remodel.

First, in screenwriting news, if you haven't read Scott Myer's round table with Hollywood's newest screenwriting darlings, go there now.

I'm sprucing up the old blog. I'm looking for something a little more "serious and career-driven writer" and less "PAISLEY! SONG LYRICS!" I've been working on a Wordpress blog all week, and I think it's almost time to put a sign in the window here and head out. (Mind you, "working on the blog" is, to me, rearranging my side widgets into the optimal order. It's not like I'm doing actual coding or anything.)

Step 3 of my 5 step blog move was to import all my old blog posts. As a writer, it's incredibly difficult to give up what you've written and start with a clean page, even if you do want a clean start. That is what I thought, at least, until I started going back and reading some of those old posts.

I've had this blog since 2004, people. Eight years. And I will be honest and frank with you and say I was downright mortified by some of those old posts, what I had written and clearly how I was acting. Yikes. Obviously, I had an inability to keep my personal life out of my blog (er, just skip the below post entitled "romancing") -- or maybe I thought I was writing a LiveJournal. So I decided that I'd leave some of those chronicles here. I want a writing focused blog, so I only took from January 2007, when I started the screenwriting program at Michigan, and on.

Today I am super grateful for growing up -- at least a little. And now I'd like to share with you some song lyrics that recently have been making me all misty-eyed--

Ridin'

The absolute hands down no questions asked WORST thing about being an adult is the amount of paperwork and admin crap you have to do. This is generally how I feel about responsibility --

Hyperbole and A Half: This is Why I'll Never be an Adult

But today I went to the "secretary of state" as they say here in Michigan [DMV for us word lazy East Coasters] and registered my Taurus. The amount of annoying work that goes into your registering your car seems ridiculous, but now the Taurus is insured, registered, plated, and ready to drive.

I have a Michigan license plate on my car. It's so weird.

Out with the Old

One of the unspoken agreements between my parents and I when I moved back in was, I think, that I could live here rent free as long as when I moved out I did something about the gov't grade storage mess I have upstairs in the attic. To give you a picture of what a disaster zone it is up there, let me just say that for each time I have moved, I've put at least one box - usually more - in the attic --

The time we moved from one NJ house to another. The time I moved from Indiana to England. The time I redid my room after coming home from Michigan last summer. When I came back from camp. And the time I moved from Michigan back home. Those are the ones I remember. I have more stuff in the attic than I do in my room.

This weekend I started - not finished, just started - the long, arduous process of making that mess disappear. Or at least get it better organized. Going through boxes, redistributing, marking what's in each and, come July, where each should be. Still in the attic, in Michigan with me in my sublease, in Michigan in storage until I get my apartment in the fall. This is actually really difficult to do, not only because my thrifty family has instilled in me a gag-reflex to throwing out anything I might one day need or use, but because of the number of things that held sentimental value.

I'm a sentimental person. That doesn't really surprise anyone, does it? I went through boxes and boxes of things that held incredible importance for me at one time or another. I found my childhood jewelry box with a set of costume jewelry rings from Lord and Taylor that can only fit on my pinky now but were probably my most valued possession when I was eight. I have a box for high school yearbooks and awards and stories. Letters I received from when I was involved in the Adopt a Soldier project. Letters I never sent. A whole box of CDs (those I threw out pretty easily. Especially since mostly they were just empty cases of albums already on my computer). Fliers from the short film I was in at Michigan. The tiara I wore to the Winter Banquet my sophomore year in high school. My Miss America sash from England. The gnome air freshener my friend from camp sent me. Books, pictures, and boxes and boxes and boxes of notebooks. I'm starting to believe that I was never more prolific than I was between the ages of twelve and nineteen.

What to do with all this stuff?

"Digitize," my brother said. Except that doesn't work with most 3D objects.

I threw away a lot of it. Relatively. I mean, no matter what sort of emotional value it has, what good is it if it's going to spend most of its time in a box in the attic? Still, it was crazy difficult throwing some things away, even if they were as insubstantial as a piece of paper. I'm not the sum of my stuff, but my things certainly come from a part of me.

And it was overwhelming. But it was also sort of cool. Because I've lived a lot of places, and I've met a lot of people. And it's true that not all of those people are still in my life, but it's also true that I've been doused in an insane amount of love.

I threw out those magazines I discovered with interviews with Hayden Christensen. He's still hot, but they're about a decade old and they made me feel like a creep.

It was my birthday.

This was my first time being home for my birthday in five years. Actually, that's not even technically true, because I was technically in Virginia Beach for my birth-date. And I was sorta just going to dismiss it. But my mom found an Irish pub restaurant that had Irish music on Sundays, so last week instead of watching football (it very nicely worked out to be on a day without a football game. Elsewise who knows what we would have done) we went out to dinner. I requested "Galway Girl" from the musicians, the only, erm, "appropriate" Irish song I know. It was kinda like this --


Except instead of Gerard Butler it was two adorable Irish gentlemen who'd come over to America to escape the potato famine. And instead of young twenty-something native Irishfolk the patrons were families or other elderly Irishmen and women who had a surprisingly aggressive presence on the dance floor. My nephew wouldn't dance for fear of being trampled.

Then we went home for cake and ice cream. Now you must understand that growing up, we always had pretty extravangantly decorated cakes. We had castles and trains and scenes from Star Wars. My mom tried very hard to either fit the theme of the party or to have our cake symbolize something that had been important to us in the past year. When we got home, my sister informed me that I'd have to decorate my own cake. I enjoy all things baked and delicious, so this wasn't a problem.

First she pulled out a sheet cake. Then she started making the icing. When I walked into the kitchen, it was a lovely gray color. At this point I was really thinking it had something to do with second graders and education, like they were going to make me do simple math on my cake and send me into the shakes out of anxiety. But no, I was instructed to wash my hands thoroughly, which I did, and the cake was set before me. And then I got to do this --


I stuck my hands on the icing --


I signed my autograph --


And I had my very own edible piece of Hollywood legacy. Screenwriters only make Grauman's Chinese Theatre if they're also directors or stars, but I got a chance to practice just in case. My family did pretty well, didn't they?

Lipstick Jungle

Dude.

I had a rough day at work yesterday. And the weird thing is, it didn't really happen until after 3:00.

Let's just say there's a hot button issue at work right now. On the two sides of the issue, I happen to be in the minority group. And everyone knows because at a meeting one day I very publicly and very articulately expressed my concerns with the majority. Well, apparently I've become the occasionally leisure topic. Kinda weird, finding out people are talking about you and not to you. Kinda weird, not being able to ask questions and investigate (which could, you know, change my mind) because of the simple fact that I'm already suspicious to the majority. I was so perturbed that I ate a bowl of ice cream, not even because I wanted it, but because I desperately hoped that the influx of chocolate would work its emotional magic.

Anyway, today wasn't so bad, and people don't really worry me because the people I work closely with understand where I'm coming from, I think. But it's given me a lot to think about, the juxtaposition being standing up for yourself against keeping your head down and going with the flow. Is the likelihood of change alter the worth of the risk? Do you stand up for yourself on principle, or do you only risk it when it might actually make a difference? What does that say about your character?

I've been bold in a couple situations over the past week or so, and none have turned out exactly rosy. But the same reason that convinced me to stand up at the meeting in the first place still convinces me that I've been making the right choices. I'm setting precedents for myself. If I hadn't of stood up in front of a hundred or so people and publicly branded myself as unpopular, maybe I wouldn't of had the guts to demand more respect in my relationships this past week. It was terrifying, and my legs were actually shaking and I talked too fast, but I think it made me different than the girl who could have just sat back and let all her frustrations and questions go unanswered as the few bold minority got pounded. So talk away, people.

Just make sure I have some Scrubs reruns and a pint of ice cream.

So Saturday is my birthday. That's, you know, fun. My birthday hasn't always had the best of luck. One year when I was a kid our car was stolen on my birthday. And last year, well.

This year Firefighter Friend, High School Friend L, her husband, and I are all going down to visit other High School Friend S and her husband. Yay, the beach in winter! But seriously, I'm always excited for a good roadtrip and good times with friends.

When I was younger I thought 23 was a clutch year. If you weren't on your way to making it by the time you were 23, you weren't going to make it at all. My opinion has changed slightly, as I am now turning 24 (gracious, mid-20s!). On the flip side, though, I was at an interview the other day where I was asked about my five year plan.

"Well," I said, "I'm turning 24 this weekend. I hope to start my film career by the time I'm 26."

Two more years to pull myself together, right? All well and good, except - I spent 5 years getting this diploma. How many years does it do nothing more than hang on my wall?

Questions for another day. This birthday, it's going to be roadtrips and friends and fun.

Joshua Radin said it best

My family left for Florida yesterday morning, and while I've hardly been alone in the past 48 hours, there is definitely a different feel to the unusually empty house. Why didn't I go to Florida with them? you ask. Especially since they took the car you usually drive, leaving you virtually stranded in New Jersey? I didn't go to Florida because my best friend and I are going to Vegas and LA. Glorious, glorious.

I've never been this far out west before, and I'm very excited about traveling to these new cities. Going to LA will be an especially interesting trip. We plan on doing mostly touristy things (I really would love to go to the Magic Castle, home of the Academy of Magical Arts, but apparently it's very exclusive and by invite only. So if anyone can get me hooked up with three invites.. ;) ), but LA may be my future home one day. LA and I are going for a test drive.

I feel like I think about next year all the time, which is especially weird because no matter how much I think about it now, no real decision will be made until this summer. I am pretty much split equally three ways about what to do when I move out of my parents' house this summer--

1. Stay in the area, get the nicest crappy studio apartment I can afford, and get a job that will be able to cover my rent, student loans, and car insurance paycheck by paycheck. Oh, and groceries. Or maybe I'll just alternate nights between my parents' house and my sister's.

2. Move back to Michigan. Cost of living is a little lower there, and most of my friends are still in the area. We'll see how the film industry weathers the winter.

3. Ditch all I've known and move some place new. New Mexico if I want to pursue a film job. Anywhere else if I decide I don't mind what my day job is.

Here's the break down -- Jersey offers some semblance of financial security. My current job loves me, and I might have another option to pursue. Michigan guarantees easily accessible friends. Most of my friends in Jersey live at least a half hour away. Stumbling block to a lot of my spontaneous social activity ideas. Option number three, the anywhere option, guarantees adventure, if only from the looming giant of my student loans as I settle into a new state with no friends and no job.

Financial security, friends, or adventure.

There's a greater plan that needs to be considered here. Unfortunately, I don't yet have that sort of lifetime concept for my life yet. If I want to be able to move to Europe, I should probably focus on financial security now in order to have adventures later. If I desperately need a change now, I can be a little riskier in my decision for next year even if it fetters me financial in the future. On the other hand, if I don't know what I want to do next year, how can I consider where I want to be in five years? Or ten? What about the people in my life? If I move back to Michigan, that will alter where I am in five years. So will picking up and moving to a place where I meet an entirely new set of friends. There can be one goal -- putting a priority of friendships -- with radically different outcomes.

What to do, what to do.

Sometimes I miss that time in college when you feel like you have the whole world waiting for your graduated entrance just as eagerly as you are. There was something different about those options. There was less ambiguity.

And then there are so many options. When you don't mind taking risks, you sometimes get confounded by lack of eliminated options.

Who knows though? This greatly anticipated trip to Vegas and LA may change everything. After all, my friends always said I would be the one to elope...

coconut creme cupcakes

I can't sleep.

I'm lying in bed at home (and by this home I mean my parents' house), listening to Coldplay and Damien Rice and over thinking. I think it's culture shock. Too many people growing up, leaving home and coming home, going on adventures, doing nothing. I stood on the beach yesterday and felt like I was fifteen years old. Today I felt old enough to start thinking about settling down and whispering suggestions about starting a family. I teeter every time I lose my sense of balance. I've had so many perfect moments in the past couple of weeks. Finding out how to show I care about the one I secretly care about, toasting to friends and true love and difficult times around the camp fire, wandering up and down the beach of the boundless lake with the most wonderful people, flying into the City at night so close to the buildings I could practically see the people in Times Square. Finally watching the season two finale of the Office.

And this is a sort of perfect moment, too. It's awkwardly unsettling, this quiet moment when I'm just thinking about life, because despite all the perfect moments, you have to deal with all the imperfect ones as well. And, maybe I'm just a little bit strange, but thinking about these things conjures pictures in my mind, not of my own life but of some other one, someone else's story, and the stories I make up are about me but they're about someone else. I used to think it was a great insult to say that you can see the author in a story, see how they've inserted themselves. I still think there takes a certain amount of craftsmanship to conceal your tracks, but now I believe that the stories with the most heart are often written when they come from the author's true heart, from the experiences and joys and pains held there, the invisible story teller whispering, "Don't you see the truth in this? Don't you feel it yourself?" I believe the reason that I love The 4:05 so much is because I wrote it trying to answer a question I was struggling with at the time and the answer I found there gave me hope. And as I lay here, unable to sleep, thinking about the big questions in my life right now is the same as thinking about the stories I would like to write. They are inexorably tied.

I was watching the director commentary of Walk the Line on the plane today, and writer/director James Mangold talks about how the characters and the actors are just real people, how beautifully the sincerity of the story plays. I've hardly written anything, really. But I think that the stories I will write over the next fifty years will be about real people as well. They will be about Real Me. Maybe, if I spin them with enough craft, you will see how they are about Real You, too.

As my dear H. D. Martin once said, sometimes there is only truth - and there is beauty yet in that.

God bless the Queen and save America

Last week was my one year anniversary of arriving home from England. I tried to make it commemorative. I wore my English gear, shared a pint of cider with a friend, and had a cup of tea while watching a British movie. I also ended up going through my photobucket page, skimming through all my pictures. It did make me miss England, but life is good.

The day I came back from England was also the day that my parents handed me my letter from Michigan. It was a pretty emotional moment, even though we all knew what it probably said. It demanded a decision of me, when all I had to do previously was hypothesize. Sometimes I feel like my time in England was a pause button in my life. I was leaving one school and going to a different one, trading one life in for the other, and while I was in England I was making those decisions about what I wanted my new life to be.

My life has been a little disjointed, at least geographically, and it makes it easy to look back and see how things have changed. Sometimes I think people don't stop and reflect back enough. So much has happened in the past year. My life is so vastly different from what it was or from what I thought I wanted it to be. You lose things and gain new things. You lose contact with old friends and make new ones. You buy new clothes, get new haircuts, get new names. You struggle with different things, and you grow in new ways. I wish people would stop and take more time to recognize these things, to look back and see how they've changed and evaluate where they are, if they are living the life they want, if they are where they want to be.

This is not where I thought I would be. It's not all that bad. : )

Plan B

I was walking with a friend the other day, talking about our (collective) futures, and he was referencing me and another friend, saying, "Honestly, I just don't see you two going in the same direction."

In the past year or so I've found this both a frustrating and amusing comment. Frustrating because I think to say it, people have to make huge assumptions that most people are really not qualified to make about another person. Amused because if they know where my life is heading, I do wish they'd tell me.

I've learned that while long term plans are a good idea and practical, it's also very practical to make sure that you're aware they will probably change. So when people ask me about my post graduation plans, they go somewhat along the lines of "Well, I think I'll probably move to California... and we'll see what happens..." (After a friend A. laughed at me, I've stopped including the preceding "If I fall in love and get married and have a reason to not go to California...") To be honest, California is my Plan B. In my chosen career path, that's a bit frowned upon. People expect you to sell your soul for a chance in this industry. Screenwriter Billy Ray (Shattered Glass, Breach) came by the other week and talked with us, and he talked about getting an Oscar, how badly he wanted one, and not just one but several, and his intensity was riveting and a little disturbing. That's the passion expected of people in the film industry. But do you really want to spend your life chasing after a little golden man? I mean, I will definitely want one, and strive to produce work deserving of one, but it's all part of Plan B, you know?

What's Plan A? I don't know. I'm leaving it open. Because moving to California and becoming a struggling filmmaker who lives in a cardboard box on the beach, that can't be it, you know? It's not a bad, plan, really, and I can definitely see components of it in the ambiguous Plan A. But I'm just being cautious. I've already had the opportunity to learn, at age 20, that your career isn't everything. And so I can't make it Plan A.

I'll Slice Your Life

It's weird the way your first impressions change - or don't.

I've had the privilege of making "home" a place where I had previously had only a handful of isolated memories. When I first moved here, most places were associated with my previous memories of them. But things change, and I can remember how I used to view certain aspects of campus - I even remember things that were gone before I made this campus home, like the tree stump with the brick wall in it they tore out to make room for the museum addition - and sometimes it makes me smile, how different my perspective was. Campus used to see so big and intricate - and it still is, but now it's familiar too. It's funny the way memories are retained and yet perspective can change, almost like there are two versions of a place, and the way sometimes you can see both of them at once. Some places don't change, though. Places I don't visit frequently, even a couple I do, still have the exact same impression on me as they did three years ago. I don't mind, necessarily. With a memory as bad as mine, it's nice to have some strong memories. It's just weird and interesting, at least to me, the way people's perspectives can shift and change.

Sounds like a great theme to build a story on to me. : P

"Brighter than Sunshine" is my new favourite song

I'll slice your life...

One week up at camp this summer, we got into a discussion about difficult times during Bible Ex. My kids would pretty much unanimously agree that God would allow hard times to happen to a person, but they would say that He would *cause* a person to go through bad times. I tried to point out the flaw in this logic. If God knew that going through hard times would make a person better, and so allowed them, why would He not cause them if He knew the result would be good? When I asked another staff members what they thought, I found they would initial take the same position as my campers, though sometimes discussion would show they thought God might cause difficult times, though not trials that were the result of sin because God couldn't associate with evil.

In C.S. Lewis's book "The Problem of Pain," he talks a lot about God's love and how He can and will use pain to make us become more Christlike. And part of me just wants to accept an image of God who doesn't force us to go through hard times, but who simply uses the hard times we put ourselves in or the trials we are pressed with to create good in our lives. But really, I can't believe that. It doesn't make logical sense, for one. I would hope that a God who would allow a difficulty to happen to make me a better person would also cause it if He needed to. But more importantly, I can look back in my life and see how He dismantled it just to put it back together again. I think if God hadn't intervened, things would have gotten even worse in my life. It's like, some people think of how parents will have "tough love" for their children. But it's more perfect than that. Hard times are ok as long as you choose to believe that.

It's not necessarily an easy choice to make.

It's a funny feeling when you realize that the dreams you once had aren't going to be the ones you live out (and it's okay).

I hope you know

Have you ever had your perception radically changed? Completely, irrevocably, dangerously changed? People like to live in the middle. There are some things I just can't do that on. What do you do when what your heart tells you to do conflicts with what everyone else tells you to do? What if those people are people you trust and love? Do you ever break your resolve and back down? What if no one wants you to be extreme anyway?

Some things just matter too much. But people don't understand why you wouldn't want to play safe...

This isn't about writing

This has been on my mind the past couple of days or so; maybe someone can help me out. Forgiveness is pretty integral to the Christian faith. Sort like, we're commanded to do it. Which sounds sorta tough at first, but, well, when you've been forgiven for so much, it's not so hard. Or it is, you just have a little help. So I was just wondering, how do non spiritual people forgive? I feel like it's got to be so much more self gratifying to keep that victim status and that hurt. Because forgiveness is effort, and it doesn't guarantee that the situation will get better or anything. Is it worth the supposed "feeling better" afterwards for you? How the heck do you get motivated? For the things that have really needed forgiveness in my life, I've had to look outside of myself.

What's outside of yourself that can help?

EDITED: Changed one word after Devon's post to try and show my emphasis on faith, not organized religion. I'm definitely aware of the fact that non spiritual people forgive and are good at it. It impresses me, because I'm not sure I could do it sometimes. Thanks for commenting, Devon!

Comeback Tours

Today my roommate from sophomore year is getting married. I luckily am getting to go to her wedding, which is halfway across the country, and visit Old School Land for the first time in a year.

I don't know how many people get to revisit their pasts a lot. It sorta happens a lot for me. Ever since I came back from England, every single place I have lived/visited has been an important place for me in my past. Sometimes it's hard because I don't feel like I'm making any progress forward. Sometimes it's hard because I realize that I have. It was a little ironic, because I flew back to campus on the same day that I got into England exactly a year ago.

I was on the plane Thursday, and I almost started crying a couple times. I was so excited to finally be going back to what had been my home for two years to see some of my closest friends, but I was also a little sad. I have no regrets in the way I've lived my life the past year. But at the same time, I thought of everything I had missed at my old school for the past year, what my life could have been like if I stayed. Now that I'm here, it doesn't feel like I've been gone for a year. Except when I'm hanging out with people.

One of my writing buddies for Script Frenzy has a plot that involves someone coming back to a place after being gone for a while. And as soon as I get home, I'm going to start typing out a whole bunch of notes for him about what that's like. Because, when you stop to think about it, it's crazy the cyclical nature my life has taken. But if that's really what my life is like, if I'm going around in circles, it's more like a spiral that's expanding outwards. We're at the same place again, only we're enjoying those memories as we pass by. I'm here again, but I'm not the same person I was then.

And sometimes moving forward is going back.

But for now I have a ridiculously cute dress that I have been patiently waiting to wear and lunch with one of my best friends in Old School Land ahead of me. Can life get any better? I submit that it cannot!

I Like NL Study Night, but It's a Myth

We're really just kids still.

Where I work, it's an office with a bunch of nice, older ladies. And I feel awkward there sometimes, because I don't know how to relate to some of them. Like they don't relate to me the way they do to the other women in the office. I don't know if it's because I'm a temp and I'm still learning or if it's because I'm young.

I found out one of my friends from Anderson just got engaged. It's cool; I'm happy for her. I realized that almost everyone I know who is still with the person they were dating freshman/early sophomore year, is either engaged or married. And then this weekend my two best friends were talking about their plans about engagement and marriage. And they're going to be seniors next year. College is almost over, what?

Sometimes I feel like we're just pretending to be grown up. Like, we still get excited about sleep overs (though my friends say we'll still have them, we'll just talk about different stuff). There are still times when I'm like, gee, I just want my Dad to handle this. I don't know. Maybe it goes back to the fact that I have no idea what's going on. I'm still learning about life. I can't even pretend that I have it together, like those grown ups do.

I like sleepovers and twizzler straw Sprite movie nights with my friends, staying up until 400 am, singing camp songs, standing up for 30 hours, listening to sappy songs and thinking maybe movies can change your life, figuring out life, love, the universe, everything.

I played MASH the other night. Haven't done that since high school. It was fun. I'm 21 years old, and I'm ok with acting like it. Which means I'm a little bit grown up. But not quite all the way. : )

Everything's a secret

Ever wonder why you do the things you do? Sometimes I go more on feeling than on reasons. Like, I may not have it nailed down exactly, but it's a cool feeling when you know that this thing, this one thing, you *know* is the right thing to do. Even if you don't know why.

On the other hand, sometimes the things I do for the right reasons don't have the best outcome...

I don't know what I'm doing this summer yet. And it's coming up in like three weeks. And I have a lot of options and within the next couple of weeks I'm going to be pursuing them and figuring them out and such, but I don't know where I'm going to be next month. Sorta like when I decided to go to England. It just sorta happened, all within a two week period, for the next month.

You know what's cool? Being ok with not knowing. I mean, as a general life rule, you should know *some* things about what you want and where you want to go and why you're doing what you're doing. But I don't know what I'm doing half the time (maybe I know the why and not the what. Confusing, right?). I don't know if I'm making the right choices and if they're going to produce the right results. And I could worry about it, and freak out all the time (well, I do do that), but in the end I'll make the same choice as I would have in the first place, without knowing anymore about what's going to happen. There's something beautiful in not knowing what's going to happen next. It could be bad, it could be good. It probably will be unexpected. This is the part of beauty of life, I think. Making the right choices and not knowing what will happen next. Not knowing if tomorrow's going to ruin your life or save it.

My sister says I'm only 21 and I can't ruin my life yet anyway. I can't try to claim that until I'm 40.

Outside the window the trees are starting to blossom, and it's snowing. And today when the question "What's going on?" flirts through my mind, I have to smile. Because I don't have an answer.


Ever close your eyes
Ever stop and listen
Ever feel alive
And you've nothing missing
You don't need a reason
Let the day go on and on

Let the rain fall down
Everywhere around you
Give into it now
Let the day surround you
You don't need a reason
Let the rain go on and on
-Enya

My computer lives again :)

Jenna Falconeri, Darlene, and Me, c. 1999

Sunny Days and Rain

Today was definitely an umbrella and galoshes day, a fact I was oblivious to until I was standing on the corner of where I work in the coldest shower I've had in months, waiting for the five minute long light to change to let me catch my bus. It's definitely one of those days where you are more likely to giggle about it than freak out. However, it rained so much on me that my jeans turned a completely different color.

Music is surprisingly important in my life considering I'm not that musical or involved in musical things anymore. Music is my memory. I'm the kind of person who instantly loves a song and plays it over and over again and completely makes it my own. So instead of smelling baking cookies and being instantly transported back to my Christmas time or something, I hear a song and can practically enter an exact memory of my life at the time. When I hear certain DC Talk or Newboys songs (old school, right), I go back to summers in our house in Leonia with the window open and the smells and sounds of summer coming in, the checked curtains, the breeze, and whatever nerdy things I did when I was fourteen (I'll never tell...). Love Don't Let Me Go or Put Your Hands Up for Detroit is instantaneous transportation to going out with my girls in England. Star Mile reminds me of quiet nights in my room in England. Over and Over Again was always playing on the radio in the bathroom freshman year. Breathe goes back to the smell and feel of Rice Hall last summer when I was an au pair. Any Coldplay song, the last three or four years of my life. Ben Folds, the Fray, and Regina Spektor are these seasons memory makers. I have an actual playlist on iTunes called Songs of my Life.

When Jeremiah was up here last week (yay AU!), he introduced me to Regina Spektor. One of her songs has been on repeat a lot on my iPod and computer, and today I realized that it would be the perfect closing song to one of my shorts that I'm working on. I don't know what it's like to get rights to a song for a student short, but if I end up making this before I graduate, which I'm going to try, I'm also going to try to get the rights. Or maybe I'll just use it without permission. : ) These are the lyrics to the song, but I also put up the link to the youTube video, because I think if you just read the lyrics, you might get a completely wrong impression of the song. It's a HAPPY song. It's like the Fray's Cable Car or Ben Folds Still Fighting It, where it *looks* sorta depressing, but in a strange way, it makes you feel better. I don't know; I've created a new genre for music called Happy Sad songs. Because that's what they are. And I love them.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wigqKfLWjvM

"Fidelity" by Regina Spektor

(Shake it up)

I never loved nobody fully
Always one foot on the ground
And by protecting my heart truly
I got lost in the sounds
I hear in my mind
All these voices
I hear in my mind all these words
I hear in my mind all this music

And it breaks my heart
And it breaks my heart
And it breaks my heart
It breaks my heart

And suppose I never met you
Suppose we never fell in love
Suppose I never ever let you kiss me so sweet and so soft
Suppose I never ever saw you
Suppose we never ever called
Suppose I kept on singing love songs just to break my own fall
Just to break my fall
Just to break my fall
Break my fall
Break my fall

All my friends say that of course its gonna get better
Gonna get better
Better better better better
Better better better

I never love nobody fully
Always one foot on the ground
And by protecting by heart truly
I got lost
In the sounds
I hear in my mind
All these voices
I hear in my mind all these words
I hear in my mind
All this music
And it breaks my heart
It breaks my heart
Breaks my
Heart
Breaks my heart