Movie Joy

I am a movie lover. As a subscriber to Netflix, I get very excited when I see one of the red envelopes poking out of my mail slot. "Yeah, I have a movie!" Usually, because I constantly add and rearrange my queue, I have no clue what movie awaits until I tear open the envelope and reveal the title. About a week ago Dan in Real Life, unknowingly waited for my viewing.

I remember when this movie came out in the theaters. Steve Carell was the big selling point for this movie, and given his success with "The Office" and other movies (Evan Almighty, Little Miss Sunshine, 40-year old virgin) I figured this movie would do well in the theaters. But as soon as I remember it coming out, it was gone. Yet, I clicked "add" and here it was, entering my DVD player.

As soon as the light, simple, kinda goofy-smiley feeling music of Sondre Lerche provided Dan (Steve C.) as he hops out of bed with "Yep, okay!" and begins the first scene of his widowed, single dad of 3 girls life, I knew I was going to dig this movie. A stellar, yet subtle cast (Juliette Binoche, Dane Cook, John Mahoney, Dianne West, and so on) was so inviting as the movie is based on the annual family get together at the grandparent's house. All seems like it will be a normal, loud, story and food-filled weekend until Dan meets Marie (Binoche) at a local bookstore, has one of those "I can't believe I'm telling you all this when I just met you" conversations, only to find out that she is...well, I won't give it away, though any previews you read may do just that, because I think this part is one of the best.

Steve's knack for perfect timing and add-libbing dialog ("This corn is like an angel") had me laughing out loud. Something I don't often do. The premise is that this movie is just like "real life," and we all know that most movies don't really pull that off. However, this one felt just like home and I imagine others would feel the same way. I watched it twice, all the special features and commentary, and purchased music from the soundtrack (Lerche is pretty much the main music guy and purposefully so). So rent it, Netflix it, whatever you do, go watch this movie. *Insert picture of me and two thumbs up

Writing Dilemma

Now that I have been trying this whole blogging thing for a while, ideas for potential blog topics zip through my mind all the time. Interesting to experience. Of course, given my short-term memory and inability (or desire) to be constantly connected, I forget them just as quickly as they zipped into consciousness. Here are some that have vied for some virtual space on Write to Enlight (obviously, none have made it there quite yet):

- Dan in Real Life: a review of a movie that made me laugh outloud. I think I officially love Steve Carell. This one will happen.
- Writer's block: for this article I'm working on...blah, blah, blah...what's new?!
- Guilt of a teacher: how we reconcile the "summer" and how we are off, but not really. Might be interesting.
- Taking care of yo' house: how and why I let various things in my apartment sit in a corner since I moved in Dec. No more!
- Sister love/hate: post lil sis graduation, week at home, realization of what it is really like to have a sister. Who knew? This one may be too personal for this space, though.

We'll see which ones make it! I just realized that in the time it took to write this blog entry about potential blog entries, I actually could have composed one. Aw shucks...

Story time at the dentist

I don't know. Maybe it's just me, but when I think of going to the dentist, story time does not come to mind. There are several service/appointment situations where I don't expect a lot of chit-chat conversation, but totally understand why it happens and why the service provider feels obligated to carry on a dialog of sorts. For instance, a haircut. Makes complete sense that a hairdresser sees fit to engage me in some sort of "are you from here?" or "what do you do?" conversation as he/she clips away. I'm sitting there, staring at myself as bits of hair brush my face . She's there staring at me as well, causing the bits of hair to brush down my face. Conversation, again, while not necessary, does seem appropriate and logical to make staring situation less awkward.

Another example, a massage. Now, this gets tricky and I fluctuate on conversation in this social service situation. On the one hand, good communication is often key to a good massage. I am appreciative of questions like "is that the right trouble spot?" or "would you like more pressure?" because it makes me feel like my needs are being met. On the other hand, I more often than not simply want to soak in the worldly nature music, soothing touch, and drift off into a silent oasis with Ms. Tara (that's my girl at Massage Envy...divine!).

So in most cases, while I am perfectly comfortable with silence, I can see a place for some sort of conversation. But this morning I was confronted with a situation that greatly perplexed me: a dental cleaning. We all know what that looks and feels like--mouth wide open with various metal objects and sucky things poking and prodding your teeth and gums. In no way shape or form would I consider this an appropriate situation for chit-chat, not to mention that it is physically impossible. Well, not only did my hygienist think it was appropriate to carry on and on about anything and everything in her life--her 9 yr. old and his political inquisitiveness, her 5 yr. old and her upcoming Build-a-Bear birthday drama, her boyfriend who is currently on a trip to Prague with his MBA students--but she paused, asked questions, and fully expected me to enter the conversation with her. Huh? Did I miss something?

But, in case I was curious, I now know what it is like to say the following with dental objects in one's mouth:
-- "Isheathenglishsheathers" = I teach English teachers.
-- "O. Idonaveanyshidren" = No. I do not have any children.
--(In response to 9 yr. old aspiring politician parts of her story) "A a. At'sunny" = Ha ha. That's funny.

What I really wanted to do was grab her hand and say, "Thank you so much for the polite discussion, but I actually CAN'T talk with that big metal hook in my mouth. So can we just get on with? Thanks!"

A little slice of hell in "The Golden State"

Picture yourself on vacation. Enjoying great food and company, taking in beautiful scenery, relaxing by the pool, and so on. What better way to enhance your vacation then to stop off for a little outlet shopping, right? Enter the experience of what I now deem "a little slice of hell on earth," a.k.a. Cabazon Outlets in Cabazon, CA. Don't be fooled by the picturesque desert mountains in the background. Oh, how the best made plans quickly foil! Here is a breakdown of the experience (and there is a silver lining, thankfully):

1. Enter the compound. Yes, it is a "compound;" as Frank, my partner in crime and driver (bless his little heart), can attest, one becomes sucked into the vacuum of psychotic consumerism upon entering the grounds of the Cabazon Outlets and slowly loses his/her sanity, soul, and sense of all things rationale.

2. Parking takes an act of the cosmos. As we zoomed, bobbed, and weaved our way through lot after lot--paved AND dirt, mind you--for a solid 30 minutes, we were about to give up. But my lovely driver was persistent. We took one final pass, and my eagle eye spotted some folks leaving a sort-of parking space train that had formed along the sidewalk. One quick and illegal U-turn later, with me encouragingly saying "do what you gotta do, I want that spot," we finally parked and made our way to the stores.

3. Walking. After maybe 3.5 minutes of trying to walk to one of only three stores we actually wanted to go in, Frank declared, and I concurred, that if a person comes to a dead stop in front of you in a crowd that resembles Times Square during the holiday season, you would be perfectly in your rights as a human to push them straight to the ground and then demand an apology for their apparent stupidity. Without much discussion, we moved to walking on the edges of the parking lot because we didn't think the rest of the crowd knew about our said rights. And violence and shopping really shouldn't mix.

4. Stores turn into clubs.

Shana: "I could use a new pair of jeans."

Frank: "Ya know, True Religion usually has great jeans."

Shana: "Cool, let's check it out." [Frank and Shana pause in front of store, look to their right and see what appears to be a line, look back and forth between store entrance and line.]

Shana (stunned): "Is that a line to get in??!!"

Frank: "Um, yeah, let's go."

That's a new one for me folks, waiting on line NOT to get into a snazzy new club but to buy trendy jeans. Wow.

5. Silver lining. Despite the crazy parking situation, despite the lack of walking etiquette, despite witnessing the ridiculous price consumers are willing to pay to simply enter a store, Frank walked away with a fly new Puma track jacket and I snagged some cool Puma sneakers and a quite sassy pair of Guess, peep-toe heels...all for a grand total of about $80 bucks.

And that's why we go to outlet hell--to test our abilities to stay sane amidst parking obstacles, our tolerance for mass quantities of humans all with about 100 different agendas, and somehow persist in order to find fabulously cheap new gear!

Baseball...and Babies?

I had not arrived in my home town for more than 3 hours when confronted with the question, "You got any kids?" As my brain asked, "I'm sorry, what," my head simply shook left to right and I slowly replied, "Nope, free as a bird, actually."

Now let me contextualize this most random question that I'm still laughing about this morning. My brother, 13 yr. old K, had a baseball game. It was a classic N.C. Wednesday evening setting: sun going down and a chill in the air, my dad in the dugout operating as the "assistant coach," my sister (18 yr. old J) and I wading through the front row inhabitants of the otherwise empty bleachers (they got there early so they could "get the good seats, dang it"), and a smattering of other parents, grandparents, girlfriends, coaches of other sports just there to say "hey" all dispersed in lawn chairs that are nicer and come with more amenities than my apartment. With Zaxby's chicken boxes, Pepsi bottles, and toys to entertain the younguns, the spectators were ready. Baseball games, even at this age, are long events. This leaves plenty of time for catching up with folks; thus, the conversation began that led to the previously mentioned question. My stepmom was chatting with a man I didn't know, but knew my family and thus knew me (you know how that works...people who know everything about you because your family tells them everything). The obligatory chat about how the kids are doing proceeded, and he turns to me, eying me and trying to decide if this gal who dwarfs my stepmom is J (my little sis) or me, the oldest that everyone knows about but rarely sees. After a quick confirmation that I was the oldest and, mind you, no other questions about where I live, what I do, nothing, I get "You got any kids?"

Of course he meant nothing by it, but don't we generally ask questions of folks we don't know in an attempt, even if just out of politeness and to abide social norms, to get to know them better? If this is true, I can't help but wonder why the kid question was what he deemed to be the question to ask next and get to know me better. Being obviously of parenting age, yet super single and a non-parent defined me in that moment for him. And that was it. I guess it just gave me a weird jolt because, in my world, there are so many other things that define me, which I'm perfectly content with. Yet, he seemed to, in a fleeting moment, make me feel oddly deficient in some way.

Hate when that happens.

The simple things

There are few things that make me happier than a good beer. I have loved Newcastle for quite some time now, attributing the start of my love to a course in England during the summer of 2001. Coming out of an undergraduate career at ECU leaves one with a, um, limited understanding of beer. Then I landed in Stratford, England and a delectable assortment of brown and frothy choices forced me to learn more than just Portia's lines from Julius Caesar. Old Speckled Hen, Boddingtons, Fullers, and the educational list goes on. I left the country, but vowed to take my new education with me.

When I returned home, I couldn't wait to sip a little England now and then and recall all my wonderful British memories. One problem: local watering holes were a bit more reflective of my ECU bev choices than my Stratford and London choices. Alas, I soon discovered the likes of Connolly's and RiRa's, Big Ben's and Sir Edmund Halleys. Newcastle and, a new Irish addition, Guinness became my official bevs of choice because they were the two most widely available on tap in these lovely establishments. And there is nothing better than these two loves on tap. I would have it no other way. A good Guinness pour is like a work of art. Heck, when done properly, you can create finger art in the beautiful chocolate head billowing over the edge of your pint glass. A Newcastle is different, but just as glorious--refreshing and clean.

Yet, I wasn't happy with this limited relationship. I wanted to have the choice of walking to my fridge to sample my new loves now and then.

In an effort to be more widely enjoyed, Guinness has attempted to deliver it's wonderfulness in alternative forms (can and bottle), which is noble but just not the same as a wood bar top and a fresh pour. Newcastle, on the other hand, has always had a bottle version. I had grown accustomed to the bottle version. Good. Satisfying. However, as with any relationship, it often becomes hard to make things "new," but my love has found a way to do just that.

Enter Newcastle cans.

A fellow Newcastle lover and I, a brisk N.C. night on a porch, and a new joy emerged. The can offers a whole new layer to our now 7 year relationship. Through some experimenting, I recommend putting the sleek six-pack (currently $6.50 at the HT) in the freezer for a bit to truly enjoy and honor the "serve cold" logo.

Most of the time, "beer in a can" is just that. Yet, I have discovered a whole new meaning to the term as I held this perfectly shaped black can and savored the as-close-to-tap product inside. Chalk this one up to the list of simple things that make me smile. I will put this one right next to my fav jeans and fav "Have a Coke and a Smile" t-shirt. Ahh....

A long time coming

In an effort to revamp some writing in this space, I'm titling this entry "A long time coming." There are many things that are "a long time coming" in my life right now. Some I haven't realized until this very moment, so forgive me for this slightly self-therapized entry.

A long time coming...

Rest: true rest for not only my body, but my mind and spirit as well. How do we get to this point of being so extended, so stressed, so exhausted that we don't function unless we're go, go, going 90 mph? I get to a point of not being able to say "no" for fear that I won't be perceived as a hard worker. If I don't go to every function, if I don't take on every project, then I'm not a good person, teacher, professional, etc. Ridiculous. I'm over it. I am breathing, consciously enjoying a time of rest that is a long time coming.

Realization: I could argue that all of my entries have something to do with "realization," but, as of late, my understanding of realization has been on a new level. I've received some life-realizations. Realizations of where home is/is not, of what I want, of who I am. It's nice. It's a long time coming. I am thankful.

Confidence: as a self-proclaimed independent and confident woman, I didn't realize how non-confident I have been living my life. Recent experiences of being surrounded by those who love me, laugh with me, appreciate various aspects of me (that haven't been seen in a while), were nothing short of spiritual bliss. A beaming and truly confident me has been a long time coming.

Me: it is both a sad and happy moment when I realize how un-me I have been and for how long. Ugh. The saddest part is that I didn't know. I didn't know that I haven't been sharing my giant Jolie-esque smile. I didn't know that I haven't been affectionate, loving on those I love. I didn't know how much I have been hiding, down-playing, hesitating. Now for the happy part of this: I'm back. Inexplicably and effortlessly, the me I had forgotten is back. Sassy, sensual, simple me is back. Can I get an amen...hmm, now that has been a long time coming!

A long time coming, all this has been. A long time to stay, I hope this will be.

Sometimes it's so nice to meet yourself again.