Twenty-eight reasons to be proud of myself:
1. I take vitamins. Ok this first one was just a throaway and more of a reason for my mom to be proud of me.
2. I recycle, buy (mostly) organic produce and am mindful of curbing mindless, unnecessary consumption.
3. I rarely suffer from hormanally-induced rages suffered by those of my gender on a monthly basis. I am consistently logical and rational.
4. While it may be mistaken for workaholicism, I care about my work and go to extraordinary lengths to do it with excellence, regardless the amount of extra time I clock in or the number of people I potentially piss off.
5. I recognize my shortcomings and I know when to apologize.
6. I don't sacrifice style nor comfort.
7. I will hold my ground and stand up for what's right.
8. I care deeply for my family and friends.
9. I laugh for the world to hear. No prissy giggles here.
Ok 28 may be a tall order, so let's just go with the 9 for now and we'll continue this later...haha.
9.8.09
It's 2:48am in the morning and I'm insanely going out of my mind.
I hate it. Uncertainty. Not knowing if it's going to work out, I'm driven to tears. What is "it"? "It" is my life. My sanity. My happiness. The feeling of peace and contentment. It's not there. It's fragmented.... I'd hated on living on just pockets of happiness, fleeting moments, yet here I am back at it again. A feeling that's none too foreign.
I'm speaking having downed 4 martini's. 3 Lemon drops, 1 of something the Bartender had concocted but I'd not remembered. It was irrelevant since the Lemon Drop was far superior. Note to self, when in Fullerton, head to the Matador for good dance music and excellent martini.
Alcohol makes one honest... is this the case? I'd like to think I AM honest. But TRUTHFULLY (ah yes, there in lies the rub) I am not always honest. How can you if you want to be a decent human being?? Nontheless I'm besides myself with confusion and an utter sense of... "god am I ever going to get this right". Will I ever get to where I need to be to NOT have this sense of repetitive failure. Or heartache. The heart ACHES.
I need more Lemon Drops to knock me out cold.
I hate it. Uncertainty. Not knowing if it's going to work out, I'm driven to tears. What is "it"? "It" is my life. My sanity. My happiness. The feeling of peace and contentment. It's not there. It's fragmented.... I'd hated on living on just pockets of happiness, fleeting moments, yet here I am back at it again. A feeling that's none too foreign.
I'm speaking having downed 4 martini's. 3 Lemon drops, 1 of something the Bartender had concocted but I'd not remembered. It was irrelevant since the Lemon Drop was far superior. Note to self, when in Fullerton, head to the Matador for good dance music and excellent martini.
Alcohol makes one honest... is this the case? I'd like to think I AM honest. But TRUTHFULLY (ah yes, there in lies the rub) I am not always honest. How can you if you want to be a decent human being?? Nontheless I'm besides myself with confusion and an utter sense of... "god am I ever going to get this right". Will I ever get to where I need to be to NOT have this sense of repetitive failure. Or heartache. The heart ACHES.
I need more Lemon Drops to knock me out cold.
21.3.09
Should've known better than to see Knowing.
... the irritation runneth over. No more than 30 minutes has passed since I left the local AMC. I'm still seething. I've already soundly run off a string of expletives (as I was exiting the theatre) that I don't normally use in my writing, so this requires a bit more thought and creativity.
This is me at my most creative: "....WTF !?!?!?!"
Some context: I'm a diaster movie enthusiast. I don't analyze them or judge them based on artistic merits, I just like watching things freeze over, buildings burn up, ocean waves sweep over Manhattan or any other metropolitan city, voclano erupting with hot lava floating down wilshire blvd in LA, that kinda thing. Harmless death and destruction where you don't see a single drop of blood on screen or a broken limb. But you know from the wayward palm tree that serious crap must have happened. People don't even usually let out blood-curdling screams let alone a whimper. Shit hits the fan and then some heroic figure rises from the dust and saves the day. Humanity lives on, having somehow changed for the better, or having learned a valuable lesson. They rebuild, ever hopeful.
KNOWING... IS NOT THAT MOVIE.
There was a LOT of screaming and hysterics. A LOT of death and graphic destruction. And then things turned weird and uncomfortable. Whenever I start to actively wonder about a movie while I'm still watching the movie, it's a bad sign. The thoughts roll into questions... from "Where have I seen that before...?" it turns into "where are they going with this... ? to the worse, "No really... are you serious... THAT'S what this movie is about...?!" Granted, when the first creepy guy showed up with the undead-but-not-quite-alive-calvin-klein-model-alien-vibe (SPOILER ALERT!) and pale face, the PSA should've sounded off in the theater... "Evacuate the building now if you're expecting something other than Signs II..." And then you find out Nicholas Cage's character happens to be the son of a Pastor. All bets are off, at this point you're in some Evangelical nightmare and in the end the theme can only become 'rebirth after the death and destruction of failed humanity'. They even put angel wings on the alien beings/light-spirits/things. I half-expected Noah's Ark to float down when the light beams (yes there are light beams) shone down, parting the dark dark evil clouds. I know this particular blog is lacking oh... form? But pardon me as I haven't been this upset with a movie since... Cabin Fever.
I'm sure when I wake up in the morning I will remember that there were good parts to this movie, and I do still like Nicholas Cage and he being the central character, turned out to be the only likeable character - but - what I'm MOST upset by is the feeling that I'd been cleverly CONNED into seeing this movie. Often after having seen a particularly good indie film, I wonder why the producers or those in marketing hadn't trusted the movie's inherent message enough to pitch it to the audience as is, instead of just wrapping it in previews that feature knee-slap soundbites or snippets that ultimately is not at all what the movie is about. Now with Knowing, I think they recognized that they HAD to approach it from a action disaster suspense thriller angle to sell the tickets, and omitted ANY scenes that communicated the underlying themes and overtones this movie swelled into. From solving numerical puzzles and running from diasaster, it slowly became very preachy and overly omnious, aided by a swelling musical score that was constant and grandios (in a bad way) and built upon its sense of self-importance, building and building but never quite resolving or even reaching the apex of what it's trying to reach.
I will say that one of the final scenes with Nicholas Cage waking up to the sun lying on the onyx rocks, was astoundingly beautiful, purely from an aesthetics and cinematographic standpoint. Moments like this are short-lived, and we're quickly jolted back to reality of what this movie had really become as we see the Adam and Eve children (straight from the Bloomgindale's catalog with their organic cotton genderless shirts, soft curls and porcelain faces) gently placing down a pair of cuddly white bunny rabbits and running guilelessly towards the majestic and glowing TREE OF LIFE. The religious symbolisms are not what you would describe as subtle... and all around them you see the other jellyfish-like alien pods lifting off this lush green planet... home, to the next human population.
Yes, this was THAT movie. That OTHER movie.
Had they been honest with their previews, I probably would not be this upset. I would have approached the movie differently, with a very different set of expectations and frame of mind. But as this was not the circumstances under which I shelled over my treasured Costco-purchased discount-AMC-Gold-Tickets, I want my money back and I don't think I'll be alone in my sentiments. My 'prophecy' for this movie: 60% drop in box office returns from opening weekend to the next.
This is me at my most creative: "....WTF !?!?!?!"
Some context: I'm a diaster movie enthusiast. I don't analyze them or judge them based on artistic merits, I just like watching things freeze over, buildings burn up, ocean waves sweep over Manhattan or any other metropolitan city, voclano erupting with hot lava floating down wilshire blvd in LA, that kinda thing. Harmless death and destruction where you don't see a single drop of blood on screen or a broken limb. But you know from the wayward palm tree that serious crap must have happened. People don't even usually let out blood-curdling screams let alone a whimper. Shit hits the fan and then some heroic figure rises from the dust and saves the day. Humanity lives on, having somehow changed for the better, or having learned a valuable lesson. They rebuild, ever hopeful.
KNOWING... IS NOT THAT MOVIE.
There was a LOT of screaming and hysterics. A LOT of death and graphic destruction. And then things turned weird and uncomfortable. Whenever I start to actively wonder about a movie while I'm still watching the movie, it's a bad sign. The thoughts roll into questions... from "Where have I seen that before...?" it turns into "where are they going with this... ? to the worse, "No really... are you serious... THAT'S what this movie is about...?!" Granted, when the first creepy guy showed up with the undead-but-not-quite-alive-calvin-klein-model-alien-vibe (SPOILER ALERT!) and pale face, the PSA should've sounded off in the theater... "Evacuate the building now if you're expecting something other than Signs II..." And then you find out Nicholas Cage's character happens to be the son of a Pastor. All bets are off, at this point you're in some Evangelical nightmare and in the end the theme can only become 'rebirth after the death and destruction of failed humanity'. They even put angel wings on the alien beings/light-spirits/things. I half-expected Noah's Ark to float down when the light beams (yes there are light beams) shone down, parting the dark dark evil clouds. I know this particular blog is lacking oh... form? But pardon me as I haven't been this upset with a movie since... Cabin Fever.
I'm sure when I wake up in the morning I will remember that there were good parts to this movie, and I do still like Nicholas Cage and he being the central character, turned out to be the only likeable character - but - what I'm MOST upset by is the feeling that I'd been cleverly CONNED into seeing this movie. Often after having seen a particularly good indie film, I wonder why the producers or those in marketing hadn't trusted the movie's inherent message enough to pitch it to the audience as is, instead of just wrapping it in previews that feature knee-slap soundbites or snippets that ultimately is not at all what the movie is about. Now with Knowing, I think they recognized that they HAD to approach it from a action disaster suspense thriller angle to sell the tickets, and omitted ANY scenes that communicated the underlying themes and overtones this movie swelled into. From solving numerical puzzles and running from diasaster, it slowly became very preachy and overly omnious, aided by a swelling musical score that was constant and grandios (in a bad way) and built upon its sense of self-importance, building and building but never quite resolving or even reaching the apex of what it's trying to reach.
I will say that one of the final scenes with Nicholas Cage waking up to the sun lying on the onyx rocks, was astoundingly beautiful, purely from an aesthetics and cinematographic standpoint. Moments like this are short-lived, and we're quickly jolted back to reality of what this movie had really become as we see the Adam and Eve children (straight from the Bloomgindale's catalog with their organic cotton genderless shirts, soft curls and porcelain faces) gently placing down a pair of cuddly white bunny rabbits and running guilelessly towards the majestic and glowing TREE OF LIFE. The religious symbolisms are not what you would describe as subtle... and all around them you see the other jellyfish-like alien pods lifting off this lush green planet... home, to the next human population.
Yes, this was THAT movie. That OTHER movie.
Had they been honest with their previews, I probably would not be this upset. I would have approached the movie differently, with a very different set of expectations and frame of mind. But as this was not the circumstances under which I shelled over my treasured Costco-purchased discount-AMC-Gold-Tickets, I want my money back and I don't think I'll be alone in my sentiments. My 'prophecy' for this movie: 60% drop in box office returns from opening weekend to the next.
22.2.09
A Magical Red Carpet Ride...
The Oscars!
Quick question - what's the cut-off age for one to adopt a role model... or four? I'd like to be more like Kate Winslet, Anne Hathaway, Amy Adams and Angelina Jolie. For their respective strength, grace, humility and self-assurance... and let's face it, their hair and make-up team. The same can't be said for the formerly regal Sophia Lauren who for all intends and purposes looked... (fill in the blank because I can't think of the appropriate word).
Slumdog Millionaire - the little movie that won my heart and subsequently and unsurprisingly, the hearts of millions and deservedly so. It was stirring and profound but in such a subtle yet powerful way... I only hope the matter of taking care of the child actors from the slums work out in everyone's favor, can't imagine what it's like to be in their shoes. The kids' interview from the Red Carpet with KTLA's reporters was hilariously giddy and a joy to behold! I hope it makes millions more.
The show itself was spectacular. From the framing of the stage with dripping Swarvokski crystals to the dashing Hugh Jackman who out-Bonded Craig Daniel on this musical night, it was classy and entertaining with moments of sheer comedy - Steve Martin, Ben Stiller, Jack Black, Cuba Gooding Jr. & Will Smith. Low-lights: Jessica Parker's boobs. The aforementioned Sophia Lauren's cooked-up visage. Long speech by cinematography guys. I think that was the category, I had switched over to the Laker-Timberwolve game during that segment. The just as important but doomed to be boring segment.
Quick shout-out to the Lakers. The championship trophy is ours this year barring anymore injuries and Bynum back in the line-up. And could someone PLEASE tell Luk Walton to stop leaving his man open outside the 3-point arch. EVERY GAME!! SERIOUSLY. And ALWAYS WITH HIS ONE TOO MANY PASS! The guy's got mental lapses. It's unfortunate that he's used to the chorus of "Luuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuk" from the fans that he will eventually mistaken the boos for sounds of praise. Just had to let that out of my system.
News Flash: Frances is back on the sports track... it's as if I never stopped watching the games all these years...
The midnight bell tolls. Ok fine, more like the sound of my biological ticking... but which one is more poetic? G'night.
Quick question - what's the cut-off age for one to adopt a role model... or four? I'd like to be more like Kate Winslet, Anne Hathaway, Amy Adams and Angelina Jolie. For their respective strength, grace, humility and self-assurance... and let's face it, their hair and make-up team. The same can't be said for the formerly regal Sophia Lauren who for all intends and purposes looked... (fill in the blank because I can't think of the appropriate word).
Slumdog Millionaire - the little movie that won my heart and subsequently and unsurprisingly, the hearts of millions and deservedly so. It was stirring and profound but in such a subtle yet powerful way... I only hope the matter of taking care of the child actors from the slums work out in everyone's favor, can't imagine what it's like to be in their shoes. The kids' interview from the Red Carpet with KTLA's reporters was hilariously giddy and a joy to behold! I hope it makes millions more.
The show itself was spectacular. From the framing of the stage with dripping Swarvokski crystals to the dashing Hugh Jackman who out-Bonded Craig Daniel on this musical night, it was classy and entertaining with moments of sheer comedy - Steve Martin, Ben Stiller, Jack Black, Cuba Gooding Jr. & Will Smith. Low-lights: Jessica Parker's boobs. The aforementioned Sophia Lauren's cooked-up visage. Long speech by cinematography guys. I think that was the category, I had switched over to the Laker-Timberwolve game during that segment. The just as important but doomed to be boring segment.
Quick shout-out to the Lakers. The championship trophy is ours this year barring anymore injuries and Bynum back in the line-up. And could someone PLEASE tell Luk Walton to stop leaving his man open outside the 3-point arch. EVERY GAME!! SERIOUSLY. And ALWAYS WITH HIS ONE TOO MANY PASS! The guy's got mental lapses. It's unfortunate that he's used to the chorus of "Luuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuk" from the fans that he will eventually mistaken the boos for sounds of praise. Just had to let that out of my system.
News Flash: Frances is back on the sports track... it's as if I never stopped watching the games all these years...
The midnight bell tolls. Ok fine, more like the sound of my biological ticking... but which one is more poetic? G'night.
19.1.09
Jessica Darling - Why Can't I be a Fictional Character?
It's a quiet Monday evening. It's not an ordinary Monday evening as tomorrow morning Americans will wake up to the inspirational call of a new President by the name of Barack Hussein Obama. Before you stop reading, I assure you this entry is not going to be about politics, nor the impending celebration, and I did not type out his full name to make a point, I just think his middle name makes the guy even more of a trip, even cooler than I already know he is. However he tries to dispute it, he's a rock star with a franchise... Yes He CAN Sell A Bobblehead for $9.99! His line of merchandise alone can stimulate the economy.
Back to this being a quiet Monday evening and the subject of this unremarkable entry: Jessica Darling. She's a living breathing fictional character from a series written by Megan McCafferty. She is awesome. I hate her. I wished I was her. How pathetic it is to wish oneself to be a fictional character? One who isn't a super hero, a fashionista, a magazine magnate, a cherubic teacher, a brilliant doctor or a damsel in distress rescued by some hot dude with a heart of gold? Well we can debate the latter, but mostly she's just an uber-brainy socially-detached if not downright awkward drama-ridden hormonal too cool of an 18-year-old (at the end of Book 2 of the series) who keeps a crazy journal. I literally feel like speed-reading through book 3 and 4 so she can shed some light on what I'm supposed to do with my impending thirties. (Book 3 and 4 follows her through college and beyond... I am in the midst of my beyond... which at the moment is in a state of fog with no more than 10 feet of visibility. ) Somehow I blinked and I'm in my late-twenties. Granted, my early twenties was not 'boring'. It would make a terrific case study of what one should NOT do. My 'smartness' (as intelligence had nothing to do with my life, clearly) was my undoing. I wanted to 'make my own mistakes' and I was quite successful and accomplishing this... which is more than I can say for the rest of my lack of accomplishments. I beat myself up at regular intervals which is why I CAN'T, MOVE, ON. Or haven't been able to move on. That's a more hopeful way of looking at it, and being an eternal optimist, there is yet light at the end of this foggy tunnel of beyond.
Now some of you must be saying, "Dammit Frances, just what the hell did you do in your early twenties that you can never get into details about?" Hey do I ask to read YOUR journal? Unless you're a fictional character, no thanks! There's a reason why TMI has become such a popular acronym!
Pick up the book - you must start at the beginning - titled "Sloppy Firsts". Then come back to me and tell me what you think about her. By which time I may have already finished book 3 and 4 and perhaps Jessica Darling would have cast away her demons and mine all in one fell swoop. These books - her journal - would be the best non-self-help book I've ever read. Pinning my hopes on a fictional character? You betcha.
Meanwhile, I will be tuning in tomorrow morning at 8:00am PST to listen to President Obama's (YAY!) speech to the nation... the first President I've successfully elected into Presidency. (OMG!) (Yes 'OMG' can be be used in a ridiculous shallow manner but you must account for the source, or the user of OMG as well as the intended 'usee' whom I suspect are NOT shallow as they are reading this illuminating blog. Wink. I will resort to flattery!)
Happy Inauguration Day. Good riddance Dubya, GOOD RIDDANCE!
Back to this being a quiet Monday evening and the subject of this unremarkable entry: Jessica Darling. She's a living breathing fictional character from a series written by Megan McCafferty. She is awesome. I hate her. I wished I was her. How pathetic it is to wish oneself to be a fictional character? One who isn't a super hero, a fashionista, a magazine magnate, a cherubic teacher, a brilliant doctor or a damsel in distress rescued by some hot dude with a heart of gold? Well we can debate the latter, but mostly she's just an uber-brainy socially-detached if not downright awkward drama-ridden hormonal too cool of an 18-year-old (at the end of Book 2 of the series) who keeps a crazy journal. I literally feel like speed-reading through book 3 and 4 so she can shed some light on what I'm supposed to do with my impending thirties. (Book 3 and 4 follows her through college and beyond... I am in the midst of my beyond... which at the moment is in a state of fog with no more than 10 feet of visibility. ) Somehow I blinked and I'm in my late-twenties. Granted, my early twenties was not 'boring'. It would make a terrific case study of what one should NOT do. My 'smartness' (as intelligence had nothing to do with my life, clearly) was my undoing. I wanted to 'make my own mistakes' and I was quite successful and accomplishing this... which is more than I can say for the rest of my lack of accomplishments. I beat myself up at regular intervals which is why I CAN'T, MOVE, ON. Or haven't been able to move on. That's a more hopeful way of looking at it, and being an eternal optimist, there is yet light at the end of this foggy tunnel of beyond.
Now some of you must be saying, "Dammit Frances, just what the hell did you do in your early twenties that you can never get into details about?" Hey do I ask to read YOUR journal? Unless you're a fictional character, no thanks! There's a reason why TMI has become such a popular acronym!
Pick up the book - you must start at the beginning - titled "Sloppy Firsts". Then come back to me and tell me what you think about her. By which time I may have already finished book 3 and 4 and perhaps Jessica Darling would have cast away her demons and mine all in one fell swoop. These books - her journal - would be the best non-self-help book I've ever read. Pinning my hopes on a fictional character? You betcha.
Meanwhile, I will be tuning in tomorrow morning at 8:00am PST to listen to President Obama's (YAY!) speech to the nation... the first President I've successfully elected into Presidency. (OMG!) (Yes 'OMG' can be be used in a ridiculous shallow manner but you must account for the source, or the user of OMG as well as the intended 'usee' whom I suspect are NOT shallow as they are reading this illuminating blog. Wink. I will resort to flattery!)
Happy Inauguration Day. Good riddance Dubya, GOOD RIDDANCE!
17.11.08
A rallying cry... unheard?
A bulletin posting I put up on MySpace which garnered... zero responses from my friends whom like me, are probably quite weary of ANY Bulletin postings considering most are aimless surveys questioning your preference in beverages or favorite color of crayons. Nontheless, I was quite proud in that moment and of this posting-
Dear friends,
Rarely do I find myself as worked up as I have been over the past few months during the heated election season. Yes Obama will be President Obama much to the elation and relief of us all, but the happiness felt... incomplete. The rights of many of our friends and loved ones here in California were taken away. Their basic right to pursue happiness has been taken away. It's wrong, it's hurtful, it's incomprehensible and it's intolerable. Prop 8 to many was a theory, an idea, something intangible, and therefore impersonal. It didn't matter, because it didn't matter to them. Or it mattered to them for ALL THE WRONG REASONS.
I'm glad to feel this way, to have this passion for a cause, for a cause that's finally not about me. It's for MANY someone else's happiness. I want my friends to know that in their time of need, I'll be there to help them fight the fight, to help them make their presence felt and their voices heard. I'm going to join thousands of others in the streets of Los Angeles... and I hope I'll see you there.
For more info: http://protest8la. wordpress. com/about/
Peace, Love, Happiness & Equality to All -
Frances
"Straight, not narrow"
Dear friends,
Rarely do I find myself as worked up as I have been over the past few months during the heated election season. Yes Obama will be President Obama much to the elation and relief of us all, but the happiness felt... incomplete. The rights of many of our friends and loved ones here in California were taken away. Their basic right to pursue happiness has been taken away. It's wrong, it's hurtful, it's incomprehensible and it's intolerable. Prop 8 to many was a theory, an idea, something intangible, and therefore impersonal. It didn't matter, because it didn't matter to them. Or it mattered to them for ALL THE WRONG REASONS.
I'm glad to feel this way, to have this passion for a cause, for a cause that's finally not about me. It's for MANY someone else's happiness. I want my friends to know that in their time of need, I'll be there to help them fight the fight, to help them make their presence felt and their voices heard. I'm going to join thousands of others in the streets of Los Angeles... and I hope I'll see you there.
For more info: http://protest8la. wordpress. com/about/
Peace, Love, Happiness & Equality to All -
Frances
"Straight, not narrow"
10.11.08
Let there be words... and there was.
I'd like to be a writer. Or an editor. Or a commentator.
I am however, technologically retarded which leaves me ill-prepared to compete in the job market for a job title that now requires, certain technical savvy - which I have none of. All I have are words, which ebb and flow as smoothly as... the stretch of the Los Angeles River which passes through the City of Industry where I work. It does not ebb nor does it flow. It trickles during the rainy season and while it tries mightily to become a river, it never quite resembles a river.
An introduction to me as writer - while I recognize that I have a certain panache with words, I have read 'enough' in my life to understand my limitations and to remain a humble learner and admirer of the English language. I will attempt to enthrall, amuse, or even impress you... but first I have to figure out how to use this thing.
Bon appetit.
I am however, technologically retarded which leaves me ill-prepared to compete in the job market for a job title that now requires, certain technical savvy - which I have none of. All I have are words, which ebb and flow as smoothly as... the stretch of the Los Angeles River which passes through the City of Industry where I work. It does not ebb nor does it flow. It trickles during the rainy season and while it tries mightily to become a river, it never quite resembles a river.
An introduction to me as writer - while I recognize that I have a certain panache with words, I have read 'enough' in my life to understand my limitations and to remain a humble learner and admirer of the English language. I will attempt to enthrall, amuse, or even impress you... but first I have to figure out how to use this thing.
Bon appetit.
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