties box hidden in my luggage when I went to Quebec in grade 8.
• Candy is pretty. And then it goes on sale.
• My grandma gave me a valentine on Sunday. Care Bears. It’s a nostalgia hug.
• Chick flicks are on TV, and I don’t have to worry about comparing the lead with the guy beside me.
• It’s a quasi-holiday that breaks up the winter. Sure, you don’t get the day off, but the mall makes you feel like there’s a holiday anyway.
• If you don’t spend the day with a significant other, it keeps the day free from messy memories of Valentine’s being spent with an ex. I’ll never get weirded out by memories of watching TV on the 14^th.

Jessica Simpson Is No Ebert

Jessica Simpson confuses me. I realize that's not the most shocking revelation, but the other day, I ran across an interview with her that really stumped me. I shall share my bewilderment with you all.

First, some background: I'm a fan of The Notebook. I don't really care if you don't. Sure, it's unapologetically sappy and sentimental and a little idealistic, but it also looks at the other side of "happily ever after." It looks at love as something worth fighting for. It doesn't exempt it from some pretty painful stuff.

My love for the Ryan Gosling/Rachel McAdams team aside, I think the opening line pretty much sums up the flick/book:

I am a common man with common thoughts, and I've led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten, but I've loved another with all my heart and soul, and to me, this has always been enough.
Book.

The movie makes me cry. And then makes me want to get married so I can grow old and die with someone. It does not make me want to get divorced. At all. So this is why I'm confused:

Simpson and Lachey, 33, starred in the MTV reality show, "Newlyweds: Nick & Jessica." She filed for divorce in December 2005, after three years of marriage.

She made that decision, she says, after watching the 2004 romance "The Notebook" on a plane ride home to Texas. "I just figured out the statement," she says of the movie, starring Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams as star-crossed lovers. "It was about that moment of desperation. I needed to breathe."

Source.

Has Jessica Simpson ever seen a movie before? "I figured out the statement." She must have some sort of film interpretation skill that is so beyond mine. I thought it was about enduring love. What statement? That she should leave her husband? "Moment of desperation"? Sure, Allie realizes that the man she's about to marry may not be "the one," but this conclusion is reached BEFORE marriage. And then they stick it out together.

My brain hurts just trying to make sense of her.

I wonder if she thought the statement in Braveheart was that she should conform to corrupt authority. I mean, clearly Wallace's fate was meant as a cautionary tale...

My Brain is Tired

I’m not very good at blogging consistently. By the time I sit down at my computer, I’m tired of both computer screens and the thoughts that have been mulling in my head all day. Therefore, my exhaustion robs you of my brilliant insights. I’m also hesitant to write much about other people, as I read this article about a guy who started dating a girl who blogged about her sexual conquests and found himself as that week’s topic of discussion. Not that anyone in my life would have such a thing to fear…

I just wanted to clarify as to why these entries are so Nadine-centered. Besides, it’s my blog. Straight from my brain. I find the “me”-ness appropriate.

Today’s thoughts:

1. Only Rachel McAdams can get away with pink highlights.

2. Thanks to JPod, I’m now wondering about the personal life of Ronald McDonald.

3. If you buy frozen chicken that says “seasoned,” it means that there’s salt added. So don’t add your own. You will be thirsty for the rest of the week.

4. Abigail Breslin brought cookies in her purse to the SAG awards. We would totally be best friends if I was 10. Or if I was 23 and lived in L.A.

5. There’s a lady on the subway who wears the most impractical stilettos every morning. And they click in a way that tells me they’re cheap and uncomfortable. I like my big black winter boots. Super sexy.

6. My hair is growing out, making the unevenness of my last cut incredibly obvious. You know when grade-schoolers decide to cut their own hair? That’s my current look.

7. The blond Bond was quite entertaining. I did find it amusing that the writers, in attempting to redeem some of the predictable objectifying-of-women stuff found in most Bond films, chose to have 007 naked far more often than any of the women.

8. When they say that Pan’s Labyrinth is an adult fairy tale, they mean, “This will scar your children.” And if you can’t stand to watch a man stitching up his own sliced-open face, you shouldn’t go either. Squirming aside, it was pretty amazing.

9. I turned down a month-long trip to the Philippines because I didn’t actually want to work when I got there. My boss first interpreted it as my being scared to go alone. He then interpreted it to mean that I don’t like training in general, and that someone else should take over for me in Toronto as well. Training English majors in Ontario is very different from training quasi-English-speakers in the Philippines. But that’s my boss.

10. I have a new cell phone. So far, it has not randomly died in the middle of a conversation.

11. I would like to be British when I grow up.

12. I check my email too often.

13. Katie Holmes has apparently turned down the Batman sequel. Part of me doubts she was officially offered it. And part of me isn’t really into brainwashing husbands. If I ever marry Tom Cruise, please shoot me. If you can find me…

14. Sometimes I work on really cool stuff at work and I’m not allowed to tell you about it. But most of the time, I work on really crappy stuff and I’m still not allowed to tell you about it. I will say that I worked on Joan Crawford’s last feature film and it was craptastic to the utmost degree.

15. Most touching breakup line ever: “I’ll always remember you as the guy who gave me my first burrito.” Nineties TV rocks.

16. I wish I knew how to play poker. And had poker friends to play with. And was a celebrity so I could play poker with my friends on TV.

17. Anyone catch the musical Scrubs episode? Pure brilliance. Now I want a musical CSI.

Doing a Little Happy Dance

Ryan Gosling was nominated for an Oscar this morning.

Par-tay.

I've been tagged

I've been tagged by on coffee:
His instructions are as follows:

1) Grab the book closest to you.
2) Open to page 123, go down to the fourth sentence.
3) Post the text of the following three sentences.
4) Name the author and book title.
5) Tag three people to do the same.

Prinderella praced with the dince all night long, but at the moke of stridmight she ran down the stalace peps and slopped the dripper.

Isn't that a shirty dame?

The next day the ping issued another croclamation that all the geglible irls in the kingdom should sly on the tripper.

-Get Thee to a Punnery by Richard Lederer

I tag Beth, Andrea and Ben.

Hanging with Spielberg and McLaren

This weekend, I watched Schindler’s List for the first time. I also finished reading More Ready Than You Realize. Honestly, the combination of the two probably moved and inspired me more than church typically does. Which is no big feat. Most of you know that I struggle with finding a real church home here. Probably because Jesus doesn’t show up at many of them.

I’ll start with the book, which is centered on emails from Alice to the author, Brian McLaren. Near the end, Alice writes:

You know, all the logic and reasoning that people always say about Jesus, that he “MUST” have been the son of God, that if he wasn’t, he was a lunatic or a liar, that they’ve found proof, blah, blah blah,….. it is just so lame, in my eyes, [compared] to feeling like your heart is going to explode when you start to see just how wonderful Jesus is… when you start to understand Jesus ISNT dead. I never understood that. I think a major part of my little epiphany was realizing that God is so far beyond all that petty logic and knowledge. At least, that’s how it is for me. I’m sure for other people, the logic is great. But when proof stops at logic for me, it is pretty lame.

For three years of my life, I was a hardcore Campus Crusader. I am still super-supportive of the organization and am so proud of the friends who’ve gone on to join staff with them. I did, however, find myself uncomfortable at times, and I don’t think it was just because I was being stretched. I was frustrated with the approaches to evangelism. I am not an intellectual. I’m not into debates and proof and trying to argue someone into heaven. Surveys with results that are never tallied drive me crazy. I don’t really care if someone saw The Passion or if Oprah is helping or hurting the kingdom. I care about people. Real people. People who may never make a decision to follow Christ but need a friend just the same. God is beyond “all that petty logic and knowledge.” Experiencing God is so much greater than figuring out if this is a life of predestination or free will.

I was moved by McLaren’s friendship with Alice. He didn’t assume anything, nor did he tell her what to believe. He answered her questions carefully, often with other questions. He allowed her to serve in ways she felt comfortable, without ever requiring a statement of faith or sitting her down with some committee. She was loved and she was heard. And God did the rest. In no way did his book suggest that I have the right to be lazy in my relationships or to remain silent when my voice is called for. But it did give me permission to live like Jesus instead of trying to convince others why they should. He described evangelism as a dance. I've always wanted to be a dancer...

Then I watched Schindler’s List.

“Whoever saves one life, saves the world entire.”

It may have been perfect.

I may have been the last film buff on the planet to seen this film. I read the book in high school, but managed to miss every opportunity to view it. Then I rented it months ago, and the DVD skipped all over the place. Now, all is well.

I love that Schindler was a criminal. A sinner. He operated from selfish motives; he was riddled with character flaws. And he helped save a generation. His own personal redemption was almost as touching as the gratitude the thousands had for his fight for their lives.

There’s a song by Ray Boltz (late ‘80s CCM, for the unaware) that speculates how awesome it will be in heaven to see the lives we’ve touched. Schindler was given a slice of that on earth, only to be humbled to tears and broken that he didn’t save one more. Not many movies are both chilling and inspirational.

I almost made it through without crying. And then the epilogue happened.

If you haven’t seen it, you must. If you have, go watch it again.

9 Reasons to Love Toronto

Whenever I meet non-Torontonians, there seems to be a general response of disbelief that a single woman who was raised in a small town has no qualms about living and working in the heart of Canada’s largest city. What they don’t realize, is that by taking the same routes daily, you create your own little community. I have my favorite places where people say hi and comment on the weather just as they would in a small town. I’m trying to explore more (something that will most likely come with spring weather), but I’m quite content with my downtown-meets-Greektown life. Here are a few reasons why:

• Bus stop friends. Yes, I have them. Nancy and Nick. They’re both from out East. Nancy lives alone and feeds the squirrels every morning. Nick is a family man who’s taking his kids out of school tomorrow to go skiing. Oh, and he’s taking his wife to Paris for her 40^th birthday. The bus stop is where it’s at, I tell you.
• The convenience store guy. There’s a little convenience store in the building next to my work. He’s the friendliest man ever, and because I’m there way too often, he notices when I change my brand of soft drink or if I style my hair differently (without being creepy about it). And every time I say, “Have a nice day,” he has to one-up me with, “Have a very nice day.”
• Rainbow Cinemas. Tuesdays are $4.24. Enough said.
• The Metro. I love the free little newspaper I pick up every morning. On my way to work, I skim all the headlines I’m interested in. On the way home, I do the crossword and Sudoku. And then I recycle.
• Libraries. So much to absorb. So little pain to my wallet.
• The TTC. I know a lot of people complain about it, and yes, it can be crowded and inconsistent and dirty. I enjoy the fact that I can sit on the subway and not think of a thing at 7:15 in the morning. In fact, there are mornings I wish I didn’t have to get off, so I could just sit in my little daze for a little while longer.
• TTC drivers. I conducted a social experiment. The conclusion? If you thank the driver, there’s an increased chance that the person behind you will do the same. One driver on my daily route commented that he saw me walking with my groceries the other day and thought it was great that I opted for some exercise.
• You never have to eat at the same place twice. Unless you want to. Or you’re lazy. Or poor. Or on foot. And cold. And wet.
• CityTV. Man, you have to love a city that shuts down a major downtown street for a Mary-Kate and Ashley interview.

Children of Men

It was one of the darkest, bleakest, most despairing films I’ve seen in a while.

And then I was moved by a miracle. Hope showed up.

Go see it.

Award Season.

It’s that season again. The Golden Globes were on last night, and unfortunately, it was relatively upset free. I think I was the only one who wanted to see Ben Affleck win (just to shock the cinematic world). I called the double Helen Mirren win. And the Babel win. Warren Beatty tried far too hard to be funny. In fact, actors usually bore me when they’re stuck speaking their own words. Of course, Meryl Streep and Sacha Baron Cohen were entertaining (I called those two wins as well), but it was Hugh Laurie who stole the show. I swear Brits are just way cooler than the rest of us.

"People are falling all over themselves to send you free shoes and free cuff links and colonic irrigations for two. Nobody ever offers you a free acceptance speech. There just seems to be a gap in the market. I would love to be able to pull out a speech by Dolce & Gabbana."

''I know everyone says they have a wonderful crew and logically that can't be the case and they can't all be wonderful. Somebody, somewhere, is working with a crew of drunken thieves.''

– Hugh Laurie, winner for House

More thoughts on the season will follow in the weeks to come. Here's hoping for an Oscar nod for Ryan Gosling...

The Boy Behind My Wall Pt.2

Now it's the TV. And bongo drums.

Help me. Somebody. Take me away to where the night is silent and morning does not scream me awake at 6.

The Boy Behind My Wall

I decided to go to bed early this evening, even ignoring the People's Choice Awards (the lamest of the award season). I'm exhausted, my head hurts, and I'm feeling downright lousy.

The boy does not know this.

Tonight is a Tuesday night. It is not a night that should involve the blaring of music. Nor should it involve four of his buddies singing along with that blaring music. Nor should it involve his playing the guitar while the buddies sing along to the blaring music.

I threw a pillow at the wall. Hard. It must not have sounded very threatening. His party continues.

I live next door to a bar. So does he. He should sing along with the blaring music there. Maybe the old Greek men will even buy him a drink.

And I should sleep. I can't even read. The singing on the other side of the wall is so bad, I can't remember the previous paragraph.

Wait. A moment of silence. Maybe he got my pillow message after all...

Recent Movies

A quick summary of my movie-watching habits over the past few weeks.

Little Miss Sunshine
Superb. Original. Even splendid. Yes, folks, this one lives up to the hype. And Steve Carell’s performance may be that of the greatest suicidal homosexual Proust scholar ever brought to the big screen. I wish I wrote it.

The Queen
Helen Mirren will win Best Actress at the Oscars this year. I promise you. I almost forgot what the real queen looked like.

While You Were Sleeping
Okay, so I’ve seen this one a few times. It’s a very different movie when you’re not 14, though. I can actually relate to the sometimes-patheticness of being single in the city. I have not yet pretended to be engaged to a man in a coma. That will be 2008.

It’s a Wonderful Life
It’s not Christmas without George Bailey. Love it. It’s probably unhealthy, my enthusiasm for this film. That abandoned mansion is my dream house. Minus the draft.

Blood Diamond
It’s pretty heavy. And if you’re all about the bling, you may have to rethink your next diamond purchase after viewing this one. Surprisingly, Leo DiCaprio’s South African accent stopped bugging me after the first half hour or so. And I’m woman enough to admit that Jennifer Connelly is uber-gorgeous. If you're in the mood for comedy, this might not be the flick for you. It made me think, so it gets my recommendation.

The Lord of the Rings (the trilogy)
I watched one a day for three days. I hadn’t seen the third since the theatre (all I could remember was, “You bow to no one.”) so it was great to see them again, and in relatively quick succession. Very inspiring. I either want to be a filmmaker or a hobbit. Or an elf who marries a man who doesn't let hobbits bow down to him.

The Goonies
When I was young, I couldn’t make it through this film. I was at a sleepover, and all the little girls (myself very much included) were terrified. We chose to watch My Girl again instead. I figured that at 23, I should be able to handle it now. It was actually quite fun, almost a cross between Indiana Jones and Stand by Me. Sean Astin’s had a pretty enviable career (only including Encino Man if you’re really tired and delirious. Then Pauly Shore's remarks about his pancreas are hilarious).

Dreamgirls
I have a confession to make: I left work early today to go to the movies. I seem to have contracted some viral form of ADD, and after 7.5 hours of staring at my computer screen, I could no longer pay attention to what I was doing. And since they all love me at work and want to make sure I’m happy, no one objected to my leaving. Here’s the deal: it’s pretty much just about the music. I mean, it’s a Broadway musical on the big screen. It was entertaining, but it didn’t challenge how I see the world, and the film left my consciousness pretty quickly. I’m also a little confused by all the acting nominations it’s receiving this awards season since musical talent seemed to upstage the acting. Especially in the Beyoncé department. She is not the star. Eddie Murphy (usually, I’m no fan) was pretty darn amazing, but it was Jennifer Hudson (American Idol reject) who knocked my socks off. I left the theatre wanting to be a big, beautiful black woman with ridiculous pipes. She’ll see some awards, and she actually deserves them. One of her songs actually garnered a standing ovation at one of the film’s premieres. Her performances in the film were worth the admission.

Holiday Recap

I haven’t blogged in a while, and oddly enough, I don’t really feel like trying to remember all the details of the past few weeks. I’ll try to stick to the randomness of highlights and odd thoughts:

1. I got to stay in my old room. Fabulousness. Considering the weekend before Christmas I ended up sharing a room with Nathan, it was nice to have a place of my own for the holidays. Not that I spent much time in it. I’m not used to the distractions that come with living with people. Many, many late nights.
2. I have a new umbrella. It’s yellow. If anyone gets this one confused with their roommate’s black one, I may have to press charges.
3. I saw Andrea (who promptly returned to S. Korea)!
4. There is something very exciting about counter space. For those who have seen my almost-kitchen, you understand. I spent a lot of time with Mom in the kitchen.
5. My family pretty much rocks. Extended included.
6. I got a raise. A whole $2/hr more. Yeah, I’m rolling in the dough.
7. It’s a Wonderful Life was considered a box-office failure when it was first released and essentially ended Frank Capra’s career. Thought you might want to know (Jimmy Stewart is my new dead-man crush. No disrespect to the loved-always Gene Kelly).
8. I am proud to say that Dick Clark was not a part of my New Year’s. And parents are perfectly suitable partiers.
9. It’s fun to watch movies with people. Even just hanging out on the couch is more fun when you’re not sitting by yourself.
10. I want to start a line of extremely long pajama pants. Those of you with long legs, I expect your business.
11. I now own JPod. I’m trying to make myself finish the two books I’m currently reading before I pick it up, but it’s tough. I have dreamt of this book (not literally. Maybe literarily).
12. I finally got to see Nathan’s apartment in Peterborough. Much bigger than mine. And he can control his heat. If his roommate will let him turn it on.
13. I saw a man in a denim suit. Wendy’s rule of “no denim with denim” kept running through my head, but the guy pulled it off.
14. Joel now lives in my room. So while it was fun to have a bed over the holidays, it no longer is an option for me. Not that this is anything new.

it's the most wonderful-- tv is so distracting.

I'm going home for the holidays after work tomorrow. Which is odd, considering I also consider where I am at this particular moment to be home. I suppose I have two. One is where I find my family, and one is where I find my life (however uneventful).

I should be packing, but I've been distracted by a documentary on the Stratford Festival. I was flipping through channels (how guyish of me) when I heard a very familiar voice speaking in iambic pentameter. For those of you who are aware of my Graham Abbey admiration (I used his bathroom once) and my Stratford obsession, you can understand how the combination of the two makes it impossible to ignore. Jonathan Goad is yelling right now. Michael Therriault is hitting someone. Apparently, I'm some theatre geek who regards theatre actors as highly as movie stars. If Shakespeare were alive today, he'd need to take out a restraining order on me.

Now Graham (yes, it's a first-name basis. I have his phone number. That makes us the bestest friends ever) is killing Jonathan. Now Graham is dead. I love theatre.

I suppose this is a blog to wish you all a Merry Christmas, and to not expect any great blogging wisdom from me until the new year. Unless I find myself incredibly bored, in front of a computer, inspired with witticisms like none I've ever typed. In such a case, I may post a sentence or two.

I shall leave you with my thoughtss:

• Today, I heard the song "Itsy-Bitsy, Teeny-Weeny, Yellow Polka-Dot Bikini" in French.
• I had a conversation with someone who speaks little English yet was able to use the word "serendipitous" correctly in a sentence.
• A homeless man on roller skates shouted "Farts to you all!" as he sped down Queen Street.
• I'm reading a biography on Cary Grant (born Archie Leach). Not really my type of guy, what with the abuse, perfectionism, bisexuality, LSD use, cheapness and alleged nose job. But he wore suits well. I will give him that.
• She just kissed Graham. Stage-kissing cracks me up. I'm surprised they didn't do the finger-over-the-mouth trick. There are no commercial breaks. How am I ever going to pack?
  
• My boss thinks it's funny to respond with "Patience, grasshopper, patience" whenever I e-mail him with a job-related concern.
• We sang "Jingle Bells" at church on Sunday. Thanks, Mom and Dad, for not naming me Jingle. Or "Carol of the."

I must go now. To pack. After the Stratford thing decides to end. Which it might not. Ever.

Unintentionally Amusing

The umbrella is broken. So goes my life.

My haircut is hideous. Again, how completely new an experience for me. I swear, I am not meant for vanity. Joel said he’d give me $10 to shave my head. Tempting. And apparently golden blonde streaks are supposed to blend in my light brown roots with my strawberry blonde ends. I must have failed colour math. I go back tomorrow to fix things. I’m terrified.

A friend from university called last night. As we were chatting about all things career, portfolio, risk-taking, Brian McLaren, The Devil Wears Prada and men (or lack thereof), she stopped me mid-conversion twice to make me write down what I was saying. I don’t usually quote myself (as I don’t usually remember what I’ve said), but since she encouraged me to transcribe my own quasi-amusing observations about my life, I shall share with you my words of greatness:

“I would totally give up film to bake cakes and sew my kids matching outfits.”*

“I shouldn’t spend so much time thinking about my hair. But I do because it’s always bad.”

*I would like to add a footnote to the first quote. I will probably be more of a steamed-veggies-and-Sears-catalogue kind of mother. Kirstie Alley took a break from acting to bake cakes and she ended up in a bikini on Oprah. Not something I aspire to.

And Beth, I wish I had some sort of phenomenal Christmas movie recommendation, but there doesn’t seem to be a clear must-see of the season. Personally, I loved The Prestige and The Departed. Dreamgirls has a lot of Oscar buzz around it, and Letters from Iwo Jima (Clint Eastwood’s counterpart to Flags of our Fathers) just won the top prize at the Critics Choice Awards. So if you’re up for a Japanese war movie (written by Ontario boy Paul Haggis), that might be worth checking out. My brother thinks Casino Royale is one of the best action movies he’s ever seen. And if you want to dance, watch Happy Feet.

I'm scheduled for a conference call with the Philippines at 8 a.m. tomorrow, so now I'm going to watch the finale of Top Chef and go to bed...

Good night, Moon.

Wonders Never Cease

The umbrella is back.

A really sweet girl on the German team borrowed her roommate’s umbrella last week. At the end of the day, she went to bring it home, but realized she wasn’t really sure what her roommate’s umbrella looked like. So she took mine. All is sorted out and forgiven; I ended up having a pretty upbeat day, knowing that tomorrow is going to be rainy and I won’t be wet.

I feel like I should be hosting a “Welcome Home” party or something. An umbrella has never returned to me before.

Yesterday, Today, and....

This morning

Last night, I managed to set my alarm clock for 6pm instead of 6am. Fortunately, I have a slightly functioning internal alarm system and I woke up at 6:44, wondering how much time I had left to doze before the alarm went off (11 hours and 16 minutes, apparently). So my morning was one of franticness, but I am extremely proud to say that I was showered, dressed, presentable (makeup but no blow-dry; I went for the ponytail look), fed (full breakfast and vitamins; breakfast is my non-negotiable), and out the door by 7:20. Yep, I did it. The girl who took over an hour and a half to get ready for high school took 36 minutes to get ready. Of course, I didn’t make my bed this morning. But I never, ever made my bed in high school.

Yesterday

I saw Babel yesterday. I’m still not sure what I think of it. I think it was good. Sometimes I go to movies because I really want to see them, and sometimes I go because I think it’s going to be critically important among the mass of that year’s releases. So I certainly didn’t go to be entertained.

It was long. Literally, yes, it was over two and a half hours, but it happened to feel even longer. And there was something a little off about the pacing of the storytelling at times.

For those of you who know very little of the story (as I did), it’s a multi-narrative piece that explores the confusion of language and culture within three very different stories and geographical areas. There’s the American tourist couple facing death in rural Morocco, the Mexican immigrant nanny (illegal, naturally) trying to make it to her son’s Mexican wedding with her American charges in tow, and the deaf-mute Japanese teenager desperate for sex/love in Tokyo. I don’t really feel like telling you too much about either of these stories as I’m not sure how much would be giving too much away.

The Moroccan story was by far the most captivating. It could have been an entire film in itself. Dad, if you’re reading this, you should probably see the film just for the Morocco scenes. I don’t think much has changed since you were there. Not typically a Brad Pitt fan, I can confidently admit that the man is brilliant in the film. Award-worthy. He is finally in a role that reflects his age (he’s 20 years older than me. I appreciate being reminded of that), and gives him the opportunity to be passionate and rugged and rough around the edges and imperfect and human. And Cate Blanchett is one of the greatest actresses on the planet, so the two of them together were pretty phenomenal. Almost as powerful were the performances of two young Moroccan boys, caught up in an international news story thanks to boyhood curiosity and mischief.

Mexico was also interesting, mostly because you know that the little blond children being scuttled across the border are the offspring of Brad and Cate. I’m usually not a fan of American child actors (the British are far more eloquent and endearing), but these kids won me over. It’s also a story slightly closer to home (literally and figuratively), as I live in a multicultural city and witness the interactions between cultures every day.

Japan was my issue. It felt very redundant. The pacing was a little ADD at times (to capture the essence of the ecstasy/rave scene, I guess), and yet it never really said anything. I was getting frustrated, wanting to shake the girl and break it to her that hearing and speech will not cure her of boylessness. I have always been able to hear and speak and yet boys at raves don’t make out with me either. And the absence of underwear will, I’m afraid, get her some attention one day, but not the kind worth getting. I also didn’t really care that her mom was dead. And then I didn’t like myself for not caring.

I realize that the Japanese story wanted to expose the lost within their own people and culture. The problem was, that against the other two stories, especially the one with Cate Blanchett clinging to her life, I didn’t really care if anyone ever thought the deaf girl was seduction-worthy.

If you have the money and the time, check out two-thirds of the film. Kidding. I give you permission to see it all.

'Tis the Season?

Two things:

1. My umbrella was stolen today. Or it ran away. I hung up my umbrella to dry at work, and at the end of the day, it was gone. Clearly, I have no umbrella skills. I'm not sure if I should take this personally.
2. I'm feeling a little gross. Too much peanut butter and sugar. I wonder how the Martha Stewarts of the world can do their Christmas baking without licking all those spoons. I'm loving the whole domestic thing. Yeah for Christmas. I'd bake instead of subtitle any day.

Off to hang out with my Swiffer. It has been far more faithful than my recent string of umbrellas.

Child's Play

Okay, so a couple blogs back I mentioned that I wanted to embrace my inner child. Here’s what I’ve observed since then:

1. I watched a small gang of children beating up a pylon. Yes, folks, a pylon.

2. While not really watching it this season, I was slightly disappointed that the finale of Dancing with the Stars isn’t a showdown between Joey Lawrence and Mario Lopez. What could be a greater guilty pleasure than a Blossom vs. Saved by the Bell dance-off?

3. I was busy subtitling a mid-nineties non-cool TV show this morning when I got an e-mail from a coworker. For the sake of all involved, I have changed names. The conversation:

Bob: Hey Nadine, do you think Frank’s cute? He called me chicken, so I had to ask.

Me: This reminds me of the fourth grade. Maybe the third. He may have called you chicken, but he's the one who has a buddy doing his dirty work for him...

Bob: Ouch, I guess that's a no, huh?

I then went on to explain that to say no would be cruel, but to say yes would be to imply something. I therefore embraced my right to remain silent and started wondering where I should go for my cootie shot. Do boys ever grow up?

Thought to ponder (for the men out there): Don’t ask manipulative questions like, “Do you think I’m cute?” That puts us in an awkward position. Awkwardness does not evolve into passionate love. It evolves into me ignoring you. Be a man. Take a chance. Read Wild at Heart and then live dangerously. If you don’t have the guts to ask me out, I’m not interested in your little games. The end.

Beyond Dukes of Hazzard

In response to Beth’s comment, I shall blog about TV. Since it is my day job, I watch it all day long. I didn't bother with the obvious ones. You know, the CSIs and Law and Orders. They're reliable standbys when nothing else is on (which is surprisingly more often than you'd expect.) Wendy and I used to spend our Sunday evenings watching Law and Order: CI (more specifically, watching Vincent D'Onofrio), asking ourselves where all the sexy/smart/manly men were. Then we realized we went to Guelph and laughed.

Below are some thoughts and favourites. In no particular order (with the exception of the first one):

1. Lost. It rocks. I was shown the pilot episode in college a couple of weeks before it ever aired on TV, so I like to claim that I was one of its first fans. I’m not usually into the whole sci-fi thing, but this is too well written/acted to ignore. If you’re not into the show, you must rent the first season. Then you will understand. The cast is also pretty. It’s not a prerequisite for great TV, but it certainly helps. Its creator, J.J. Abrams, is my hero (Wrote Regarding Henry and Armageddon, created Felicity and Alias, directed M:I:III. And he's still young. He gets around).

2. Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. My main beef with this show is that it airs at 10 and I like to go to bed then. Unfortunately, the time slot has kept me from catching too many episodes, but from what I’ve seen, I don’t understand why the ratings aren’t fantastic.
• Exhibit A: Aaron Sorkin. The guy who brought us A Few Good Men, The American President, and The West Wing. That Aaron Sorkin. One of the best writers out there. Gotta love those witticisms.
• Exhibit B: I love behind-the-scenes stuff. I know that historically, fans don’t like these kinds of shows, but I’m not Middle America and I do.
• Exhibit C: There’s a Christian character with a job in the entertainment industry. It’s about time. Oh, and I love Matthew Perry.

3. Project Runway and Top Chef. The best reality shows out there. Why? Because they’re about skill, not eating bugs or hooking up. And because I secretly want to be able to design, sew and cook like that.

4. Medium. It’s coming back soon, people. I know this may be a shocker to you (I’m not really into the whole psychic scene), but this show is so well constructed, I can’t help but be sucked in. I would like to nominate the characters for a “Best Family on TV Award”, with a special award going to actor Jake Weber for “Best Husband on TV Ever.” If I was fictional, I would marry him.

5. Numb3rs. Math is sexy. Who knew?

6. Cold Case and Without a Trace. I actually care about the back stories of the investigators. I enjoy crime shows that are character-driven. And they have awesome guest stars (Ele Keats, the love interest in Newsies, and George Newbern, the fiancé in Father of the Bride and an uber-cool Christian actor, were in last week’s Cold Case.)

I haven't caught Heroes yet (I've been told it's the best new show this season). The Nine, from the couple episodes I've seen, looks pretty cool (the flashbacks don't work as well as they do in Lost, though). Ugly Betty, while it's based on a Columbian telenovela, feels too much like a Devil Wears Prada rip-off to me. It's cute, but not all that compelling.

I'm also well-versed in the crappiest television ever produced from the fifties to today. Not all TV watching is voluntary. That's when the element of entertainment is destroyed.

Off to watch TV...

Off to watch more TV...

Wicked

I almost cried last night. And considering I can often be a bit of an emotional stump, this was a big deal. And not a “my life sucks” cry either. I’ll call it a “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” tear.

About a week ago, a friend who used to work in subtitling (but has since seen the light and found employment elsewhere) emailed me. She offered me a free ticket to see Wicked. Yes, Wicked, the show I’ve wanted to see for so long. Unfortunately, since I’ve been broke for even longer, I could never find a way to justify spending $100 on one evening.

We went last night. It was amazing. Absolutely amazing. I sound like Katie Holmes describing her Tom in one adjective over and over, but in my case, it’s completely true and non-creepy. The music was phenomenal (new adjective); the talent was so good it was intimidating. I felt like a 9-year-old version of myself, completely caught up in the magic of the theatre.

For those who know nothing of the show, it’s essentially the untold story of the witches of Oz. The whole concept was carried out so smartly and hilariously. It also managed to challenge perspectives and superficial judgments without becoming a public service announcement. I was ready to see it again the moment it was over. And for one short night, I actually had a life.

The crowded theatre (it’s pretty much a sold-out tour) was on its feet the entire curtain call. And that’s when I almost cried. Because if I was a little girl, I would see that and decide that that was exactly what I wanted to do with my life. That I wanted to be taking that bow. And because I’m not, instead I woke up at 6 and subtitled ‘80s television. I think I realized that I stopped letting myself dream. Somehow I allowed myself to believe the lie that the life I’m leading now is the only life that’s out there for me.

Last night was magical. I’m going to embrace my inner 9-year-old more often.

Scary

I know it's Halloween weekend and all, but tonight I saw something truly terrifying on television.

W-Five did an exposé on a "Christian" cult in Hamilton. As I watching, I thought I saw a familiar face in the congregation. Sure enough, one of my high school friends is caught up in this movement that has convinced her to cut all ties with her family (to the point of telling her younger siblings that she will never see them again).

The "pastor" has twisted the word of God to isolate a congregation of young adults into thinking that not being of the world means turning your back on everyone outside of their group. That leaving is the equivalent of leading others astray, and that it would be better that they die than influence others to follow them leaving. The entire thing was completely disturbing.

It's strange how it took a familiar face to move me, as if these people weren't real until they were actually connected to me. I babysat this friend's younger siblings; her parents are incredible godly individuals.

I'm usually pretty skeptical of secular (esp. television) perspectives on evangelical movements. I saw a program that made Ron Luce look a little insane. But I genuinely believe something very dangerous is going on.

If you read the linked article, you may recognize the name of my friend. Even if you don't, pray. This does not ring true of who God is. And I'm scared for her.

Short Stories

Random string of thoughts for your reading (or skimming) pleasure.

Umbrella

Once upon a time, there was a girl with an umbrella problem. She tried desperately to be faithful to her umbrellas, but time and time again, her umbrellas would fail her. They would break; they would disappear. Determined to not be the source of discord in her relationships with umbrellas, when she met one she liked recently, she committed herself immediately to a one-year live-in experience with it. Apparently, the umbrella was overwhelmed by such an arrangement, and after a few short months, unraveled. If ever she experiences a one-year anniversary with an umbrella, she will invite her friends over to celebrate, with a particularly sentimental song being serenaded by a Mr. Gene Kelly in the background.

When it rains…

The Subway

On my way to church on Sunday, a guy on the subway started talking to me. I take that back. He started talking at me. He wouldn’t stop. It was obvious that the rambling was going to end with him asking me out, but I had a suspicion he might run out of air first. A very truncated version:

Him: Hello. Quite the day, huh? It just keeps raining. At least you have an umbrella. You’ll all over that. Not a problem, huh? But it’s a good weekend. My name’s Malcolm, by the way. What’s yours? (I mutter the truth. I can’t lie on the spot). That's such a pretty name. It really is. What did you do this weekend? Anything special? (I believe I utter a “Not really.”) Oh, that’s too bad. You really should. So….

At this point, I see my brother waiting for me. We go to church together most Sundays. I wave a little too enthusiastically and Malcolm is gone. I mean, utterly and completely out of my life forever. He didn’t know if I was single when he started (good assumption though), nor did he know who Joel was (bad assumption there), but I guess the presence of another guy was enough to drive him away.

Boyfriends

1. Why do only strangers flirt with me? I tend to get asked out solely by men who don’t know me. In fact, a semi-friend once said to me (while stroking my perm in a bar, but let’s not go there) that if he didn’t know me, he’d ask me out. Clearly, I must be greatly lacking in the personality department.
2. In high school, around Valentine’s Day, candygrams were all the rage. And every year, I got nadda. In my senior year, the selected candy was Smarties (also my personal drug of choice). I was sent a candygram. It was from Christian Bale. Fake boyfriends rock.

Baleheads

Yeah, they exist. My friends discovered them online when we were Googling Christian Bale back in the day. I’ve spent many a sleepover singing along to Newsies, swooning over Little Women and tapping my feet to Swing Kids. He is the reason for my nine-year range (It’s really a one-way only thing. I’m not into 14 year olds).

The Prestige

Finally, it’s decent-movie time at the theatres. After loving The Departed last week, I was pleasantly entertained by The Prestige this weekend. I happen to be a pretty big Christopher Nolan fan (and we all know how I feel about Mr. Bale), and while the film reached nowhere near the genius of Memento, it had plenty of twists and turns to keep me captivated. Some thoughts (without giving away any of the plot):

• Christian Bale was brilliant. And complex. It was nice to see real within-the-character conflict without any forced tears or that constipated look that actors tend to give when they want us to see their inner pain.
• Scarlett Johansson is fading into her own hype. She went from dynamic actress to sultry, pouty, corseted wallpaper. Piper Perabo was far better (and prettier).
• Sometimes, filmmakers don’t give an audience enough credit. Some things (including a major plot twist) were explained to death. We get it. I got it twenty minutes before they told me what to get.
• The British actress (Rebecca Hall) rocked. All the other women were Americans with accent coaches.
• Go see it. It’s fun. And it has the whole Nolan-screwing-with-time-while-screwing-with-your-mind element you love. Or should love if you don’t.

Miscellaneous

I made chicken parmesan and an oven omelet this weekend. My new calling is housewife (I believe the ladies on SNL would call it “a stay-at-home non-mom”). I just need a husband and a house.

Enjoy your Tuesday.

The Joy of the Sick Day

Since I spent the past week in various states of illness, I didn’t bother to blog. I barely bothered to breathe, in fact, as it was such an effort. For those who care, I am now happily almost-healthy and quite easily made it through a 10-hour workday today.

I approached this past grossness of being a little differently than I would under normal-Nadine circumstances. I decided to stop needing to be in control and all organized and put together and just accept a temporary life of congestion and weariness. I rented movies. I went to the grocery store in *gasp* sweats and no makeup. I schlepped around my apartment and didn’t even consider cleaning the bathroom (my weekly weekend ritual). And so, despite the fact that I had to cancel an afternoon with Meredith (I’ll make it up, I promise), and that Schindler’s List was possessed and kept skipping huge scenes (Blockbuster will make it up to me, I’ll make sure of it), I managed to appreciate my time being out of commission.

The heat is on in my apartment. By “heat” I mean “sauna.” I actually woke up in the middle of the night with sweaty kneepits (the area behind the knee. I guess it would be “legpits” if you want to be all technical). The temperate situation is strange here. It’s flannel in the summer, tank tops in the winter. Because of the sweltering conditions, I made myself leave yesterday. Still slightly stuffed and out of it, I made it to church (which was a little stranger than usual: the pastor just read the first three chapters of Ephesians. No commentary whatsoever), and then headed to the movies with Joel.

Okay, people. Go see The Departed. It’s the best drama of the year so far. Seriously. And if you hate Leonardo DiCaprio (as most guys do, which is clearly a sign of massive insecurity), you’ll be blown away by how brilliant he can actually be. He and Scorsese make a pretty phenomenal team (see Gangs of New York, The Aviator), and this film is their best pairing yet. The pacing and storytelling was the best I’ve seen in a long time. It’s a long movie that never once felt long. The acting was pitch-perfect: Mark Wahlberg, Matt Damon, Alec Baldwin, Martin Sheen, Jack Nicholson. Man, I would have paid to work on that set. So unless you have a hard time with language or gun violence, go. It’s worth your money. And you probably have more money than me. So your money is worth less than mine.

That is all. I’m reading The Notebook to balance out the organized-crime exposure. The movie is better. That doesn’t happen often.

Seacrest out.

In Sickness and In Health

Of all days, today had to be the crazy we’re-all-gonna-die day on the Danforth line.

I went to bed at 8pm last night. You’d think such a move would allow me to wake up refreshed. No such luck. Instead, I slept in 45-minute segments, tossing and turning and reaching for the Kleenex box all night long.

I spent the day barely breathing, sneezing often. Work was crazy/busy. Did I mention I couldn’t breathe?

I left after 9 hours. The weatherman (with whom I have a love/hate relationship) warned me earlier that it’s going to rain every day this week after today, so despite my congestion, I headed to the grocery store.

It took me two hours longer than usual to get to Food Basics (cheese is cheap this week and nothing was going to stop me). Apparently, someone left a briefcase on the platform of the Donlands station (my station). Of course, all briefcases are packed with explosives, and so five stations were shut down (two on either side of it), choppers flew overhead, and shuttle buses tries to shuffle 7000 commuters through Greektown. Yeah, it sucked.

By the time I got to the grocery store, it was dark and cold and the food was all picked over. I bought too much for my weak little arms to slug all the way home (I’m sick, remember?), but I pretended to be a trooper and managed to not make too many faces as the bags cut into my hands.

I know this sounds whiny. And I hate sounding whiny. And I really did have a pretty great weekend. I just didn’t sleep much, and now I’m suffering the consequences of the lack of zzz’s.

So here’s what I’m thankful for (in no order and by no means conclusive):

• Fresh produce in my fridge
• An awesome family (immediate and extended)
• Hayrides
• Pumpkin pie
• Stephanie letting me sleep on her floor (the basement is evil)
• Dinner at the adult table (finally!)
• A full workday
• Slippers and hot tea
• Sunshine at an outdoor wedding
• My scarf and gloves at an outdoor wedding
• Late-night conversations when I should be sleeping
• Walks in the woods with my grandparents
• Discounted Lego
• Decongestant

I’m off to bed now. If I can sleep. I’m also thankful for my bed. And my Bible. And Jesus. And I happen to be very thankful for that time at the end of the day that I spend sitting in bed, reading my Bible and talking to Jesus. It’s a pretty great combo. I suggest you all try it.